“Girl, sit your ass back down.”
He looked over the girl’s shoulder and saw the chain hanging free on the front door. He said, “What the fuck?” just as he felt the presence of someone behind him and turned.
What he saw in that last second was a man with size, and McKinley reached for his gun. He had his hand on the grip when something whipped up toward him fast, a blur of flat black. When the flat black thing hit him under the chin, the pain was cold electric and the room spun crazy. His feet weren’t holding him up, and he was floating, could almost see himself, like a balloon in one of those parades. The spinning room was the last thing he saw as his world shut down.
WHEN McKinley opened his eyes and his vision cleared, there were a couple of men in the room with the girl, all of them standing over him, talking about him like he wasn’t there. It was Strange and the white boy, the one he’d chased down the alley. McKinley burped and smelled the garlic and meat on his own breath.
“Look who woke up,” said Quinn.
“Told you he was all right,” said Strange.
McKinley was propped up against the plaster wall. His hands were together behind his back, and he moved to separate them. They were tied. He went to move his feet, and they were tied, too. McKinley turned his head to the side and spit out some blood. He rolled his tongue in his mouth. His teeth ached and one of the side ones he chewed with was loose. It was just kind of sitting in there, connected by threads. He could move it all around with his tongue.
Strange had fucked him up. That thing in his hand, looked like a sap, it must have been what he’d hit him with. He was slipping it into his back pocket now. And there was his own new Sig sticking out the waistband of the man’s pants. This man has no idea what I can do to him, thought McKinley. None. But the thinking made him tired, and he closed his eyes.
“He’s going out again,” said Quinn.
“He’s just resting,” said Strange.
“What now?”
“We make a trade.”
Strange took McKinley’s cell phone off his belt holster, getting down in front of him. He grabbed McKinley by the chin in the spot where he had laid the sap up into him. It opened McKinley’s eyes.
“That doesn’t smart too much, does it?” said Strange.
“Motherfucker,” said McKinley sloppily.
“Mind your language,” said Strange. “What’s your boy’s cell number?”
“His name is Mike,” said Devra, her arms crossed with her purse clutched tight, looking down hard at McKinley.
McKinley gave Strange the number and Strange had him repeat it, knowing it hurt McKinley to talk. He punched the number into the cell.
“He gets on the line,” said Strange, holding the phone to McKinley’s ear, “I want you to tell him to bring the boy here. Tell him the condition you’re in, and how important it is that he not even dream about doin’ anybody any violence. Because you will be the first one to suffer. Do you understand?”
McKinley nodded. He listened to the phone and said, “Mike ain’t pickin’ up.”
“Leave a message when it tells you to. We’ll try again.”
They did, with the same response. And tried again, ten minutes later. McKinley left his third message, and Strange stood.
“Get her out of here,” said Strange to Quinn. “Take her back to her apartment. I’ll be in contact with you by phone. We’ll meet up in a little while.”
“What are you gonna do?”
“Talk to our friend here alone,” said Strange. “We got a few things to discuss in private.”
Devra Stokes spit on McKinley on her way out. Neither Strange nor Quinn moved to stop her.
AFTER Quinn and Devra left, Strange shut down most of the lights in the house and returned to the living room. On the floor was a lamp with no shade, holding a naked bulb, and he picked it up and carried it over to McKinley. He placed it beside him and left it on. The bulb threw off heat, and its glow highlighted the bullets of sweat on McKinley’s forehead and the tracks of it moving down his face.
Strange got back down on his haunches and pulled up McKinley’s wife-beater, exposing his chest and belly.
“What you doin’?”
Strange drew his Buck knife from its sheath. He held it upside down and pressed the heavy wood-and-bronze hilt against the blackened area of McKinley’s jawline. McKinley recoiled as if shocked.
“That hurts, I expect,” said Strange. He moved to press the spot again but did not make the contact. “What’s your partner Mike’s full name?”
“Montgomery.”
“And where’s he stay at?”
McKinley gave him the address. Strange asked him to repeat it so he could remember, and McKinley complied.
Strange rested one knee on McKinley’s thigh and put his weight there. He touched the edge of the blade to the area below the nipple of McKinley’s right breast.
“You got titties like a woman,” said Strange. “You know that?”
“Man, what the fuck you doin’?” said McKinley in a desperate way.
Strange moved the knife so that the blade now rested with its edge above the purple aureole of McKinley’s nipple.
“You put your hands on that girl, right about where I’m touchin’ this blade. Didn’t you, boy?”
“I didn’t mean to hurt her. I didn’t cut her, man.”
“You like the way this feels, Horace?”
“Don’t.”
“You tellin’ me?”
“Goddamn, don’t be cuttin’ on me with that knife.”
“You gonna leave the girl alone, right?”
McKinley nodded.
“The boy, too.”
“Both of ’em, man.”
“’Cause I don’t want you gettin’ near her at all. Her or her son, you understand?”
“I hear you, Strange. We good, right?”
Blood splashed onto Strange’s hand as he sliced into McKinley’s flesh, sweeping the knife savagely across his breast.
