“How’re you doing, man?” I hear that voice say, and when I turn, here goes Todd, the tin man. No wonder he punches kids. That’s probably all he could get away with hitting. He ain’t even close to handsome, and he’s downright lanky to be about my height, he can’t weigh more than 140, 150 tops. And his head looks too small for his body. He’s clean-shaven and got beady little eyes. When he reaches out to shake my hand, I just look at him.

“I’m not staying long,” I say.

“What brings you out here?” Donnetta says. “And where’d you run into Jamil?”

“I didn’t run into him. He came over to my house yesterday.”

“He probably told you a bunch of lies, then,” Todd says.

“I don’t know how many lies he told, but I’ve got some questions I want answers to.”

“Like what?”

“Like why would you hit a thirteen-year-old kid in the eye with your fist?”

Todd starts walking around the dining room like he’s trying to think of a good answer. Jamil, who ran straight upstairs when we got here, is now standing at the top of the steps looking down at us, like this is some kind of show he’s about to watch.

“Look, Todd. This is the deal. I do not appreciate you putting your hands on my son and I do not think it’s appropriate for you to be punching on a kid like he’s a grown man.”

“Hold on a minute, buddy. First of all, did he tell you what he did?”

“I ain’t your buddy, Todd. Let’s get that straight right here and now.”

“Did he tell you what he did?”

“What did he do that was so bad besides smoke a little marijuana?”

“I don’t believe my ears. Are you a God-fearing man or not?”

“What’s God got to do with this?”

“There is no way I’m going to allow a thirteen-year-old child living under my roof to indulge in any kind of drugs. Not in this house.”

“But he’s not your son!”

“Well, I’m the one who’s been taking care of him for the last four years.”

“Oh, is that right?”

“Lewis, please,” Donnetta says, getting up from the dining-room table where she been sitting with her hands folded. “This is getting a little out of hand and I don’t feel comfortable. Let’s just deal with this over the phone.”

“Why don’t you be quiet, Donnetta,” Todd says.

“Yeah, shut up, Donnetta.”

“Don’t tell my wife to shut up.”

“She used to be my wife and I can tell her to shut up if I feel like it. If you can hit my son in the face with your fist, I can tell her to shut the fuck up ten thousand times if I feel like it.”

“Not in this house, you can’t.”

“Look, I just want you to know that if you’ve got a problem with anything Jamil does, before you raise your hand to hit him again, you better think twice, because I’ll be on your ass like white on rice.”