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

“Keep your gun on him,” Sweet said.

“Yes, sir,” Coley said, amused.

Sweet went to the door, connected a chain from door to frame, and slid the bolt. Coley held his gun, a. 38 Special, loosely in his hand and kept it pointed at my middle. He shifted his attention to Sweet, fixing the chain lock in place. Coley’s eyes smiled.

The room had no furniture except for a simple wooden chair turned on its side against a wall. An overflowed foil ashtray sat on the scarred hardwood floor, next to the chair. There had been a window once, but now the window was brick.

“Hold this,” Sweet said. He handed Coley the. 22. Coley took the gun, let that one hang by his side. “Good thing you were outside, Coley.”

“Heard that car of his. Some old muscle car with dual exhaust and shit. Makes one hell of a racket. Not the kind of ride you want to be usin’ when you’re trying to make a quiet entrance. Not too smart.”

“Yeah,” Sweet said. “Real stupid.”

Sweet came and stood in front of me, not more than three feet away. He shifted his shoulders, smiled a little, his vaguely Asian eyes disappearing with the smile. Alcohol smell came off him, and he stunk of day-old perspiration.

“You see what your partner did to my face?” he said.

I didn’t answer. I tried to think of something I had that they would want, something that would save my life. But I couldn’t think of one thing. The realization that they were going to kill me sucked the blood out of my face.

Sweet said, “Our friend here looks afraid. What you think, Coley? You think he looks afraid?”

“He does look a little pale,” Coley said.

“You afraid?” Sweet said, moving one step in. “Huh?”

I didn’t see the right hand. It was quick, without form or shape, and Sweet put everything into it. He hit me full on theme hei face, and the blow knocked me off my feet. My back hit the wall and my legs gave out. I slid down the wall to the floor.

“Whew,” said Coley.

Sweet walked across the room, bent over, grabbed a handful of my shirt. He pulled me up. The room moved, Sweet’s face splitting in two and coming back to one. He hit me in the face with a sharp right. Then he pulled back and hit me again, released his grip on my shirt. I fell to the floor. I swallowed blood, tasted blood in my mouth. Stars exploded in the blackness behind my eyes.

“Fuck!” I heard Sweet say. “I fucked up my fuckin’ hand on his face!”

“Go clean it up,” Coley said.

“The guy’s a pussy,” Sweet said. “Won’t even fight me back. I think maybe he likes it. What do you think, Coley? You think he likes it?”

“Go clean up your hand,” said Coley.

“Lock the door behind me,” Sweet said.

“Yeah,” Coley said, chuckling. “I’ll do that.”

Sweet left the room. When the door closed, I opened my eyes and got up on one elbow. Coley did not move to lock the door. I pushed myself over to the wall, sat up with my back against it. I looked at Coley, who stood in the center of the room, looking at me.

“You know,” Coley said, “we’re just gonna have to go on and kill you.”

I wiped blood from my face with a shaky hand. I stared at the floor.

“The reason I’m tellin’ you is, I hate to see a man go down without some kind of fight. That little redneck’s gonna come back in here, and if you let him, he’s gonna bitch-slap your ass all around. I mean, you’re dead, anyway. But it’s important, and shit, not to go out like some kind of punk. Know what I’m sayin’?”

I flashed on my drunken night by the river, hearing similar words spoken to Calvin Jeter. Spoken, I knew now, by Coley.

“Anyway, you got a little while,” Coley said. “I’m gonna ask you a few questions first, partly for business and partly just because I’m curious. Whether you answer or not, either way, I’m gonna have to put a bullet in your head tonight. Just thought you might like to know.”

There was a knock on the door.

“It’s open,” Coley said.

Sweet walked in, looked with disappointment at the chain swinging free on the frame. “I thought I told you to lock it.”

“Damn,” Coley said mockingly. “I damn sure forgot.”

Sweet looked at me. “Get up,” he said.

I stood slowly, gave myself some distance from the wall. I looked at Sweet’s right hand: swollen, the knuckles skinned and raw. He walked tw. h="27oward me, the inbred’s grin on his cockeyed face. He balled his right fist, but his right was done; I knew he wouldn’t use it, knew he would go with the left. He came in. He faked the right and dropped the left.

I moved to the side, bent my knees, and sprang up, swinging with the momentum. I whipped my open hand into his throat, snapping my wrist sharply at the point of contact, aiming for the back of his neck. My straight-open hand connected at his Adam’s apple, knocking him one step back. It felt as if a piece of Styrofoam had snapped.

Sweet grabbed at his throat with both hands. I went in, threw one deep right, followed through with it, dead square where his nose met the purple bruise of his face. Something gave with the punch; blood sprayed onto my shirt and Sweet went down. He fell to his side, moved a little, made choking sounds. Then he did not move at all. His hands dropped away from his throat.

“God damn,” Coley said. “You kill ’im?”

“No. You hit the Adam’s apple, the muscles around it contract, for protection. Cuts off your breathing for a few seconds. He’ll live.”

I heard Coley’s slow footsteps as he crossed the room. The footsteps swelled, then stopped.

“What’d you call that?” Coley said, close behind me. “That thing you did to his throat?”

“Ridge hand,” I said.

“Sweet’s gonna want to know,” Coley said, “when he wakes up.”

I felt a blunt shock to the back of my head and a short, sharp pain. The floor dropped out from beneath my feet, and I was falling, diving toward a pool of cool black water. Then I was in the black water, and there was only the water, and nothing left of me. Nothing left at all.

I woke from a dream of water.

“Some water,” I said, looking at their feet.

Coley’s shoes were between the legs of the chair, where he now sat. Sweet’s were near my face.

“Get him some water,” Coley said.

“Fuck a lotta water,” Sweet said.

Sweet’s shoes moved out of my field of vision. Then his knee dropped onto my back. I grunted as the knee dug into my spine. Sweet took my arm at the wrist and twisted it behind my back. I sucked at the air.

“Where’s your partner?” he said, his breath hot on my neck. “The one with the shotgun.”

“He’s gone,” I said, my voice high and unsteady.

“He’s gone,” Sweet said, mimicking my tone. He giggled and pushed my hand up toward my shoulders. He held my other hand flat to the hardwood floor. I tried to dig my nails into the wood.

“Where’s he gone to? ” Coley said.

“He split with his share of the money,” I said. “I don’t know where he went.”

Sweet jerked my arm up. I thought my arm would break if he pushed it farther. Then he pushed it farther. It hit a nerve, and the room flashed white. I tightened my jaw, breathed in and out rapidly through my nose.

“Uh,” I said.

“Say what?” Sweet said.

“Where is he?” Coley said.

My eyes teared up. Everything in front of me was slanted and soft.

“I don’t know where he is,” I said. “Coley, I don’t know.”

Coley said nothing.

Sweet released my arm. I rested the side of my face on the floor.

Then Sweet grabbed a handful of hair at the back of my head and yanked my head back up. He slammed my face into the floor. Blood spilled out of my nose and onto the wood. My mouth was wet with it; I breathed it in and coughed. I looked at the grain in the wood and the blood spreading over the grain.