Magic Street Page 0,51

a million's still a hell of a lot more than I had, growing up."

"So that's what this is about," said Ceese. "You're giving us a hard time after we brought a crime victim to the hospital, not because you think we did anything wrong, but because you don't like our address. How is that different from rousting us because we're black?"

The cop took a step toward him, then stopped and glared. "Well, I guess we're definitely having a ride to central booking and getting your names down in the records. The kid, he's a juvenile, but you - Cecil, is it? - I guess you'll be just another black man with an arrest sheet."

"So you get a little power," said Ceese, "and it turns you white."

"All that race talk, that's not going to help you much in the county jail, my friend," said the cop.

"Everybody we arrest has a master's degree in victimization."

And that was the moment when Word Williams showed up. "Sir," he said.

The cop whirled on him, ready to be furious at just about anybody. "Who the hell are you?"

"I believe you're holding the keys to my father's car," he said. The way Word talked, like an educated white man, made the cop's attitude change just a little bit. Less strut, more squint - but not a speck nicer.

The cop tossed the keys in his hand. "I wouldn't know," he said. "Who's your father?"

"Dr. Byron Williams, a full professor at Pepperdine University and a noted poet. He called me on his cellphone and told me that Ceese and Mack were taking an injured homeless man to the hospital in his car. He asked me to trade cars with them and get his car cleaned."

The cop had that smirk again. "So I guess everybody in Baldwin Hills is really close friends with each other."

Ceese rolled his eyes.

But Mack answered him sincerely. "No, sir, most people only know their neighbors. I may be the only one who knows everybody."

The cop just shook his head. "Why am I not surprised by anything anymore?"

"Perhaps you'd like to call my father," said Word.

"I already did, but he didn't answer his phone."

"His cellphone?"

"How will I know it's really him?"

Word looked at Ceese. "You must have really pissed this man off. Look, I'll give you his cellphone number. But call the Pepperdine switchboard, ask for the chair of the English department, and then ask her if this is indeed Professor Williams's cellphone number. You'll know she's really the department chair, she'll confirm the number, and then we'll be square, right?"

"Just give me the number," said the cop. He dialed it, without bothering about the switchboard and the department chair. After a minute of listening to Professor Williams, he handed the keys over to Word, with a faintly surly thank you. He didn't so much as say goodbye to Mack and Ceese.

When the cop was out of earshot, Word turned to them and said, "That's how people with petty authority always act. When they're caught being unjust, the only way they can live with themselves is to keep treating you badly because they have to believe you deserve it."

"He was nice enough at first," said Mack.

"No he wasn't," said Ceese. "He just acted nice."

"But that's what being nice is," said Mack. "Acting nice. I mean, if you're really nice, but you act mean, then you aren't really nice, you're really mean, because nice and mean are about how you act."

"Is he going to law school nights?" asked Word.

"No, he's so young he thinks the world ought to make sense," said Ceese. "So you want me to drive home whatever car you drove here?"

"I had a friend drop me off," said Word. "I mean, I can't drive two cars home."

"How we going to get home?" asked Mack.

"Your mom, I guess," said Ceese.

"She doesn't get off till late in the afternoon," said Mack.

"I'll find your mom, get her keys, drive her car, and then come back and pick her up after work," said Ceese.

"No, no," said Word. "Let me take you. We're practically neighbors."

Mack didn't know why that felt wrong to him, but it did. Something about Word made him uncomfortable. Which was crazy because nobody ever spoke ill of Word.

Ceese had his own reasons for declining. "We kind of want to stay long enough to find out what's happening to Mr.... the guy we brought here."

"Mr. what?" asked Word, smiling. "I thought he was a homeless guy. You know his name?"

"No," said Ceese.

"We had to call him