Excerpt from The Turnaround by George Pelecanos, plus links to reviews, author biography & more

"Epitelos," said John Pappas as Alex breezed in, having a seat immediately on a blue- topped stool. It meant something like "It's about time."

"What, I'm not late."

"If you call ten minutes late not late."

"I'm here," said Alex. "Everything's all right now. So you don't have to worry, Pop. The business is saved."

"You," said John Pappas, which was as effusive as his father got. He made a small wave of his hand. Get out of here. You bother me. I love you.

Alex was hungry. He never woke up in time to have breakfast at home, and he never made it down here in time to make the breakfast cut. The grill was turned up for lunch at ten thirty, and then it was too hot to cook eggs. Alex would have to find something on his own.

He went around the counter to the break at the right side. He said hello to Darryl "Junior" Wilson, whose father, Darryl Sr., was the superintendent of the office building above them. Junior stood behind a heavy clear plastic curtain meant to shield the customers' view of the dishwashing, and also to keep the attendant humidity and heat contained. He was seventeen, tall and lanky, quiet, given to elaborate caps, patch- pocket bells, and Flagg Brothers stacks. He kept a cigarette fitted behind his ear. Alex had never seen him remove one from a pack.

"Hey, Junior," said Alex.

"What's goin on, big man?" said Junior, his usual greeting, though he was twice Alex's size.

"Ain't nothin to it," said Alex, his idea of jive. "All right, then," said Junior, his shoulders shaking, laughing at some private joke. "All right."

Alex turned the corner from behind the curtain and came upon Darlene, precooking burgers on the grill. She spun halfway around as he approached, holding her spatula upright. She looked him over and gave him a crooked smile.

"What's up, sugar?" she said.

"Hi, Darlene," said Alex, wondering if she caught the hitch in his voice.

She was a dropout from Eastern High. Sixteen, like him. The female help wore dowdy restaurant uniform shifts, but the one she wore hung differently on her. She had curvaceous hips, big breasts, and a shelf- top ass that was glove tight. She had a blowout Afro and pretty brown eyes that smiled.

She unnerved him. She made his mouth dry. He told himself that he had a girlfriend, and that he was true to her, so anything that might happen between him and Darlene would never happen. In the back of his mind he knew this was a lie and that he was simply afraid. Afraid because she had to be more experienced than he was. Afraid because she was black. Black girls demanded to be satisfi ed. They were like wildcats when they got tuned up.

That's what Billy and Pete said.

"You want somethin to eat, don't you?"

"Yes."

"Go on down and talk to your father," she said, with a head motion to the register area. "I'll fix you something nice."

"Thanks."

"I get hungry, too." Darlene chuckled. "And I would just . . ."

Alex blushed and, unable to speak, moved along. He passed Inez, who was bagging up a rack of delivery orders, preparing to move them over to "the shelf," where Alex would get his marching orders. Inez did not greet him.

Farther down the line, he said hello to Paulette, the counter girl who served the in- house customers. She was twenty- five, heavy everywhere, large featured, and very religious. After lunch she commandeered the radio for the gospel hour, which everyone endured, since she was so sweet. With her high- pitched, soft- as- mouse- steps voice, she was nearly invisible in the store. Paulette was filling the Heinz ketchup bottles with Townhouse ketchup, the inexpensive house brand from Safeway. Alex's father shopped at the Safeway every night for certain items that were cheaper than the offerings from the food brokers.

"Morning, Mr. Alex," she said.

"Morning, Miss Paulette."

Copyright 2008 by George P. Pelecanos