Джордж Пелеканос: The Sweet Forever

“You don’t mind,” said Tyrell, “if I don’t get up.”

“Gentlemen,” said Tutt, stepping into the room with his stiff weight lifter’s gait, his beefy arms pumping him forward, the arms way out at his side.

Murphy scoped the house. Two large rooms, once used as living and dining areas. A stereo, a wide-screen, and a couch and table arrangement where the dining area had been. Jumbo Linney and Chink Bennet sat on the leather couch, laughing and getting high. They had barely acknowledged the cops’ entrance. Beyond the couch was an open entrance to a kitchen. The living room contained Tyrell’s reclining chair, several folding chairs, a round oak table, and a fireplace, which Tyrell liked to keep live. Murphy knew the layout of the rest of the house: a hallway to the right of the dining area, a bathroom splitting two small bedrooms, a stairwell leading up to an unfinished attic. Murphy and his wife, Wanda, lived in a bungalow just like this one, on 4th and Whittier on the D.C. side of Takoma Park.

Alan Rogers closed the door, went over to the table where Monroe sat, found himself a chair. Kevin Murphy positioned himself behind Tutt, leaned against the door frame, folded his arms. Tutt stood before Tyrell. None of them had made a move to shake hands. That they wouldn’t was understood.

“So,” said Tyrell.

“Yeah,” said Tutt. “Lotta action today.”

Tutt smiled cordially, kept smiling as he had a quick look around the place. Mutt and Jeff were back on the couch, cooking their heads on some ragweed, listening to some kind of mindless rap. Tutt could see a gun, looked like a nine, sitting on the table in front of them amidst the clutter of someone’s old lunch. To his right, Tyrell’s enforcer, Short Man Monroe, sat at the round table, a toothpick in his mouth, polishing one of his two Glocks with a lambskin cloth. Tutt could have laughed out loud: It would be just like a nigger to polish a plastic gun. The Rogers kid — Tutt made him as soft — had taken a seat at the table next to Monroe. On the table: an LED readout scale, a mirror with a couple of grams of coke heaped on top, a blade lying next to the coke, an automatic money-counting machine, a brown paper bag holding cash or bricks. A Mossberg pistol-grip, pump-action shotgun leaned barrel up against the bricks above the hearth. With all the McDonald’s wrappers, empty chip bags, and half-drunk Big Gulps sitting around, Tutt wondered if any of these geniuses would be able to find his hardware if anything went down.

“About today,” said Tyrell.

“You mean Junie,” said Tutt.

“Uh-huh.”

“Junie’s car was empty.”

“No pillowcase. No twenty-five grand.”

“Nothin’.”

“I saw him put it in the car myself before he left to make the buy.”

“Maybe Junie got greedy, stashed the bundle somewhere before the accident.”

“I don’t think so.”

Short Man raised his head. “Junie wasn’t smart enough to plan nothin’ like that.”

“Or stupid enough,” said Tyrell, “to try and take me off.”

“I don’t know what happened to it,” said Tutt.

“No?”

Tutt motioned toward Rogers and Monroe. “They were there. Maybe you ought to ask your boys.”

Short Man stopped polishing his gun. He stared at the floor, rearranged the toothpick to the other side of his mouth.

“I’ll ask them what I want to ask them,” said Tyrell. “Right now I’m asking you.”

“Me and Murphy,” said Tutt, “one way or another, we’re gonna find out what happened to your money, Tyrell.”

Tyrell stared at Murphy. Murphy held the stare. “That’s what I’m payin’ you two for. Right, Officer Murphy?”

Tutt cleared his throat. “Okay. So we’ll start with some of those neighborhood rummies down there, see what we can dig up.”

“Yo, Tutt,” said Alan Rogers. “You might want to talk with that kid, too.”

“What kid?”

“One stands out front of Medger’s all the time.”

“Yeah,” said Tutt. “I know the kid you mean.”

Murphy thought back on the conversation he’d had with Anthony Taylor. “I saw what happened,” the kid had said. And when Murphy had told him that a lot of people had seen what had gone down, the kid had said, “After, too.” Like he’d seen something else.

“ I’ll talk to the kid,” said Murphy.

“Well,” said Tyrell, smiling. “The man speaks.”

“That youngun always be there,” said Monroe. “Calls himself Tony the Tiger, some shit like that.”

“Calls himself T,” said Murphy. He repeated, “I’ll talk to the kid.”

“Don’t care who talks to who,” said Tyrell. “Long as I get what’s mine.”

Linney and Bennet laughed raucously from the other room. They had turned the porno tape back on, and Chink Bennet was in front of the set, air-humping Suzie Wong.

“I thought I told y’all to cut that tape off,” said Tyrell.

Bennet pointed at Linney. “Jumbo did it, Tyrell.”

“Damn, Chink, why you be lyin’ like that?”

“Turn it off and come in here. We talkin’ business; I want y’all to know what’s up.”

Tutt nodded at the silent man in the hard chair. “Who’s the new man, Tyrell?”

“Antony Ray. Cousin of mine. Just got out of Lorton, three weeks back. Served four on an eight-year armed robbery bit. Not sure what his role’s gonna be with us, but I am sure he’ll fit in somewhere. Right, cuz?”

Antony Ray nodded.

“Antony’s great-uncle,” said Tyrell, “was a big man down on Seventh Street, way back in the forties. Fellow by the name of DeAngelo Ray.”

“Yeah,” said Tutt. “Good to know we got some royalty bloodlines comin’ into the organization.” Tutt tilted his chin up at Ray. “Nice meetin’ you, An-tony.”

Ray said nothing.

Murphy said, “Gonna get me some water out the back.”

Murphy walked into the kitchen. A couple of girls were back there, couldn’t have been more than sixteen. They were dancing in place to the Whodini record playing in the other room. One of them, wearing a tight barber pole — striped shirt, looked him over as he passed. Murphy nodded. The girls giggled. Murphy saw a vanity mirror lying on the kitchen counter with lines tracked out on it, and a rolled twenty lying next to the lines. Murphy found a clean glass in a cabinet, ran some tap water into the glass. He drank the water with his eyes closed as he leaned over the sink.

“What’s goin’ on, Stuff?” said one of the girls.

“You big, too,” said the other, and both of them laughed.

This is wrong. I’m wrong. Father in heaven, this is all wrong.

Murphy placed the glass in the sink, walked out of the kitchen and back to the front of the house.

When he got there, Tyrell was looking up at Tutt, saying, “So you didn’t catch them.”

“No,” said Tutt. “I had the one kid dead to rights in the alley. Would’ve caught his ass, too, if it wasn’t for all the obstacles your people got set up back there.”

“You know who these boys are?”

“ I know,” said Monroe. “One of them calls himself Chief.”

“The kid I chased, he was wearin’ some bright green knit cap. Kid might as well go on and wear a target next time.”

“They just younguns, Ty,” said Rogers. “They be playin’ like they in the life.”

“They tryin’ to beat me on my own strip,” said Tyrell. “Ain’t no game to me.”

“We’ll take care of it,” said Tutt.

“Not if I take care of that shit first,” said Monroe.

Tutt said, “This ain’t about makin’ noise, Tyrell. This ain’t about startin’ a war. This is about control.”

“Man’s right, Short,” said Tyrell. “We don’t want no high drama. Just want to keep everything nice and quiet down there. Under control. Why we got our men in blue here on our side.”