George Pelecanos - Down By the River Where the Dead Men Go

Barry picked up a twig lying at his feet and snapped it in his hands. “About Calvin.”

“Yeah?”

“He was mulin’ powder.”

I felt something twist in my stomach. “For who?”

“I don’t know. But I do know this: The powder’s for the white man, and the rock is for the niggas. You know it, too. Even got separate laws for that shit.”

“Muling it where?”

“Into the projects, man, straight to the cookin’ house.”

“You got names?”

“Uh-uh,” Barry said. “You?”

“No. But I found out he was involved in some other things, too. Prostitution, and pornography.”

“That was Roland,” Barry said hatefully. “That punk.”

“Roland got him into it?”

Barry nodded, spoke quietly against the sound of the current lapping at the bank. “The man in charge, the man with the drugs-whoever he is-he favored boys. Told Roland that if he and Calvin got into this… movie shit, they could mule the powder for him, too. Calvin came to me-he wanted the money, man, he wanted to get out of his situatiof h Even gon in a big way, like we all do, where we live. He didn’t know about that other shit, though. Calvin wasn’t no punk. Roland could do it, man, without a thought, ’cause inside he always was a bitch. He told Calvin, ‘Just do it, man-it’s only lips.’ I got no thing against a man who is that way-understand what I’m sayin’? Matter of fact, I got this cousin like that, over in Northwest, and the man is cool. But Calvin wasn’t about that. I told him, ‘Don’t be lettin’ no man suck your dick, not for money or for nothin’, not if you don’t want to.’ ”

“Calvin went ahead with it, though, didn’t he?”

“The last time I saw him, he was scared.”

“When was that?”

“The night he died. He told me they only did this shit once a week, and he had to make his mind up right then, or the mule job, and the money, was out. I told him not to go with Roland that night. He did, though. I got to believe he changed his mind, but too late. I think he tried to get out of the whole thing. And they doomed his ass because of it. They put a gun in his mouth and blew the fuck out of that boy.”

I said, “And you don’t know any more than that.”

Barry said, “No.”

I lit another cigarette and took my time smoking it, staring across the river. When I was done, I got up off the log and stood over Barry.

“I’m going back,” I said.

“You go on,” he said.

“Don’t you have to work this afternoon?”

“I got a four o’clock shift.”

I glanced at my watch. “You better come with me, then.”

“Yeah,” Barry said, smiling weakly. “Don’t want to be late for work.”

I put out my hand and helped him up. We took the trail back into the upland forest and walked across the island under a canopy of trees.

I bought a can of beer at the nearest liquor store and drank it on the way home. In my room, I drew the blinds, undressed, and lay down on my bed. I was sick-hot and tired, and my head was black with bad thoughts. I closed my eyes and tried to make things straight.

I woke up in a sweat, lying naked on top of my sheets. The fading light of dusk lined the spaces in my blinds. I took a shower, made a sandwich and ate it standing up, and changed into jeans and a loose-fitting short-sleeved shirt. I listened to my messages: Lyla and Jack LaDuke had phoned while I was asleep. I left a message with LaDuke’s answering service, and ten minutes later he called me back.

“Nick!”

“LaDuke. Where you been?”

“I went looking for Eddie Colorado.” ‹"0e? p height="0em" width="27"› “And?”

“I found him.”

I had a sip of water and placed the glass down on the table, within the lines of its own ring. “What’d you do to him, Jack?”

“We talked, that’s all. I put an edge on it, though. I don’t think Eddie’s gonna be hanging around town too much longer.”

“What’d you find out?”

“Roland Lewis is still alive, and still with them. Calvin tried to get out-that’s what got him killed. They’re filming tonight.”

“I know it. I found out a few things, too. The porno’s just a sideshow compared with their drug operation. Calvin and Roland were delivery boys. The cops have been following that angle. I’m not sure if they know anything about the warehouse on Half Street, not yet. We’re one step ahead of them there, but it’s a short step. They’ve got informants, and I imagine they’re working them pretty good. So we don’t have much time.”

“Say it, man.”

“I know we told Samuels we’d wait till tomorrow. But you and me, we’ve got to go in there… tonight. We’ve got to get Roland away from that place before the cops dig deep and bust that operation, put that kid into a system he’ll never get out of. We’ll get Roland out, get him back home, straighten his shit out then. You with me?”

“You know it.”

“You got a gun?”

“The one I held on you that night. And more.”

“Bring whatever you got.”

“I’ll be right over,” he said.

“We’re gonna need a driver,” I said. “I’ll call Darnell.”

LaDuke said, “Right.”

I phoned Darnell at the Spot. I gave him the Roland Lewis story and described the kind of trouble the kid was in.

“You interested?”

“First I got to get to these dishes, man.”

“We’ll pick you up around ten.”

“Bring your boy’s Ford,” Darnell said. “I’ll be standin’ right out front.”

I went into my room and got my Browning Hi-Power and the two loaded magazines from the bottom of my dresser. McGinnes’s benny spansules were on my nightstand, next to my bed; I swept them off the top and dropped them in my pocket. The phone rang. I took the gun and ammunition back out to the living room. I picked up the receiver and heard Lyla’s voice.

“Nick.”

“Hey, Lyla.”

“I’ve been calling you-”

“I know. Listen, Lyla, I’ve been busy. Matter of fact, I’m heading out the door right now.”

“What’s going on with you, Nick?”

“Nothing. I’ve got to go.”

“You can’t talk to me, not for a minute?”

“No.”

“Don’t do this to me, Nick. You’re going to fuck up something really good.”

“I’ve got to go.”

“Bye, Nick.”

“Good-bye.”

I hung up the phone, closed my eyes tightly, said something out loud that even I didn’t understand. When I opened my eyes, the red of LaDuke’s taillights glowed through my screen door as the Ford pulled up along the curb. The clock on the wall read 9:40. I slapped a magazine into the butt of the nine, safetied the gun, and holstered it behind my back. LaDuke gave his horn a short blast. I killed the living room light and walked out to the street.

LaDuke had parked the Ford under a dead streetlight and was standing with his backside against the car. I went to him, reached into my pocket, and pulled two of the three spansules out. I popped one into my mouth, dry-dumped it, and handed him the other.

“What’s this?”

“Something to notch you up. It came from McGinnes, so it’s got to be good. Eat it.”

“I don’t need it. I’m already wired.”

“I don’t need it, either. But this’ll shoot us all the way through to the other end. Eat it, man.”

The truth was, I did need it. And I wanted LaDuke right there with me. He looked at me curiously but swallowed the spansule.

LaDuke pushed away from the car, went to the trunk, opened it. The light inside the lid beamed across his chest. I walked over and stood next to him and looked inside. An Ithaca twelve-gauge lay on a white blanket, the edge of the blanket folded over the stock. The shotgun had been recently polished and oiled, but I could see it had been well-used; the blueing on the barrel had been rubbed down where the shooter’s hand had slid along with the action of the pump.