Say Nice Things About Detroit by Scott Lasser Read Free Book Online Page A

work for the government.”
    â€œYeah, you do,” said the chubby kid.
    Dirk showed him the badge. “FBI.” At that the third kid took off running. The others just watched him go without amusement or surprise, as if this were something he did often. In the silence Dirk could feel the heat in the driveway. To Marlon he said, “Let’s you and me go for a ride.”
    â€œI’m grounded. Can’t leave.”
    Dirk went inside to find Patrice. He found her at the kitchen table, facing toward the back of the house, sitting, he realized, in front of two fans. “Hello, Dirk,” she said in that way she had, which, oddly enough, reminded him of his mother.
    â€œHow you been, Patrice?”
    â€œOh, you know. Everett says you’re going to talk some sense into Marlon.”
    â€œNothing Everett probably hasn’t said already. Sometimes it helps to hear it from another corner.”
    â€œHow’s that Michelle?”
    â€œShe’s good. Growing up, you know. Hardly recognize her sometimes when I come home.”
    â€œYou’re a lucky man, Dirk.”
    â€œThat’s true.”
    â€œAfter you get done with Marlon, maybe you could talk to Everett, too.”
    â€œWhat for?” Dirk asked.
    â€œBecause I know he’s sick, and I can’t very well help him if he won’t admit it.”
    IV
    T HEY DROVE SOUTH. Marlon started to put his sneakers on the dash, the way he could in the pickup, and then thought better of it. This interior was sweet. Half a dozen cows must have died just to come up with all the leather. The thing was, it wasn’t really Dirk’s car. It was more of a loaner from the FBI. Renting a house was one thing, but a car was different. Marlon thought a man should really own his car, even if it wasn’t nice like this one. That way, he could always control where he was going.
    They were driving on Gratiot, headed down to the Ren Cen. Marlon could see the towers, a white-gray, like the sky.
    â€œLet’s ride the People Mover,” Dirk said.
    â€œWhy?” Marlon asked.
    â€œColeman Young built the thing, so somebody’s got to ride it. It’s your civic duty.”
    They climbed the stairs and Dirk paid the fare. When the car moved, Marlon turned to the glass. There was something like a view from the train car, elevated above the street. He looked back to the river and Windsor, forward to Greektown, Tiger Stadium to the west, and the east side, where lots were going back to pasture and you could hear crickets on summer nights.
    â€œNice view, huh?”
    â€œMan, you can see the whole world up here,” Marlon said.
    â€œThat’s why we’re here,” Dirk said. “I’m trying to lift your vision.”
    He took Marlon to Greektown. It wasn’t really Detroit, it was like a theater for white people, but Marlon knew Dirk liked it because it was clean. White and black mixed on Monroe Street. Dirk stopped at a bakery.
    â€œIt’s baklava. Try it. It’s made with honey.”
    Marlon took a bite. It was sweet and light and sticky. Also good. “This is all right,” he said.
    â€œWhat’s this I hear, you’re smoking dope?” Dirk said.
    Marlon should have known this was coming. His father had put Dirk up to it. “It ain’t nothing,” Marlon said. True enough. The true idiots did other things. From what Marlon could see, getting high harmed no one.
    â€œIt’s something, all right,” Dirk said. “You ever meet a pothead who did anything with his life?”
    â€œIt’s the crackheads that’s fucked up.”
    â€œWatch your tongue with me,” Dirk said. “I’m not here for my health. I’m here for you. You’re thirteen, you’ve got all sorts of choices to make. But the choices you make now can stay with you your whole life.”
    â€œGotta decide now to be Mr. FBI?”
    â€œRight now I’d like you to