Джордж Пелеканос: King Suckerman

“Can’t be all that smart, talkin’ to a man like you.”

Cooper laughed. He stopped laughing and said, “Clarenze?”

“What.”

“Just don’t want any misunderstanding here. If this is some kind of setup—”

“It ain’t no setup.”

“If it is . I’m gonna pay a visit to your little girl — or someone I know will — and believe me, we gonna party down.”

“Nine-thirty tonight,” said Tate. “The fireworks’ll be gettin’ off by then.”

“Nine-thirty,” said Cooper. “Tell Trouble Man I’ll be there.”

Cooper racked the receiver. He went over to the bed and shook Clagget’s bony shoulder.

“B.R. B.R., wake up.”

Clagget rolled over on his back, exhaled slowly, opened his eyes. His breath was sour and held the promise of death.

“What, Wilton?”

“Rise and shine, little brother. We goin’ out.”

“Marcus.”

“Yeah.”

“It’s Clarence Tate.”

Clay put his hand over the phone, looked toward the bathroom where Elaine was showering. The bathroom door was ajar, and Clay lowered his voice.

“Talk about it.”

“I set it up,” said Tate. “They’ll be on the roof of Meridian at nine-thirty. If they’re smart, they’ll be there sooner, and if you’re smart you’ll be there sooner than that.”

“I hear you. Anything I need to know?”

“Like I told you before, the white boy is sick with something. Weak. That’s Cooper’s Mary, so I figure Cooper will stick with him. Most likely the two of them will use the elevator, then take the stairs the rest of the way. The elevator’s slow—”

“You told me.”

“All right. Take some chain cutters. They got the door to the roof padlocked.”

“Okay. Anything else?”

“He talked about my daughter again on the phone.”

“Relax.”

“Kill him,” said Tate.

“That’s the idea.”

“And after you kill him, kill him again.”

“Better get ahold of your shit, Clarence.”

“I can’t help it, man. I want that devil out of my world.”

Clay said, “I’m gonna do the best I can.”

The shower stopped running. Clay hung up the phone. Elaine came from the bathroom wrapped in a towel. Clay stared at her as she went and stood before her mirror, rubbing lotion on her arms. She saw him in the reflection, his eyes still on her, and she turned to face him.

“What’s wrong with you, Marcus?”

“Nothing, baby,” said Clay, trying to smile. “You’re just so goddamn beautiful, that’s all.”

Dimitri Karras felt strange, sitting in his favorite chair. Over the years, the seat cushion had conformed to his body, but this evening it was hard for him to find comfort there. The room was hot, and there was too much noise coming up from the street.

He moved to the couch, cleaned some pot in the overturned top of a shoe box, filled the bowl of the bong. He lit a match but did not put fire to the weed. He watched the flame burn down until it reached his fingers, blew the match out. He studied the smoke rising off the match.

Karras leaned back and closed his eyes.

On those occasions when he was looking for answers, Karras thought that it would be especially nice to have a father. If he had a father, he could take a walk with his father now, ask him about choices, direction, the steps you had to take to become a man. But Karras had no father. And Marcus, he had never had a father. It was another thing the two of them shared. Another reason, he supposed, that the two of them had gotten to be friends, and stayed friends. Why they had always stuck together, looked out for each other, too.

Behind his closed eyes, Karras pictured Marcus, standing alone.

The picture changed. Now he saw his mother, leaning against the sink, her arms folded, the bird building its nest behind her outside the kitchen window. Wilton Cooper was in the kitchen, too. He was smiling, and he was walking toward her. His shadow crawled up her chest and blackened her housedress as he approached.

Karras felt his heart thump in his chest. He tried to make the images of Marcus and his mother go away, but they would not.

When he opened his eyes the living room had darkened, and the sky outside the window had gone to slate.

Dimitri Karras went to take a shower, because that was what a man did before he dressed to leave the house.

“Where you going with that tool, Marcus?”

“Out.”

Clay walked toward the front door with a set of chain cutters in his hand. Elaine was on his heels, crossing the room swiftly. He had tried to avoid her for the last half hour, but now her anger had boiled up to where he just had to go ahead and walk. He decided not to answer her rather than lie.

“Why are you being so evasive? You got something going on with Dimitri, is that it?”

Clay stopped at the door. “Look. I told you, I’m going out. That’s all I got to say.”

Elaine stood a few feet away, her arms folded across her chest. “Listen to me, Marcus. You and me made a promise to be together on everything from here on in, and for a long, long time. I want a future with you. I want to have your babies—”

“That’s what I want, too.”

“And now you’re walkin’ out of here all mysterious, with some kind of purpose in your step, you can’t even tell me where it is you’re off to. I’m no fool, Marcus; don’t go treating me like one. This has something to do with Rasheed’s death, doesn’t it? You’re on some kind of revenge trip, isn’t that right?”

“Not revenge.” Clay put his hand on Elaine’s arm. “Look, baby...”

Elaine pulled her arm out of Clay’s grasp. “Don’t ‘baby’ me. Don’t you soft talk me. You’re gonna stand there and disrespect me like that, not even give me a chance to plead my case? Look at me, Marcus!”

“I am.”

“You’re never going to get as fine a woman as the one standing before you right now. I swear to you, Marcus, you go out this door like this, I am not gonna be here when you come back.”

“I love you, Elaine,” said Clay. “You know I do. And I want all the things you want, for the both of us. That’s what I’ve been workin’ so hard for, and that’s what I’m gonna keep workin’ for, hear? Now, whatever you decide to do, that’s up to you. But I’ve got to go now.”

“Marcus—”

“Don’t say nothin’, baby. I’ve got to go.”

He left the house, closed the door behind him. At the bottom of the steps he turned and looked at the light in the second-story window. He went to the Riviera, opened the door, and dropped the chain cutters behind the front seat.

Clay turned the ignition key, pulled out of his space. He drove down to Newton, hung a right. Coming out of the turn, he saw a white man with shoulder-length black hair and a black handlebar mustache, leaning against a small car. Clay slowed the Riviera to a stop, put his head out the window.

“Hey,” said Clay.

“Hey.”

“Come to say good-bye?”

“Comin’ with you.”

“Decided to step up, huh?”

“That’s right. Cooper made a play on my mother. And there’s no way, Marcus...”

“What?”

“There’s no way I’m lettin’ you go up against him alone.”

Clay eyes softened. There was pride there, and admiration, too. It had been a long time since Karras had seen Clay look at him like that.

“Well,” said Clay, “get in.”

“We takin’ your ride?”

Clay nodded. “We’re gonna take a real car tonight. Besides, tall as you’re lookin’ right now, you’d have trouble squeezing into that toy of yours.”

Karras walked around to the passenger door, dropped into the shotgun bucket. He looked across the seat at Clay.