George Pelecanos - The Turnaround

“We can get someone else to move weight for us.”

“I agree.”

“Question is, what are we gonna do about our problem?”

“The old man damn near ass-raped my kid brother. The white boy held a gun on him and watched.”

“ ‘Damn near’ ain’t rape.”

“That’s a hair so fine you can’t split it. Tell that shit to Dominique.”

“What about the other one they were in with?”

“Deon? Dominique says he wasn’t involved. We been tryin to reach him to confirm that, but he’s not taking his calls. That cell probably ringin at the bottom of the Anacostia River right now. If he’s smart, he dumped it on the way out of town. But I’m not worried about him. It’s the other two.”

“Comes back to the original question: what are we gonna do?”

Markos dragged on his cigar and looked at his friend. Both of them were tough and skilled fighters who in their youth had regularly taken home trophies from the Capitol Classic, the annual martial-arts tournament held at the old D.C. Convention Center. They had never run from any type of physical challenge or confrontation. But this was different, a step they had yet to take. Neither of them saw it as a moral decision. They simply loved their lifestyle and did not want to endanger it with the possibility of prison.

“I talked to Alan,” said Calvin. Alan was in security management at a club they frequented. He had a personal history that connected him to the underworld of the city to the north.

“And he said what?”

“He said these boys would take a lethal injection before they gave us up. That promise and the way they carry it is how they grow their business.”

“Is this what you want to do?”

“Don’t put it all on me,” said Calvin. “I need you to say you good with this, too.”

Markos nodded at the RAZR lying on the table. “Make the call.”

Calvin flipped open his cell.

“How long we gonna sit here?” said Cody Kruger.

“Not too long, I expect,” said Charles Baker.

“You know this is his house?”

“The people-find site brought me here. There were three Alexander Pappases in the area, but only one the right age. And this is near where he grew up at. Got to be him.”

“Okay, but why you think he’s gonna come outside?”

“Because I’m smart,” said Baker. “Tomorrow is trash pickup day in Montgomery County. You see all those cans and recycling bins out by the curb?”

Kruger said, “Uh-huh.”

“Mr. Alex Pappas ain’t brought his out yet. But he will. All these suburbanites do it the night before, so they don’t have to fuck with it in the morning.”

They had been on the street for an hour or so. Because no one was walking through the clean middle-class neighborhood and many of the homes had gone dark, it seemed very late. Rain had fallen, and in its aftermath the streetlamps were haloed with rainbows and mist.

“Why don’t you just go and knock on the man’s door?”

“’Cause I could pull a trespassing charge,” said Baker patiently. “I get to him out on the street, that’s public property.”

A car rolled down the road behind them, its headlights sweeping the interior of the Honda. Baker and Kruger watched it pass and slow down, then come to a stop at the curb in front of the Pappas residence. It was a light blue Acura coupe, well maintained; a woman’s car, thought Baker, until a nicely dressed young man began to step out of the driver’s side.

“Stay here,” said Baker, seeing it all at once, moving quickly because that was how a decisive man ought to. It had to be the man’s son, and that was good. Deliver a message to the boy and you’d send a message to the man real clear. Do what I’m asking because I can get to your family. I can and will.

Baker stepped down the street as the young man, looked to be in his middle twenties, locked the car with one of those gizmos he held in his hand. He was aware of Baker coming up on him, and he tried not to act frightened. He looked Baker in the eye and nodded a greeting but kept moving around the car in an effort to get up on the sidewalk and into his house.

“Hold up a minute, young man,” said Baker, blocking his path, careful not to touch him or get too close.

“Yes?” said John Pappas in a friendly but guarded manner.

“Is this the Pappas residence right here?”

“Yes. I live here. What can I do for you?”

What can I do for you? Baker almost laughed. The young man taking a real firm tone now, like he was gonna defend the castle and shit. Trying to be something he was not. Baker studied him, trim and decked out in nice clothes, the black shirt worn tails out the way all these stylish young men liked to do. Baker looked at John Pappas and in his mind he saw the word, flashing like a sign outside a bar that was named Prey.

“Just give me a minute of your time,” said Baker. “Okay?”

Alex Pappas was lying in bed beside his sleeping wife, waiting for Johnny to come home, when he heard the sound of his Acura coming to a stop. Then he heard two car doors slamming shut, one after the other. And soon after that, voices. Alex got out of bed. Johnny never brought anyone home late at night, men friends or women. He was respectful that way.

Through the bedroom window that fronted the house, Alex saw Johnny in the street, standing close to an older black man. The two of them were talking. The black man was smiling and Johnny was not. Two houses down, an old Honda was parked and idling, smoke coming from its tailpipe. It looked like a young white man was under the wheel.

Alex quickly put on jeans and tied a pair of New Balance sneakers onto his feet. Because he kept no guns or weapons of any kind in the house, he grabbed the heavy, long-handled Mag-Lite he kept beside the bed, ignoring Vicki, who had woken and was asking, “What’s wrong?” and “Alex, what’s wrong? ”

He passed Gus’s bedroom and went down the stairs.

“You say you’re his friend?”

“Oh, I’m not claiming that we’re friends, exactly,” said Baker. “More like acquaintances.”

“Excuse me,” said John. “I really have to get inside.”

He tried to step around Baker, but Baker moved in front of him.

“I ain’t done,” said Baker. He put his index finger to the corner of his eye and pulled down. “I gave that to your daddy. That’s right. Me.”

John narrowed his eyes and felt warmth come to his face. “Make your point.”

“Ho, look at you,” said Baker with a chuckle. “You got your little fists in a ball and your cheeks is pink, just like Raggedy Andy. You ain’t gonna hurt me, are you?”

“Get out of here.”

“Okay.” Baker laughed. “I will. But not because a fellow like you told me to. Just tell your old man I came by. Just tell him, fifty thousand dollars. That’s all he needs to know. I’ll contact him next and make the arrangements. He calls the law, you’re the one who’s gonna suffer. You hear me, pretty? Tell him.”

Baker began to walk toward the Honda. He heard the door to the house open, a commanding voice and rapid footsteps on concrete, and he kept pace and got to the Honda’s passenger side, turned and smiled at the shirtless middle-aged man who was running toward him with eyes on fire and something like a steel club in his hand. Baker opened the door and dropped into the seat.

“Go, boy,” he said. Kruger gunned it off the curb.

Alex Pappas broke into a sprint. He ran alongside the Honda, and it passed him, and he continued to chase it, knowing he could never catch it.

“Stay away from my family!” shouted Alex.

The Honda turned the corner and was gone. Alex slowed down and came to a stop in the middle of the street. He bent over and put his hands on his knees and tried to catch his breath. His heart was beating rubbery in his chest.