McKinley bucked and screamed. The tendons stood out on his neck as he writhed from the pain. The scream became a sob that McKinley could not stop. Strange found it odd to hear a big man cry so free.
“Now we’re good,” said Strange, wiping the Buck off on McKinley’s shirt and sheathing it. “You just sit there and try to relax.”
STRANGE moved the lamp as close as it would get to McKinley. The heat from the bulb, he guessed, was now hot on his face. Strange then dragged a chair over and set it before the fat man. He had a seat.
McKinley had stopped sobbing. His breathing had subsided to a steady wheeze. The dirty flap of nipple, nearly severed and dangling off McKinley’s chest, had begun to turn from purple to black. The blood had stopped flowing from the cut Strange had made.
“What now?” said McKinley, elbowing the lamp away from him as best he could. “Ain’t you done enough?”
Strange drew the Sig from his waistband. He pointed it at McKinley’s face and moved his finger inside the trigger guard. McKinley’s lip trembled as he closed his eyes.
Strange lowered the gun. He turned it and released its magazine, letting it slide out into his palm. He checked to make sure a round had not been chambered.
“Just wanted you to experience what you put that girl through,” said Strange. “That kind of helplessness.”
“Fuck you, man.”
“I’ll just keep this.” Strange stood, the magazine in his hand. “You can have the rest.”
He dropped the body of the .45 onto McKinley’s lap. McKinley was cut, bleeding, and beaten. Worst of all, a piece of his manhood was forever gone. McKinley was past being frightened now. One eye twitched, and a thread of pink spittle dripped from his mouth.
“What makes me so different?” he said.
“What’s that?”
“You out here trying to save Granville Oliver, and at the same time lookin’ to harm me? Shit, him and me, we’re damn near the same man. He ain’t no better or different than me. I worke
d for him when I was a kid.”
“I know it,” said Strange. He had been thinking the same thing himself, trying to separate it out in his mind.
“So why?”
“Cops, private cops, whatever, they got this saying, when one of y’all kills another one like you: It’s the cost of doing business. What it means is, you got your world you made, and we’re in it, too. And no one outside that world is gonna shed tears when you go. But it’s an unspoken rule that you don’t turn that violent shit on people you got no cause to fuck with.” Strange slipped the magazine into a pocket of his jeans. “You shouldn’t have done what you did to that girl.”
“What, you don’t think Granville’s ever done the same?”
“I don’t know for sure,” said Strange. “But he’s never done it to anyone I knew.”
McKinley looked down at the body of the Sig lying in his lap, then back up at Strange. “Why didn’t you kill me? I’d a killed you.”
“I’m not you,” said Strange. “And anyway, ain’t enough left of you to kill. You’re through.”
“You don’t know nothin’, Strange,” said McKinley, grimacing horribly, showing his bloody teeth. “You the one’s through. One phone call from me is all it’s gonna take. You and everyone you know, all a y’all gonna be under the eye. You gonna lose everything, Strange. Your license, your business, your family. Everything.” McKinley tried to smile. “You the one’s through.”
The fat man’s threats rippled through him. Strange stared at him but said nothing more. He redrew his knife, bent down, and cut the bindings on McKinley’s feet. Then he severed the ropes that held his wrists. McKinley brought his arms around and dropped his hands at his sides.
Strange walked from the house.
MCKINLEY found his cell on the floor. He grunted and got himself up on his feet. He went around the house turning lights on as he dialed Mike Montgomery’s number. But he only got the message service again. He hit “end” and dialed the number for Ulysses Foreman.
“Yeah.”
“McKinley here.”
“What’s goin’ on, dawg?”
“I need you out here to my place on Yuma. Bring that extra magazine for the Sig with you, man. I lost the one you sold me. I’m alone right now; I’m not even strapped.”
“I can get it to you tomorrow. Or you can send someone out here—”
“I wanted it tomorrow I would have called you tomorrow. Now, you gonna damage our business relationship over this?”
“You got no call to take a tone with me.”
“Just bring it, hear? Or maybe your woman would like to bring it out herself.”
McKinley listened to dry air. Foreman’s voice, when it returned, was strangely calm.
“Ain’t no need for you to bring my woman into this, big man.”
“You gonna bring it?”
“Yeah, I’ll come out.”
“And stop by the CVS store for some gauze, and that surgical tape stuff, too. I’ll get you for it later.”
“You have an accident?” Foreman’s tone was almost pleasant.
“Never mind what I had,” said McKinley. “I expect to see you soon.”
McKinley cleaned his chest up over the sink. The cut started to bleed again, and he pressed a rag to it to make it stop. While he held it there, he tried Mike Montgomery again.
“Goddamn you, Monkey,” said McKinley when he got the recording. “Where the fuck you at?”
ULYSSES Foreman got his leather shoulder holsters from out of the closet and put them on. He found his 9mm Colt with the bonded ivory grips, checked the load, and slipped it into the left holster. From the nightstand he withdrew Ashley’s .357 LadySmith revolver holding jacketed rounds. He holstered the LadySmith on the right. He stood in front of the bedroom’s full-length mirror and cross-drew both guns. He holstered the weapons and repeated the action. The revolver was a little light.
