George Pelecanos - Shame the Devil

“Yasou, patrioti.”

Karras touched his bottle to Stefanos’s glass and the two of them drank.

An hour or so went by. Slowly and quietly the edge came off, and they drifted toward the soft world. Cigarette smoke hung in the light falling from the Spot’s conical lamps. Stefanos put on an old Otis Redding, and it was beautiful and sad. Karras sang “You Don’t Miss Your Water” while Stefanos smoked a cigarette. Stefanos thought Karras’s voice was pretty nice. Neither of them said a thing after that.

Stefanos finished his shot of bourbon and poured another, knowing that he was coming to that place where he would talk. After the nursing home, there was never any question that he would tell Karras about Wilson and the men who were in town. That time had come. He looked at Karras and Karras was smiling in that way again and Stefanos leaned his elbow on the bar.

“Dimitri.”

“What?”

“Look here, man. There’s something I’ve got to tell you.”

Karras laughed and shook his head.

“What’s so funny?” said Stefanos.

“This about Thomas Wilson?”

“Yes.”

Karras smiled. “I’ve been wondering when you were gonna come to that.”

So Thomas spilled it,” said Stefanos. “I’m a little surprised.”

“So was I.”

Stefanos raised his chin. “What’d you do?”

“I hit him,” said Karras. “He let me hit him. I hit him in the face and I kept hitting him until I had nothing left. I left him there in the hall of my apartment building.”

“What happened then?”

Karras studied his skinned knuckles. “I went into my place and I sat on my bed. I talked to myself and rubbed my face and got up and stared out the window. I washed my hands and paced around the apartment and then I went back out to the hall. I thought I might have killed him, but he was conscious. Sitting up, with blood on his lips and a gash on his cheek from where my ring had caught him. One of his eyes had begun to swell shut. He reached out his hand, and I took it and lifted him up.

“We went back into my apartment and I gave him a towel. I waited for him to get clean. He came out of the bathroom, and we sat in my living room and talked.”

“About what?”

“About what we were going to do next.”

“And?”

“Detective Jonas is Boyle’s baby-sitting job, right?”

“That’s right.”

“The men who killed my son are in town because they want to hurt Bill Jonas. They’re here to do another job, too, and they think that Thomas is setting it up.”

“What are you going to do about it, Dimitri?”

“What I’ve been hoping to do for the last two and a half years. I’m going to kill those men.”

Stefanos looked into his drink. “What about the law?”

“Like the man said. The law isn’t always the answer.”

Stefanos finished his bourbon and put another glass on the mahogany. He free-poured two shots and slid one glass over to Karras. He uncapped two more beers.

“You know what it is to kill a man, Dimitri?”

“Do you? ” Karras had a sip of bourbon and held the glass up to the light. “I suppose you’re going to tell me now.”

“Crack wise if you want to. But I’m trying to talk you out of it because I know what it’s like. You’re talking about taking a life. You can’t reverse it. And after you’ve done it, you’re never the same.”

“I do know what it means,” said Karras. “But it’s not going to stop me from killing those men.”

“You must have a plan,” said Stefanos.

“A plan?”

“How’s it going to work?”

“Thomas Wilson is going to bring them to me.”

“Don’t count on it. Wilson’s weak.”

“He’s strong enough.”

“I don’t think so.”

“Think what you want. He asked me for another chance, and I’m going to give it to him. He’ll do fine.”

Stefanos rubbed his thumb along his lower lip. “You going to tell the waiter’s father? How about Stephanie Maroulis?”

“I’m not going to tell either one of them a thing. Bernie’s found his peace and so has Stephanie. This is for them, too, but they’ll never know. And I’m trusting you to keep it from Bill Jonas – and Boyle. I don’t want to have a thing to do with Boyle.”

“You’re not going to make it,” said Stefanos. “These guys will kill you before you have a chance. You’re going to die and get Wilson killed, too, and for what? I’m telling you, man, this idea of yours is bullshit. It’s fucked.”

“All right, you’ve said it. Now leave it alone. You’ve got nothing to do with it, hear?”

“We’ve got too much history between us for me to leave it alone.”

“You heard Boyle’s uncle. Your grandfather gave my old man a job when he was a washed-up cripple. My old man stopped those loan sharks from burning down your grandfather’s grill. I’d say our slate is clean. We owe each other nothing.”

“You’re drunk,” said Stefanos, looking into Karras’s waxed eyes. “Yeah, I’m drunk.” Karras had a swig of beer, keeping his eyes on Stefanos.

“You better pray to God that you know what you’re doing.”

“God,” said Karras with contempt. “Now you’re going to tell me you believe in God.”

“I’m like most men, I guess – that is, if they’re honest enough to admit it. I believe some days and some days I’m not so sure. The truth is, I’m just trying to figure it all out.”

“There’s nothing to figure out. God was invented for children and old people who are frightened to die.”

“The night I killed that man I thought the same thing. That there was no God. But look around you. There’s too much good in the world, man -”

“Good? What about slavery? What about the Holocaust and Pol Pot? The Armenian slaughter. The young men who’ve been killed throughout history fighting wars in the name of God. The children who’ve died in this city in the last ten years. What kind of god would allow these things to happen?”

“I don’t know.”

Karras leaned forward. “What did my son do to God? Why did he take my little boy the way he did?”

“I don’t know,” said Stefanos softly.

“That’s right, you don’t know. But I know. The answer is, There is no God. Everything’s just an accident. And when it’s over there’s nothing. No existence and no sensation. Nothing at all.”

Stefanos shook a cigarette from his pack. He put it between his lips and struck a match. “I’m sorry for you, Dimitri.”

“Sorry,” said Karras. “I’m sorry, too. You know what I’m most sorry about? That I lied to my son about God. That’s right. We were down at Hanes Point in the spring; I think Jimmy was four years old. We were walking around the speedway, and Jimmy said, ‘Dad, how come you can’t see God?’ I said to him, ‘People can’t see God, Jimmy, they can only imagine him.’ And Jimmy said, ‘When you’re dead can you see him?’ And I said yes. Jimmy looked out at the channel and thought for a while, and then he made this flip of his hand and said, ‘Aw, gimme a break!’ ”

Karras laughed sharply, thinking of his son. He pictured him in the sun at Hanes Point, the skip he put into his walk when he was happy, that flip of his hand, his dimpled smile. While Karras laughed, tears gathered in his eyes. The tears broke and rolled down his cheeks.

Stefanos handed him a bev nap and looked away. “Here you go, man.”

Karras wiped at a thread of mucus that had dripped from his nose. He wiped the tears off his face.

“I was like you,” said Karras, his voice desperate and strained. “I thought there might be a God. I hoped there was a God because I couldn’t believe that death would ever separate me from Jimmy and Lisa. I mean, if you believe that death can do that, then nothing makes sense, right? But when I saw Jimmy in the morgue that day -”