George Pelecanos - Nick's trip

“You trusted her?”

“It wasn’t so much as trust. She was a hillbilly piece of ass-from southern Maryland, for Christ’s sake. I just didn’t think she’d pull anything like that.”

“Go on,” I said.

“She had a key to my place. One night-”

“What night was that?”

“Monday, last week. She was supposed to meet me at the apartment. She was there-I called her at about six o’clock. But when I got there she was gone. So was the bread.”

“How do you know she took it?”

“I don’t know,” he said. “Anything can go down, right? But my money’s missing, and she’s missing, and that’s what I’ve got.”

I thought things overe. things. Bill Goodrich had said that April had disappeared a week ago Wednesday. The money was stolen on the Monday of that week. That left a day in between.

“Will you help me?” Joey said.

“I work for Goodrich,” I said, rising from my chair as I put on my overcoat. “But if I find the girl, and she has the money, you’ll get it back.”

“Fair enough,” Joey said. “But understand this. I’ve got people out looking for her. If they find her before you do, I can’t guarantee they’re going to be too gentle.”

“People like Caruso?” I said, pointing my chin to the hallway. “He couldn’t find his dick in the shower.”

“Others too. There’s a lot of people in this town, Nick, they owe me favors.”

“So long, Joey.”

“Be in touch.”

“So long.”

I turned and headed through the doorway. Caruso was off to the side, his back against the shelving. I don’t know why he decided to make a play. Maybe he didn’t like the way I talked to his boss, or maybe he just didn’t like my looks. It didn’t really matter. Guys like him always do the wrong thing, and they always keep doing it; he telegraphed his move by trying to look too casual. But casual hung on Caruso like his tight shiny suit. When I was one step away he jerked his arm up in my direction.

I grabbed the arm with my left hand and twisted it back. Then I boxed his ear with my open right hand and swung the elbow of that arm across his mouth. It sent him into the steel shelving with a force that rocked it back and knocked cans to the floor. I bunched his shirt and got up in his fat, sweaty face. A small amount of blood seeped off his gums and pinkened his beaverlike teeth.

“Now, listen, you fucking Guinea. You touch that arm to me again,” I said, “and I’ll cripple you. Understand?”

“Let him go,” Joey said tiredly from the office to my right.

I looked to my left. The old man was in the doorway that led to the store, slicing me open with his watery brown eyes. I released Caruso’s shirt and straightened my overcoat, shifting my shoulders underneath. Caruso exhaled and attempted a vicious stare but didn’t say a word. I walked out into the store, sidestepping the old man. The old man followed. Finally I reached the front door.

“I’m sorry, Mr. DiGeordano,” I said. “He had that coming.”

“Not in my place, he didn’t.”

“I apologize.”

“You have your grandfather’s quick hands,” he said. “But you don’t have his class.” Lou DiGeordano looked me up and down and made sure I saw it.

I pushed on the door and walked to my car, where I slid behind the wheel. I watched my hand shake as I touched the key to the ignition. The car came alive. I swurm alive. ng it out on onto Georgia Avenue and ignored an angry salutation of blaring horns.

"Say that again?”

Jackie Kahn said, “You heard me.”

We were seated at a four-top near the kitchen in a restaurant called Giorgaki’s on Pennsylvania Avenue in Southeast, a place that was decorated to approximate one of those sparse, white-stuccoed cafenions that are all over Greece. On the wall next to our table was a large framed photograph of the windmills of Mykonos. Waiters were hurrying through the outward swinging metal doors, and when they came out from the kitchen the excited shouts of argumentative Greeks came out with them. Jackie dipped her bread in the tarama that was dolloped next to the tzaziki on the appetizer tray and kept her eyes on mine as she tore a bit off with her teeth.

“I heard you,” I admitted. “But why me?”

“You’ve got good genes. And you’re… reasonably attractive.”

Our African waiter arrived and set down a plate of marinated octopus just as Jackie spoke. He asked, in Greek more fluent and correctly accented than mine, if there would be anything else. I ordered an American beer and a retsina for Jackie. The waiter winked at me before he left. I squeezed some lemon over the octopus and had a taste.

“Knock it off, Jackie,” I said as I swallowed a rubbery cube of octopus.

“There’s nothing to knock off, Nick.” Jackie rearranged the silverware around her plate and folded her hands. “Listen. I’m a person who’s generally content. In that respect I’m very lucky. And I’m very comfortable with my sexual proclivity. I have a wonderful career, and I’ve found an extremely compatible person to share it with. There’s only one thing now that I’m missing, and I see no reason why I can’t have it.”

“A child.”

“Right.”

“So adopt one,” I said. “There’s laws now that prevent discrimination against gay couples who want to adopt.”

“I’m not interested in getting into some long, protracted process involving miles of red tape, or the expense that goes along with it. And like most people, I prefer to bear a child from my own blood, especially if I’m able.”

The waiter brought our drinks and took our dinner order. Jackie asked for a country salad, and I ordered souzoukakia, a meatball dish in a spicy tomato sauce served over rice. He left and I had a pull off my beer, then studied Jackie’s face.

“You’re serious, aren’t you?”

“Never been more serious, Nicky.”

“How do I fit in?” I said. “So to speak.”‹5nt›

Jackie smirked. “I thought that part would interest you.”

“Only in the scientific sense.”

“Uh-huh.” She sipped her retsina and set down the glass. “Actually, the ball is rolling right now. A week from now I’m scheduled for a sonogram. If everything goes according to schedule-that is, if I’m ovulating-we could have intercourse next Sunday night.”

“Intercourse? You make it sound so romantic.”

“I just want to be efficient. It’s not that the thought of being with you is so awfully repulsive.”

“Now, stop. You’ll make me blush.”

“What do you think?” she asked.

I lit a cigarette and aimed the exhale away from her face. “Normally, I’d say something wise. But I can see you’re not bullshitting me. I can tell you right off the bat that a guy like me has no business being a father.”

“You wouldn’t be, not in that way. I’ve had my lawyer draw up a waiver that would limit any parental rights you might have, even if you were to have a change of heart up the road. Of course I’d never stop you from seeing the child, if that’s what you wanted.”

“You’ve thought of everything.”

“That’s right,” she said, and her eyes softened. “What else?”

“I’ll tell you the first thing that came to my mind. Bringing a kid into this world-it’s a huge decision, and sometimes it’s one based entirely on selfishness. And I’ve got to admit, you know, as much as I wear my heart on my sleeve, who’s to say that the fact that you’re gay is not rattling around somewhere in the back of my mind?”

“What bothers you about it?”

“Are a gay couple going to make proper parents? I don’t know. I don’t know if it does bother me. I’m just being honest with you. I’ve gotta think about it. All of it.”