Джордж Пелеканос - The Sweet Forever

Denice Tate rolled her eyes and walked toward the men in the center of the store. She was fourteen, tall like her father, and suddenly running more to woman than to girl. Her hair fell in cornrows around a wide and pretty face.

“Denice,” said Cootch, saving her from her old man. “Got somethin’ for you here.”

He pulled a cassette tape from under the counter, handed it to Denice.

“What’s this?” she said, inspecting the unlabeled tape.

“Rare Essence,” said Cootch, “live at Anacostia Park, nineteen hundred and eighty.”

Her eyes widened. “Dag, you got this? ”

“First generation, off my personal master. Take care of it, girl, it’s precious.”

“Thanks, Cootch. They say this be bumpin’!”

“They say this is bumpin’,” corrected Tate, and once again Denice rolled her eyes.

“ Bumping, ” said Karras to Tate. “You dropped your g there, Clarence. Just thought I’d point it out.”

“Thanks, Professor. Was wonderin’ why the boss man keeps your Greek ass around.”

Clay was looking through the window and out to the street, where a fine-looking white woman had gotten out of one of those Lee Iacocca cookie-cutter sedans and was crossing, heading toward the store. Ankle-high black boots with a short, tight skirt, black stockings, a jean jacket over a purple sweater — one of Dimitri’s friends, no doubt.

“Hey, Mitri,” said Clay, pointing his chin toward the street. “What you think about a woman wears shorty boots with a skirt like that?”

“That’s her hookup, I guess. You gotta admit, on her it looks good.”

“Yes, it does.” Clay liked the way she walked, too, not just the hip action, but the determination in her step. “You think she’s lost or somethin’, comin’ in for directions?”

Karras smiled. “No, she’s not lost. She’s comin’ to see me. ”

“I’m just messin’ with you, man. I knew who she was comin’ to see.”

“You could tell, huh?”

“Yeah,” said Clay. “She looks like one of yours.”

Clay expected a response to that one, but Karras hadn’t heard the cut. He was already headed for the front door.

Karras chuckled to himself, noticing Donna’s Susanna Hoffs — style haircut as she neared the door. It was the medium-length cut from the cover of the All Over the Place album, not the redone Hoffs look off the new LP. It would be just like Donna to be a little bit behind in her look. But it suited her, that black hair fluffed out, shorter on the sides and hitting her shoulders in the back, the black a nice contrast to her pale skin. She had the thick black eyeliner going today, too. He liked that.

He held the door open for her. She came in, and they embraced. Karras pushed himself into her for a moment, a habit of his, letting her know that he was still all there. Donna broke off first.

“That you?” said Karras, giving her his patented smile, wide and holding, though a bit tight from the cocaine. “For a minute there, I thought it was that Bangles girl walking across that street.”

Donna turned to the side, made forty-five-degree angles with both wrists, did a brief version of the “Walk Like an Egyptian” dance she had seen on MTV. Miniskirted girls were doing it on the floor of Cagney’s and Poseurs and the other new-wave clubs all around town.

“Yeah, it’s just me,” said Donna. “How you doin’ Mr. Karras?”

“Doin’ good. Come on, say hello to everyone.”

Karras introduced her to Cootch, Tate and Denice, reintroduced her to Clay. Clay could hardly keep track of Karras’s women through the years, but this one he recalled vaguely, if only for her face. One of his students back when he was teaching at the University of Maryland.

Clay and Tate returned to their argument about frequency versus size, and Cootch asked Denice if she wouldn’t mind helping him file some new stock into the racks.

Donna and Karras were alone. Donna leaned forward, put her mouth close to Karras’s ear.

“Got something for me?” she said.

“Yeah,” said Karras. “Come on back.”

Marcus Clay watched them enter the back room.

Dimitri Karras pulled the vial from the pocket of his jeans and unscrewed its top. Donna Morgan had a seat on the edge of the sink. It was cramped in the bathroom; Karras took his liberty, brushed the rough denim of his leg against Donna’s stockinged thigh.

Donna pulled her leg back an inch. “Isn’t Marcus gonna know something’s going on?”

“He’s out there arguing with Tate. Believe me, they’ll keep arguing for the next ten minutes.” Karras lifted a spoonful of coke up to Donna’s nose. “Here.”

Donna hoovered it like a pro. “Mmm.” She did a quick shake of her head.

“Another?” said Karras, and she took it in.

“Wow. This is the same shit I’m getting?” Donna pushed her pelvis out to slip her fingers into the right pocket of her skirt. She pulled free five folded twenties.

Karras nodded. “It’s cut out of the same eight ball.”

“Cool.”

Karras fed himself a couple of mounds. He had felt the start of that familiar, sad crash a couple of minutes earlier, and he thought he might as well get back up. He’d be on it into the night now, he knew.

Karras retrieved his wallet, pulled Donna’s snow-sealed gram from the secret place behind the photograph of his mom. He handed Donna the gram. Donna handed him the money.

“I don’t deal,” said Karras.

“I don’t care. ”

“I just want you to know, I picked this up from my guy as a favor to you.”

Donna put the gram where the money had been.

“What does that mean, you’re some kind of angel now? You used to sell pot. I can remember that.”

“No one sells pot anymore,” said Karras.

“Well, I appreciate it, Mr. Karras. So does Eddie.”

“You still with him?”

“Uh-huh.” Donna eye-swept Karras. “He’s steady.”

Karras smiled tightly. “Right.”

They heard an explosion. Donna let herself down off the porcelain. The sound did not seem too close, but she had felt a vibration coming through the sink.

“Jesus,” said Donna.

“I know. Sounds like someone had a wreck or something out on U.”

“We better—”

“Yeah.” Karras had the vial out of his pocket again before Donna could step around him. He hadn’t been around her for a while, and now that he had her here he didn’t want to see her go. “Want another taste real quick?”

“Sure.”

They did another round. Karras was rushing hard. The bathroom was too small now. He could see Donna was anxious to move. He could hear sirens from out on the street.

“Let’s go,” said Karras. “We better see what that is.”

“What’s going on?” said Karras to Cootch.

“I don’t know for sure,” said Cootch, “but it looks pretty bad.”

Karras and Donna went by Denice, who stood by the plate glass window next to her father, a little behind him and to the side, her hand touching his hip.

Karras pushed through the door. Donna followed him outside. A car was in the air, suspended and burning on the end of a flatbed truck parked in the construction median. People stood on the opposite sidewalk, watching quietly, a couple of them just a step or two out in the street, but not too far because of the heat and smoke. A squad car had pulled over and a couple of uniformed cops, one black and one white, were out and asking the ones who had begun to close in to step back. An ambulance was traveling west down U, with the heavier siren of a fire truck not far behind.

Donna saw Eddie’s Plymouth going east, then the red of his taillights, then the Plymouth turning left. Donna thought, Maybe the cops told Eddie to get the hell off the street. He’d circle around the block, pick her up.