“It’s simple, cuz,” said Kendricks. “Brakes ain’t workin’ so good ’cause you out of fluid. Need to put some dot three in this mother-fucker right quick.”
“You know I don’t know nothin’ about cars, Booker.”
“Well, fluid’s all it is.”
Farrow came from the house, walked over to Otis, and lit a cigarette.
“T. W. called,” said Farrow.
“He line us up with anything?” said Otis.
“He heard something about a big-money card game on Friday night. He’s trying to firm up the details.”
“That would work,” said Otis.
“He fix it?” said Farrow, nodding at Kendricks, standing alongside the Mustang.
“Just needs a little fluid,” said Otis. “I’ll pick up some while we’re out.”
Farrow looked at the group. Otis was dressed sharp as always. Kendricks wore a shiny maroon shirt tucked into gray slacks. Lavonicus sported a Western shirt with imitation pearl buttons and lasso detailing embroidered across the chest. He wore a surplus coat over the shirt.
“Don’t get into any trouble,” said Farrow.
“Just gonna have a couple of cocktails,” said Otis. “Goin’ crazy sittin’ around this joint.”
Farrow walked back into the house.
Kendricks lowered the hood of the Mustang and wiped his hands on a rag. He gave Lavonicus the once-over and smiled. “Well, y’all look ready enough.”
“Where we headed, man?” said Otis.
“Place off Three-o-one. Understand, they got bars down here for the brothers and bars for the white boys. There’s a little bit of crossover but not much. We goin’ to this white joint ’cause they got one of those machines you like.”
“That’s okay by me,” said Otis.
Kendricks glanced at Lavonicus again. “Whoo-eee, pardner. Wait’ll they get a look at you.”
They walked to the Mark V, parked at the edge of the woods by a stand of tall pine. Otis got behind the wheel, ignitioned the Lincoln, hit the power switch on the stereo, and pushed the button marked “CD.” Lavoncius folded himself into the seat beside him, and Kendricks settled into the backseat. The Commodores came from the rear deck speakers.
“‘Zoom,’” said Otis. “This here’s got to be one of the most beautiful songs ever recorded.”
“It sounds nice,” said Lavonicus, awkwardly moving his head in time.
“People make fun of Mr. Lionel Richie. But I’d like someone to name a more perfect tune than this one right here.”
Otis turned onto 301 and drove north. “‘I wish the world were truly happy,’” he sang, “‘living as one…’”
Kendricks directed Otis into the parking lot of a sports bar a couple of miles south of La Plata. They got the fish-eye from the guys at the main-room bar as they walked through to a paneled room in the back and had a seat at a four-top near the fire exit. At a nearby table, someone laughed at Lavoncius, then stopped laughing as Otis looked his way. Some guy was up onstage doing Garth Brooks, singing along to the karaoke. He had a beer in his hand and he sang off-key.
Otis and Kendricks ordered mixed drinks, and Lavonicus went with a Coke. Otis went off to examine the playlist and found one he knew: “I’m So Lonesome I Could Cry,” by Hank Williams. Well, he knew the Al Green version, anyway. He decided he’d get up there and sing it like Reverend Al.
Otis took the stage, closed his eyes, and gave it his best shot. He tried to inject a little soul into the shitkicker arrangement, even threw in some of his hand interpretations, but nothing could make it fly. Lavonicus was the only one in the house who clapped when Otis was done. Otis thanked the audience and walked back to his seat.
He saw a couple of countrified black men seated at a deuce, and he nodded as he passed by, but the brothers did not nod back. Otis had a seat at his table.
“You sounded good, bro,” said Lavonicus.
“Let’s get the fuck on out of here,” said Otis, swallowing the rest of his drink in one gulp. “Bunch of Charley Pride-lookin’ mother-fuckers in this place, anyway.”
Otis missed Cali. He couldn’t wait to get back home.
George Pelecanos
Shame the Devil
THIRTY-TWO
Dan Boyle lit a Marlboro and shook the flame off the match. “You don’t mind, do you?”
“No,” said William Jonas. “It’s all right.”
Boyle exhaled. Smoke settled in the living-room light. Nick Stefanos stood by the bay window and leaned against the wall.
“You’re certain it was him,” said Boyle. “Maybe the photograph and the phone call were both some kind of twisted prank.”
“‘You killed my brother Richard,’” said Jonas. “That’s what the man said to me on the phone. I’ve only killed one man in my career, Boyle. And the Richard thing, it never went out to the press. Only the killer would know that.”
“What else?” said Boyle.
“It’s like the man was mocking me, giving me details. Told me where he’d been incarcerated, all the way back to his reform school days. That he did time in state and federal prisons, too.”
“Lewisburg,” said Stefanos, putting it together now.
“That’s the federal prison,” said Boyle, “up in PA. Why’d you mention that?”
Stefanos didn’t answer. He went to the glass table where Boyle had dropped his hardpack. He shook out a cigarette and lit it.
“He fed you something, Bill,” said Boyle. “You’re looking for a guy who served time in state and federal prisons, who has a brother named Richard. You feed that information into a computer, you’re going to get a list of names. It’s going to be a big list, but it’s a start. But you know that already.”
“That’s right.”
“So why’d you call me? ”
Jonas glanced over at Stefanos and back to Boyle.
“You can speak freely,” said Boyle.
“All right,” said Jonas, lowering his eyes. “I’m not going to lie to you, Dan. There’s been talk about you in the department for years. They say you’re way off the edge. They say you put away suspects your own way when you see fit. That you and that old partner of yours, Johnson, did that Hispanic child molester a few years back, before Johnson retired. They say you carry throw-downs and drugs to leave at the crime scenes you fix. I’ve been a part of those conversations myself. Even got on my high horse about it a couple of times – until now.”
“So there’s been conversations,” said Boyle steadily. “I’m gonna ask you again: What do you want from me? ”
“This man and his partner put me in this chair for life. And now he’s threatening my family.”
“I’ll get you protection.”
“There is no protection. You can apprehend him, but you know guys like him have friends. My family would always be in danger, if not from his own hand then from someone he’s sent.”
“You can’t just sit here and wait for him to come.”
“I pray he comes,” said Jonas.
Stefanos dragged on his smoke, trying not to look at the useless legs on Jonas.
Boyle had no such reservations; he nodded his chin at Jonas’s chair. “You can’t do it alone,” he said. “You know it. So stop acting like you can.”
“He’d be on my turf,” said Jonas. “And he would lose.”
“No. You’d lose.”
“So what do you propose we do?”
Boyle sighed. “I’m going to move in with you for a few days. Wait this thing out.”
Jonas nodded. “Thanks, Dan. Thanks for not making me ask.”
“We need to go over this again. I want to know everything the man said when he called you up.”
Jonas recounted the entire conversation.
When he was done, Boyle said, “How about Christopher? He notice anyone following him that day?”
“No. I don’t want him to know that he was being followed, either. But I did ask if anything strange had happened that day, and he said no. He mentioned some car chase thing on the G. W. campus, but that was it. A cop car after some old red Mustang. Other than that, not a thing.”
Boyle looked at Stefanos. “Any thoughts, Nick?”