George Pelecanos - Shame the Devil

Farrow took his beer and walked past the billiards tables and shuffleboards to the rest-room enclave in the back of the house, where a pay phone was mounted on the wall. He dialed a two-one-three exchange and got Roman Otis on the line.

“How we doin’, man?” said Otis.

“A situation came up here that I have to take care of. After that I’m ready to roll.”

“Then I’m ready, too.”

“You flush?”

“I’m about busted flat in Baton Rouge and waitin’ on a train. Supposed to see a man about that this afternoon. Man owes me some money. Gonna do that thing and then I’m clear. Could use a temporary change of scenery and some new prospects. How about you?”

“I’ve been living like a monk,” said Farrow. “I’m doing all right, but it’s time to leave.”

“Where you want to meet, man?”

“You still got that cousin of yours likes to talk too much, did that Lorton jolt?”

“Yeah, Booker’s out and livin’ up there in southern Maryland, outside D.C.”

“We’ll meet at his place.”

“Ain’t we still hot up that way?”

“No. I read the D.C. paper every day. They’ve never had a thing. We’ve got unfinished business there, Roman.”

“If you say we do, Frank, then we do.”

“You mail off that photograph I sent you?”

“Did it. Listen, Frank…”

“What?”

“Remember my sister’s husband, Gus? Tall guy on the white side?”

“Tall, hell. He’s a giant. Polish guy, right?”

“Some shit like that. He played professional, Frank, long time ago. ABA ball. Was the backup center for the Spirits of St. Louis.”

“What about him?”

“When I came out here, I was lookin’ to invest some of my hard-earned cash. Gus had the idea we should loan out some of my money to those unfortunate citizens got themselves burdened with bad credit ratings.”

“You got in the vig business. What did I tell you about that?”

“You were right. Didn’t work out the way Gus planned. Gus feels real bad about it, Frank. Plus he and my sister Cissy need to put a little country between ’em for a while. So Gus is riding with me right now.”

“He’s all right?”

“Gus is solid. See, he couldn’t play ball for shit, Frank. Oh, he could grab a rebound or two if the ball bounced right into his hands. But they used him for something else. The coach would tell him that a certain player had been ridiculing him before the game. Basically, they’d put him in the game just to fuck motherfuckers up. This is the man who made Artis Gilmore have bad dreams. Gus sent some starters to the hospital for real, ended a couple of careers. He’s tough.”

“Bring him along.”

“Right.”

“When can you be at your cousin’s?”

“Gonna take me about a week to make it across country in my short.”

Farrow said, “I’ll see you then.”

Farrow walked back into the bar. Grace, the waitress from the Royal Hotel, was sitting on the stool beside his and working on a vodka tonic. He slid onto his seat and lit a cigarette.

Grace smiled. “Thought I’d find you here.”

“How’d you know it was me?”

“You left your Kools on the bar. Not many white men I know smoke Kools, and in the five years I’ve lived in this town I have never seen a black in this place.”

“They’ve got their own bars on the north side of town.”

“Yeah, it’s great, isn’t it? That’s why I moved to the Eastern Shore from Baltimore. People stay with their own down here in Edwardtown. It’s the way things ought to be.”

“Your idea of paradise, right?”

“Well, it’s not perfect.” She lowered her voice. “A perfect world would be no niggers at all.”

Grace laughed shortly while Farrow finished his beer and thought of his friend Roman. He noticed Grace studying her thumbnail. He said, “You all right?”

“I did this today at the restaurant. Sliced the nail halfway down to the cuticle. I haven’t had a chance to cut it down or put a Band-Aid on it.”

“You oughtta take care of that.”

“I will.”

“So, you about ready?”

“Where we going?”

“My place.”

Grace swallowed the rest of her vodka, placed the glass down on the bar. “I was watching you this afternoon, Larry, standing over that hot sink. I like to see a man sweat. I like the way it smells.”

“That a fact.”

She leaned in to him so that her cheek touched his. She had a cheap permanent with damaged ends, and her hair smelled of chemicals.

Grace whispered, “Looking at you made me all wet.”

Farrow stabbed out his cigarette. He signaled the bartender and said, “Let’s go.”

Farrow lived in a stone house fronting the Edward River. His efficiency was on the third floor at the rear of the house and held a double bed, bathroom, and porcelain kitchenette. The room’s one window gave to a view of a cobblestone alley.

Grace sat naked on Farrow’s bed, drinking red wine from a goblet. Her breasts were huge and heavy, with pink nipples as large as English muffins. She sucked in her stomach, watching him walk toward her in his underwear.

“You stay in shape,” she said.

“Sit-ups and push-ups,” said Farrow. “Every day.”

“How long you been doin’ that?”

“Long time.”

“I gotta start doing something to break a sweat.”

“Start right now.”

She giggled and licked her lips clumsily. “This wine is yummy.”

“You like it, huh?”

“I don’t know good from bad, to tell you the truth.”

He stood before her and said, “Really.”

“I hope it’s not expensive wine,” she said. “ ’Cause I’m gettin’ ready to waste a little. Hope you don’t mind.”

Grace got up off the bed. She took a long sip of wine and spit it out onto Farrow’s chest. She put the goblet on the nightstand. She got down and licked the dripping wine from his stomach up to his chest. She licked his nipples and pulled down his underwear and played with his balls. He had an erection now, and he pushed her down on the bed.

Grace’s head bounced on the mattress one time, and her eyes grew wide. “You like to play rough? I like it rough, too, Larry.”

He pulled her to the edge of the bed so that her legs hung off the side. He fucked her like that, watching himself slide in and out of her, keeping his eyes there, imagining he was banging one of the many trophy wives he had seen walking through the lobby of the hotel. Thinking of doing those rich women the way he was doing Grace made him go even harder. He flashed on the reverend’s pale face and got short of breath. He took Grace’s hand in his own and worked his thumbnail under hers. His thrusts lifted her back off the bed.

“ Shit, yeah,” she said, spittle forming around the edges of her mouth.

When she came she sounded like a woman giving birth, and in the middle of her spasms Farrow ripped her thumbnail clean off. As she screamed, Farrow shot off inside her with a violent shudder.

He withdrew and stood over the bed. Grace was crying, thrashing her head from side to side. Blood snaked down her meaty forearm.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “Grace, I’m so sorry. I didn’t realize what I was doing, I was so excited…”

“Aaaah, God,” said Grace. “God, God, God…”

“I’ve got some medical tape and disinfectant in the bathroom,” said Farrow. “I’ll be right back, and we’ll fix you up.”

In the bathroom, Farrow could hear Grace muttering the word “fuck” over and over again. He looked in the vanity mirror. Tears had formed in his eyes. His lips were twitching, and he put his hand over his mouth.

Farrow turned the bath spigot on full so that Grace could not hear him laugh.