George Pelecanos - Soul Circus

The boy looked up at the lighted sign. “That your business?”

“That’s me. Strange Investigations. I own it. Been in this location over twenty-five years.”

“Dag.”

“What you doin’ out here this time of night all by yourself?”

“My mother went to that market across the street. Said she couldn’t hold my hand crossing Georgia with those market bags in her hand, so I should wait here till she comes back.”

“What’s your name, young man?”

The boy smiled. “They call me Peanut Butter and Jelly, ’cause that’s what I like to eat.”

“Okay.”

“Mister?”

“What?”

“Will you wait with me till my mother comes back? It’s kinda scary out here in the dark.”

Strange said that he would.

AFTER the mother had come, and after Strange had given her a polite but direct talk about leaving her boy out on the street at night, Strange put his key to the front door of his shop. He had a slight hunger and knew that he could find a PayDay bar in Janine’s desk. As he began to fit the key in the lock, he heard the rumble of a high-horse, big American engine, and he turned his head.

A white Coronet 500 with Magnum wheels was rolling down the short block. It pulled over directly in front of the shop and the driver cut its engine. Strange recognized the car. When the driver got out, Strange could see that, indeed, it was that Greek detective who worked for Elaine Clay. As he crossed the sidewalk, Strange could see in the Greek’s waxed eyes that he was up on something. And as he grew nearer, he smelled the alcohol on his breath.

“Nick Stefanos.” He reached out his hand and Strange took it.

“I remember. What you doin’ in my neighborhood, man?”

“I was driving around,” said Stefanos. “You said that if the light-box was on I should stop by.”

“I was just fixin’ to turn it off,” said Strange.

“Too late,” said Stefanos with a stupid grin. “I’m here.”

STRANGE and Stefanos walked to the Dodge, parked under a street lamp. Stefanos leaned against its rear quarter panel and folded his arms.

“I heard the news about Oliver on the radio,” he said. “I guess it’s why I thought of you and took a shot at stopping by.”

“They’ll give him the needle now, up in Indiana.”

“Not just yet. There’s plenty of appeal time left. Anyway, you did what you could.”

“That’s what everyone tells me,” said Strange. “So you were just driving around, huh?”

“Yeah, my girlfriend, woman named Alicia, she’s out with friends. I got itchy hanging around my crib.”

“Smells like you made a few pit stops on your way here,” said Strange. “Thought you were staying away from drinking.”

“I said I was tryin’ to stay out of bars. It’s not the same thing.”

“You fall off that wagon much?”

Stefanos shrugged. They stood there for a while without speaking. Stefanos lit a Marlboro and tossed the match onto the street.

“You sure did stir up the bees down in Southeast,” said Stefanos.

“I guess I did.”

“After Horace McKinley was found in that alley, it started the ball rolling, didn’t it? The ATF got involved and put together a case against that gun dealer, lived over the line in Maryland.”

“Ulysses Foreman. But it wasn’t McKinley’s death that triggered all the activity. It was Durham’s boy Bernard Walker gettin’ arrested for an unrelated murder a month later. The Feds flipped him on Durham and got him to detail the Foreman operation – what he knew about it, anyway. Apparently it was Foreman who blew up McKinley’s shit. They even indicted Foreman’s girlfriend as a coconspirator in the gun trafficking charge. Getting defendants to flip beats good police work every time.”

“I guess I ought to thank you for the job.”

“What job?”

“The Dewayne Durham thing, the whole Six Hundred Crew operation, it’s gonna be a RICO trial now. Elaine Clay was the PD assigned to the case. I’m doing the investigative work for the defense.”

“Congratulations,” said Strange.

“It’s work,” said Stefanos. He reached into the open window of his car, pulled free a pint bottle from under the front seat. “What ever happened with that little problem you had with the authorities?”

“Nothing. No more burglaries, no more threats. Never heard another word after McKinley got chilled.”

“No reason to go after you anymore. They got their verdict.”

“I guess.”

Strange watched him unscrew the top and tip the bottle to his lips. He watched the bubbles rise in the whiskey as Stefanos closed his eyes. The Greek wiped his mouth with the back of his hand when he was done.

“Here you go,” said Stefanos, offering Strange the bottle. “Shake hands with my old granddad.”

“Crazy motherfucker,” said Strange, waving the bottle off.

“Suit yourself,” said Stefanos. He dragged deeply on his cigarette and blew smoke at his feet.

Strange looked him over. “Feel like going for a ride?”

Stefanos said, “What’d you have in mind?”

Strange told him.

“Guess you caught me in the right frame of mind,” said Stefanos.

“You want to take a pee, wash your face or somethin’, before we go? It’s a long drive.”

“No. But let’s pick up a six-pack. I need something cold to go with this bourbon. We can take my ride, you want to.”

“I’ll drive,” said Strange. “You’re half blind.”

THEY drove out of the city via New York Avenue, took the tunnel to 395, and were soon into Virginia and on Route 1. They spoke very little. Strange listened to his tapes, and Stefanos drank and smoked. He seemed to enjoy the wind in his face.

The road became more barren as they drove south.

Forty minutes later, they passed the Marine Corps base at Quantico and continued on.

“Won’t be long now,” said Strange.

“What’s the plan?”

“No plan. Get in quick, burn the motherfucker down, try to get out without getting nailed.”

“Viva la revolution,” said Stefanos.

“I need you as a lookout.”

“But I’m half blind.”

“Funny.”

“I got the matches. Don’t I get to play?”

“Yeah, okay.”

“We gonna wear gloves or something?”

“And ski masks, too. Shit, we get caught, we’re gonna get caught on the site. I ain’t gonna worry about fingerprints or nothin’ else but haulin’ ass out of there. Let’s just do this thing, all right?”

Deep forest lined both sides of the highway. Strange took his foot off the gas pedal and let a car pass on his left. Soon he slowed the Caprice down and swerved off onto the berm, then he made a right onto a gravel drive where Stefanos had seen a cut in the trees. What looked like a house stood alone back off the road. A sign reading “Commonwealth Guns” was strung along a porch holding barred windows. A light in a glass globe mounted beside the door illuminated the porch.

Strange killed the headlights as he drove the car onto the grass and parked alongside the house. The motorcycle was not on the porch.

“Let’s go,” he said.

They got out and went to the trunk. Strange opened it and took out the two cans of gas. A car approached on the highway and he closed the trunk lid, extinguishing its light.

“There’s gonna be cars from time to time goin’ by,” said Strange. “Just keep working fast.”

“You got a rag in there?”

“Yeah.”

“Give it to me. I’ll find a stick to tie it around while you do your thing. After I take care of that porch light. Leave some gas for the torch.”

“Okay, man. Let’s go.”

Stefanos waited for the rag, wrapped it around one hand, then went up to the porch and unscrewed the hot lightbulb inside its shield. Then he moved to the treeline in the nearly total darkness and hand-searched the ground until he found a small branch. He wrapped the rag around the top of the branch and tied it tightly so that it would not slip off.