George Pelecanos - What It Was

“You wanna be alone with me,” said April to Fanella, after Gino and Cindy had gone. She smiled and he saw that one of her front teeth was chipped. “That’s sweet.”

Fanella knew he’d never relax with Gregorio pounding his pork into some trick in the same room. This wasn’t a stud contest. He didn’t mind seeing Gino’s meat, but not while he was using it.

“Take your shirt off,” said Fanella.

Fanella watched April pull her shirt over her head and toss it onto the bed. She had big melons held up in a cream-colored bra and a little roll of baby fat hanging over the waistband of her shorts. Her orange hair was mussed and she hand-brushed it back in place.

April sipped pink wine from a cup and looked around the room. Two double beds, suitcases on the floor, one zipped open showing clothing that had been shoved in haphazardly. A television set was mounted on a metal rack up on the wall, and a clock radio sat on the stand between the beds. Wasn’t much here in the way of entertainment.

“Ain’t no party without music,” said April.

“Put some on, then.” Fanella, seated uncomfortably in the room’s sole chair, waved a beefy hand toward the clock radio. Bourbon sloshed out of his cup.

April found a Top 40 station and turned up the new Cornelius Brothers and Sister Rose, which had just hit the charts.

“ ‘Too late to turn back now,’ ” sang April, “ ‘I believe I believe I believe I’m falling in loooooove.’ ”

“Yeah!” said Fanella tiredly.

“Let’s get our heads up, big man.”

April went to the wood-framed mirror, now laid flat on the dresser, on which she had cut out four more thick rails of coke. She used the clear shell of a Bic pen to hoover up two lines, threw her head back, dipped her fingers in a cup of water, and pinched her nose. The stuff had been heavily stepped on with mannitol, but at seventeen she was a veteran, and it no longer upset her insides.

“Whooo.” April held up the pen. “Now you.”

Fanella got up out of his seat. His shirt was damp with perspiration, but he did not worry about his heart. At forty he was still strong. He’d heard about coke from the younger guys, how it made your pole like a scratching post for half the night. He thought he’d give it a try.

Fanella snorted a line. As he bent forward to do the second one, he felt April rubbing her boulders on his back.

“Cut it out,” he said, but he was grinning. In about a minute he was gonna give her what every girl dreamed of.

“Where you from, Lou?”

“Jersey.”

“You down here on vacation?”

“More like a working vacation, honey.”

Fanella drew the other line up his nostril. Did that thumb-and-forefinger thing to his nose, like he’d seen the girl do. Immediately, he was in a good mood. Happy. There was a medicine-tasting drip in the back of his throat. He wanted a cigarette and he found one and lit it. He was already thinking about the next one.

Fanella got his drink. He gulped down bourbon and went to the ice bucket and filled his cup and poured another Ten High from the bottle.

A new song had come on the station. April was singing it and strumming an imaginary guitar. “ ‘Sunshine go away today. Don’t feel much like daaancin.’ ”

“Say,” said Fanella.

“What?” said April.

“You ever hear of a guy name of Red Jones? Black guy.” He was normally careful, didn’t run his mouth to whores, but the words were coming fast from his mouth. “I figure, you bein on the street and all…”

“Sure,” said April, swaying to the music. She removed her bra and dropped it on the floor. “Everybody’s heard of Red.”

April pushed her breasts together and winked clumsily at Fanella. Walking toward him in her bare feet, she caught a toe on the carpet, stumbled, and giggled. She leaned in to kiss him, and Fanella put a dry one on her cheek. He wasn’t about to kiss her on the mouth.

“You don’t know where I can find this Red, do you?” said Fanella.

“Why?”

“I owe him some money.”

“I don’t have any idea,” said April. “But if you give me the money, I’ll make sure he gets it.”

“You’re cute,” said Fanella.

April reached out and grabbed his rod through the crotch of his slacks. There was little physical response, and she stepped back and examined his face.

“You all right, good lookin?”

Bullets of sweat had formed on Fanella’s forehead, and he’d gone pale. “I don’t feel so hot.”

“You gotta go to the toilet, right? Number two?”

“Yeah.”

“That’s the baby laxative in the coke,” said April. “Go do your business and feel better, sugar. I’ll be waiting for you when you’re done.”

Fanella crushed out his cigarette, went into the bathroom, and shut the door. She heard air leave his behind, and she heard him say, “Ahhhh,” and then groan, “God.”

April moved over to the open suitcase and hand-searched it thoroughly. She found a switchblade knife and a revolver underneath some sport shirts. The guy was some kind of hood, so that wasn’t a surprise. Two packs of cigarettes in one of the side pockets. And in another compartment, a pretty ring. She put it on her finger and it fit. Probably costume, but that didn’t bother her. She loved the way the ring looked on her hand. It was a keeper. He sure wasn’t gonna miss it. Leastways not tonight.

April slipped the ring into her shorts pocket, then stripped the shorts off and placed them on the bed under her favorite T-shirt, the one had the glitter star across the front. She stood in the middle of the room in her panties, drinking wine and waiting. Her plan was to get the old man off quick, soon as he came out the head. She knew how, and he would only be good for one. After, she’d wait for Cindy, take a taxi back to Shaw, and get out there and retail her ass like her boyfriend, Romario, expected her to do. There was still plenty of night left.

Having come up empty on Red Jones at the Carter Barron, Vaughn went back to the stationhouse and saw Charles Davis seated at his desk.

“What are you doin here, Charles? I thought you had eyes on Monique Lattimer.”

ter Ba"3"›“I did. I was in the playground across from her house for hours. Girl musta slipped out the back of her crib, somethin. I had a patrol cop knock on her door, but there wasn’t no one there.” Davis shrugged his bearlike shoulders. “Sorry, Hound Dog. She beat me, man.”

Muttering under his breath, Vaughn went to the holding cells to take the temperature of Clarence Bowman. He was hoping to put him in the box and see if he could convince him to talk. But Bowman was gone.

Vaughn found Sergeant Bill Herbst out in the office area.

“What the hell happened, Billy?”

“I had to wagon Bowman over to St. Elizabeth’s. The guy was eating his own shit, Frank. The rest of ’em were goin nuts back there.”

“Bowman’s not mental.”

“Maybe not. But I didn’t know what he was gonna do next. Lieutenant Harp told me to get rid of him. Crazy or not, Bowman’s gonna be arraigned. Just ’cause he’s at St. E’s don’t mean he’s getting off or nothin…”

“I’m not worried about that. I wanted another shot at him, is all.” Vaughn rubbed his jaw as he considered the situation. “Let’s go back to the jail. I wanna see where you had him.”

Vaughn returned to the holding cells with Herbst, who pointed out Bowman’s former cage. Vaughn studied the men who had been locked in with him.

They walked back to the office and Vaughn said to Herbst, “Who was the weak tit with the Little Bo-Peep eyes?”

“Henry Arrington.”

“Doper?”

“No, Henry takes the Night Train. We bring him in to protect him and let him out in the morning.”