George Pelecanos - Shame the Devil

Karras turned back to the targets. He closed one eye, extended his gun arm, and aimed. “Well, you’re a better man than I am, I guess.”

Karras squeezed off a round. He fired again and again, spacing the shots. He lowered the gun when it was empty.

“You got two that time,” said Bernie.

“I’m improving.”

“Course, you wouldn’t be firing at a little old beer can for real. I mean, you’d be aiming for a bigger target. We’re talking about a man here, aren’t we?”

“Yes,” said Karras.

“Always aim for the body,” said Walters. “Never the head. You’re not that good. Most men aren’t, no matter what they think.”

“Right.”

“Lead that body just a little if it’s moving.”

“Okay.”

“And keep firing your weapon until you’ve accomplished what you set out to do.”

Karras nodded. “Thanks, Bernie.”

“You about done?”

“I’d like to try it a few more times, if you don’t mind.”

“Fine with me.” Walters looked sadly into his beer can and made a swirling motion with his hand. “After that, maybe we’ll catch a little lunch.”

They drove up to Leonardtown in the pickup and had crab-salad sandwiches and chowder at a local dive. Walters drank beer, and Karras drank ginger ale. They returned to the property in the afternoon.

Walters and Karras went down to the dock with fishing rods, folding chairs, bait, and beer. A plastic owl had been nailed to the top of one of the pilings, but it had scared away no birds. Gull shit was splattered on the owl and nearly covered the planks of the dock. Walters and Karras put the chairs out facing the water and baited their hooks with bloodworms. Karras cast his line out into the creek as Walters cracked a beer.

“I’ll have one of those now,” said Karras.

“Now you’re talkin’,” said Walters.

Karras drank down a healthy swallow. “We just jerking off here?”

“Probably. You might snag a few perch. But it’s mostly therapy.”

Karras nodded at the water. “This part of the bay?”

“They call it a creek.”

“It’s wide as some rivers I’ve seen.”

“I know. And it’s a good fifteen feet deep out there in the middle. But they still call it a creek.”

Karras felt a chill and zipped his jacket to the neck. He looked at Walters. “You’re not cold?”

“Hell, no. I sleep out here on this dock some nights, Dimitri. I’m talking about this time of year, too.”

“You shittin’ me?”

“Nah. It’s been a mild winter, anyway; most nights have stayed in the forties the times I been down. I get out here in a sleeping bag, lay on my back, and look up at the stars… I sleep like a baby, man. I don’t come down here to lay up in some stuffy trailer.”

“What’re you, part bear?”

“I just like it here, that’s all.”

Walters used his Zippo to light a cigarette. They kept their lines out in the water, and after a while Karras noticed the bow of a wooden boat peeking out of the water in the middle of the creek.

“See that?” said Karras, pointing to the area marked by a small red buoy.

“Yep,” said Walters. “When you see that bow, it means the tide’s going out. You’re gonna see more of it the rest of the afternoon.”

“Who sunk that boat out there?”

Walters smiled. “Vance.”

“You must have been pissed off.”

“Not really. It was an old piece-of-shit rowboat that came with the property. Never was seaworthy, anyway. Vance liked to go out in the boat by himself. He’d float out there and think. He always was, what do you call that, introverted.”

“You mean introspective?”

“Sure, Professor. Whatever. Anyway, that day he was taking in water. Vance was like, ten years old, and he wasn’t much of a swimmer. I sat out here on this dock and watched him sink that boat. He never even looked at me, sitting here. He was afraid I’d think he was a sissy or something if he asked for my help. I guess I waited too long to go out there, because when that boat finally went under, it went under fast. And then Vance was just floundering out there in the water. He was wearing blue jeans and sneakers, and the weight was taking him down.”

Walters pinched the bridge of his nose. Tears gathered in his closed eyes, and Karras put a hand on his shoulder.

“Vance screamed, ‘Daddy!’” said Walters, his voice cracking. “I can remember the sound he made, the fear in it, even now.”

“It’s okay, Bernie.”

“Lord,” said Walters in a quiet way. “I am drunk.”

“It’s okay, man.”

Walters wiped his eyes and swallowed hard. “Well, anyway. I jumped off this dock and got out there. He had gone down a couple of times, but he was all right and I got him back in. I hugged him tight when we were on dry land again. It felt strange because I never did hug him all that much as a child. Strange, but good. Yeah, that was a good day. The two of us had something together that day.”

“Why’d you leave the boat out there?”

“We just decided to leave it so we could read the tides. I marked it with that buoy to protect the other boats running back on this creek. Now snapping turtles and water moccasins live around that boat. You can see their heads coming up there all the time.”

“That’s some story,” said Karras. “Yes, it is.”

Karras and Walters sat there quietly for another hour, listening to the water lap at the pilings as barn swallows dove and drifted through the sunlight. Karras checked his watch and stood from his chair.

“I better be taking off. I’ve got that party tonight back in town.”

“Go ahead, buddy. Oh, and that handgun?”

“The Colt?”

“Take it with you.”

“You serious?”

“I have my shotguns. They’re beautiful pieces of work, and I enjoy owning them. But I have no use for a handgun anymore.”

“All right. And, Bernie… thanks for the day.”

“My pleasure. I enjoyed the company, pal. Now get goin’, so you don’t miss your city bash.”

“Okay. Stay warm.”

Karras left Walters on the dock. Karras worried about his being down here, drunk and alone, for an entire week. But he figured that Bernie was in his element. Bernie would be okay.

Marcus Clay had moved from Mount Pleasant to the Crestwood area of D.C. when a chain had come to town and bought out Real Right Records, his four-store operation, back in 1986. Clay had taken the windfall and moved his family uptown to this quietly affluent neighborhood situated between 16th Street and Rock Creek Park. It was a long way from his childhood apartment off 13th and Upshur. Only his closest friends knew just how far he’d come.

Karras parked on Blagden Terrace, a few houses down from Clay’s modest split-level. He walked to the house and was met by Clay at the front door.

“Hey, buddy,” said Clay. “Knew it was you. Heard the muffler rattlin’ on that three twenty-five of yours.”

“I wouldn’t have missed it. How long we been knowing each other?”

“Damn near forty years.”

“Happy birthday, man. And it is a good day. Gotta understand, though, it’s a little bittersweet for me, seeing you turn fifty years old. It’s weird to see a friend age right before your eyes -”

“Uh-huh. Well, you can just wipe away those sympathy tears. ’Cause you’re right behind me, man. So don’t be talkin’ about that fifty stuff like it’s just me.”

Karras laughed. They hugged and patted each other’s backs.

“Come on in,” said Clay.

Karras entered the party. “We People Who Are Darker than Blue,” from Curtis, was on the stereo. Karras might have predicted it – Clay was the ultimate Mayfield freak.

Elaine Clay came over and embraced him. “Hey, Dimitri.”