Chapter Twenty: Five Men at One Table
On Thursday evening, Marcus invited the four men back to his house.
There was no birthday cake this time.
He ordered sandwiches and set out cold drinks on the same patio table where their badge holders had been displayed.
Andre arrived first and asked whether they were allowed to eat before the next police report.
Marcus laughed despite himself.
Curtis brought a bag of charcoal because he refused to let the ruined cookout become their final memory of the grill.
Lionel carried a small box of replacement hinges for the side gate.
Darius arrived last, looking exhausted after three days of field exercises.
“Tell me somebody saved a burger,” he said.
“You are four days late,” Curtis replied.
“That’s the most believable excuse you’ve ever given.
”
They ate while the late sun moved across the fence.
For a while, nobody mentioned Margaret.
Andre described a patient who had insisted that a hospital vending machine was haunted because it kept returning his coins.
Darius told a story about a training dog that had located every instructor’s lunch but ignored the practice target.
Lionel admitted that he had once inspected a building for an hour before discovering that he was standing in the wrong address.
Marcus laughed harder than he had in weeks.
Then Curtis put down his drink.
“I need to say something about the badges,” he said.
The others looked at him.
“When we put them on the table, it stopped the argument,” Curtis continued.
“But I keep thinking about what would have happened if we didn’t have them.
”
Andre nodded.
“The same thing should have been true either way.”
“Exactly,” Curtis said.
“We belonged there because Marcus invited us.”
Darius leaned forward.
“I also don’t want people thinking our jobs make us immune to what happened.”
“They don’t,” Marcus said.
“And we shouldn’t have needed to explain our jobs at all.”
Lionel tapped the edge of the table.
“Then maybe we should stop letting the neighborhood talk about us only as titles.”
“What do you mean?” Andre asked.
“I mean we’re friends who showed up for a birthday,” Lionel replied.
“We work in different places, and none of us came here to rescue anybody.”
Marcus looked at the grill.
He had spent so much of the past week responding to other people’s descriptions that he had nearly forgotten the uncomplicated reason his friends were there.
“Then here’s the plan,” he said.
“Next Saturday, we’re finishing the cookout.”
Andre raised an eyebrow.
“With actual cake?”
“With actual cake.”
“And no official identification on the table?” Curtis asked.
“Unless somebody needs to prove they’re old enough for a second slice,” Marcus replied.
The men laughed.
From the upstairs window, Nia called down that she wanted to invite her debate team.
Marcus looked at the four men.
“Apparently the guest list just expanded,” he said.
