“There it is.”
“But you understand, it’s tricky.”
“Boy gonna knock us over, he’s bound to have a gun, right? Chances are, he’s doin’ this today, he’s done somethin’ like it before. Man’s got prior convictions, you get him with a gun on his person, you got call to put him in a cell.”
“Now you gonna tell me how to do my job?”
“I never would.”
“Okay, then,” said Davis. “I’ll take care of it. And I’ll send a couple of uniforms to sit outside the market for the rest of the day, too. How about that?”
When Ludvig returned to the market, a squad car holding two patrolmen was already parked on the corner of the block. Ludvig replaced the empty deposit bag where he kept it, in a drawer under the register. He went over to the plate-glass window that fronted the store and looked out at the street.
“Those cops been out there long?” said Ludvig.
“Not too long.”
“I wonder what’s going on.”
“No idea. Doesn’t do any harm to have them out there, though.”
Ludvig stared at his longtime employee. They had never once socialized outside of work, but still, he considered Thomas a friend. Ludvig didn’t know how he would ever run the business without him. Sometimes he wondered who was truly running things, but he was not a man with a strong ego, so the question was irrelevant in the end.
“John?
“Sir.”
“Why’d you have me make that deposit so early in the day?”
“You know how I been tellin’ you to change up? Thought today would be a good day to start. I just had this feeling, you know?”
“This feeling wouldn’t have something to do with that guy came to see you, would it?”
“Nothing at all,” said Thomas. “We were just talking. Turns out I know his father.”
“He looked suspicious, is why I asked.”
“You know how it is when you get to be our age. Most young men walkin’ in here, unless we know ’em, they look like trouble, to us.”
“True,” said Ludvig.
“That boy’s good,” said Thomas.
Troubled, thought Thomas. But good.
SIXTEEN
PAT MILLIKIN’S GARAGE, a cinder-block structure on a stretch of gravel running behind a strip of parts and speed shops, was off Agar Road in West Hyattsville, in Maryland’s Prince George’s County. There was no sign to identify the place, but a certain kind of customer knew where to find it, and Millikin was never at a loss for business. He catered to the chop trade and specialized in rentals. For a hundred bucks, a man could get an inspection certificate for his rag. Services and products aside, what Millikin truly sold, and guaranteed, was silence.
Millikin’s brother, Sean, a three-time loser, had been incarcerated on a manslaughter charge with Walter Hess up in the Western Maryland prison. Hess was no particular fan of the Irish, but Sean was white, and in the joint that made them allies. Sean had told Hess about his brother, Pat, and what he could do for him if he ever got jammed up. Hess had given Pat some referrals, and he and Stewart had used him for a couple of minor things in the past. Hess needed Pat now.
Buzz Stewart drove his washed-off Belvedere down Agar Road, listening to “Jimmy Mack” on the radio, enjoying Martha and the Vandellas, one arm out the window, a Marlboro burning between his fingers. He was following Hess, who was behind the wheel of his Galaxie and doing the limit. Hess didn’t want to get pulled over for any reason now, especially not here. The PG County cops had a rep for taking no man’s shit. Hess figured he’d drive slowly, not blow off any reds, and get the Ford over to Pat’s. He accomplished that, he’d be fine.
Shorty, hell, sometimes he just went too far. Wasn’t any good reason to run down that colored boy, but it was done. Get the car fixed up and put it behind you, that was the thing to do. Dominic Martini, with all that Catholic guilt he had, was the weak link. Way he was acting after it happened, it was like he wanted to confess. Stewart had to make Martini understand, you could confess all you wanted to, wasn’t nobody, priest or God almighty himself, could bring that colored boy back. But Stewart didn’t think Martini would be a problem. He just needed to be told. Martini was a follower and always would be.
They found Pat Millikin’s garage. Hess drove into the open bay, where Millikin had left a spot for the Ford, and cut the engine. Stewart parked outside, behind a plum-colored Dart GT. He got out and locked down the Belvedere.
A hard-looking, big-limbed colored guy was sitting on a folding chair outside the garage, having a smoke. He studied the Belvedere and as he did a small smile came to his face. Stewart figured he was admiring it, so he nodded at him, expecting something back. But he got nothing in return. Stewart thinking, Every place you go now, it’s the same way.
He walked into the garage, where a radio was playing “Cherish.” Millikin, pale and freckled, with horseman arms, walked around the Ford, giving it the eyeball, assessing the damage. He wore coveralls with the sleeves cut off. A cigarette dangled from his lips. Where he walked, Hess followed.
“Well,” said Millikin, “you didn’t lie.”
“I did it,” said Hess. “I fucked it up royal.”
“What’d you hit, a moose?”
“A monkey,” said Hess, glancing at Stewart, giving him a grin.
“We just had an accident,” said Stewart, warning Hess with his eyes. “Too much drinkin’, is all. But you know, we didn’t exactly leave a note on the guy’s windshield with our, uh, insurance information.”
“Say no more,” said Millikin.
Right about then, Hess noticed that the colored guy, the one who was sitting outside when they’d rolled up, had followed Stewart into the bay. Hess wondered if he’d heard the monkey comment. And then he wondered why he was sweating over it. He didn’t care.
“Lawrence, come here,” said Millikin.
Hess and Stewart watched the hard colored guy cross the concrete floor and inspect the Ford. He looked at it carefully. He said “yeah” and “uh-huh” and looked at it some more. He put his hands in his pockets and looked at Millikin.
“Well?” said Millikin.
“Gonna take some work,” said Lawrence.
“No shit,” said Hess. He turned to Millikin. “The question is, when and how much?”
“Got to check down in Brandywine,” said Lawrence, still talking to Millikin like Hess was not there. “See if I can’t raise the parts at the junkyard. Otherwise I gotta order them from the factory. ’Nother words, I’m gonna have to let you know.”