Foreman got into a leather jacket. It was warm for any kind of coat, but necessary to wear one in order to conceal the guns. In the basement he found the Sig’s extra magazine and put it into a pocket of his leather. He clipped his cell to his side, got a few cigars out of the humidor, and a cold beer out of the refrigerator, and went outside to the back deck. He lit a cigar, drank off some of his beer, and looked up into the sky. It was a clear night, with most of a moon out and a whole burst of stars.
Foreman phoned Ashley Swann on her cell. She answered on the third ring.
“I’ve been waiting for you to call,” she said.
“Told you I would,” said Foreman. “Wanted to get up with you, ’cause I got to go out and do some business for a while.”
“Everything all right?”
“Fine,” he said, closing his eyes. “Tell me where you’re at.”
“I’m out beside the soybean field. My daddy hasn’t cut the grass yet. It’s tickling my toes, long as it is. It’s wet from the dew.”
Foreman tried to imagine her then. In his mind she had on that pair of salmon-colored pajamas and she was barefoot, holding a glass of chardonnay in one hand, holding a Viceroy with the other. Smiling ’cause she was speaking to her man. Standing under the same moon and stars he was standing under right now. Not beautiful like a model or nothin’ like it, but his. And he was smiling now, too.
“I love you, baby,” said Foreman.
She chuckled. “That wasn’t so hard now, was it?”
“No,” said Foreman. “Wasn’t hard at all.”
“Can you come down here? Daddy would like to see you.”
“I will,” said Foreman. But even to his own ears his voice sounded unsure.
“Tell me you love me again, Ulee.”
He told her so, and ended the call. He stood there for as long as he felt he could, thinking of all he had and what he’d do to keep it. Smoking, drinking, and admiring the sky.
WHEN Strange had cleared out of the immediate neighborhood, he pulled the Caprice over to the curb and phoned Quinn.
“Terry, it’s Derek. You at Devra’s place?”
“I am.”
“I got Montgomery’s address. I don’t know how we’re gonna handle this—”
“Derek, it’s all right.”
“What is?”
“Mike Montgomery’s right here, in Devra’s apartment. So’s the boy. Everything’s all right.”
Strange felt his grip loosen on the wheel. “I’ll be right over. Don’t let Montgomery go nowhere, hear?”
“Figured you’d want to talk to him,” said Quinn. “We’re waitin’ on you now.”
chapter 31
QUINN met Strange at the door and let him into the apartment. Quinn was smiling and so was Devra, the boy at her side. He was holding on to the tail of her shirt and did not let go of it when she moved to embrace Strange.
“Thank you,” she said. “You okay?”
“I’m real good now,” said Strange. “We alone here?”
“My roommate hasn’t been home for a couple of days. She’s been layin’ up with her boyfriend ever since I told her I don’t want that man burning smoke in front of my son.”
“Montgomery’s in the kitchen,” said Quinn. “Devra hooked him up with a soda.”
“What happened?” said Strange.
“Montgomery said he took Juwan to his place, but the boy couldn’t stop crying. Montgomery figured, he brought the boy back here, he could pick up some of his toys, might make him feel better.”
“He could have bought the boy some toys at a store,” said Strange.
“True,” said Quinn.
“How’d they get in?”
“Lady across the hall, a Mrs. Roberts, has a key. Devra reminded Juwan of that before they got split up.”
“Smart boy,” said Strange, and Juwan smiled.
“I’ve been getting our things together,” said Devra.
“Good,” said Strange. “I’m gonna call my wife, have her get a bed ready in our guest room and a sleeping bag for the boy. You can stay with us for a few da
ys until Ray Ives figures out a better arrangement. You’ll like Janine, and she’ll like having a woman around for a change. I got my stepson, Lionel, he’s kid-friendly, too. And a dog. You into dogs, Juwan?”
“Will he bite me?”
“Nah, old Greco’s a boxer. Boxers love kids.”
“I’ll just finish packing up,” said Devra.
Quinn and Strange watched her walk down a hall, Juwan holding her shirttail tight.
“Let’s go talk to Montgomery.”
“Don’t be too hard on him,” said Quinn. “He doesn’t want to admit it, all that bullshit about picking up some toys here. He was bringing the kid back. He did a good thing.”
“I know,” said Strange. “I want to thank him, is all.”
Quinn looked at the dried drops of blood on Strange’s shirt and the blood still on his hand.
“You cut yourself?”
“Not my self, no.”
“You come down here, get all violent on people, Derek, it’s gonna be bad for business.”
“Come on, man, let’s go.”
Mike Montgomery was in the kitchen sitting at a small table, leaning back, his long hand around a can of Coke. Strange said, “Mike,” and extended his hand, but Montgomery did not move to take it, and Strange had a seat. Quinn leaned against the counter.
“I just wanted to tell you,” said Strange, “you did a real good thing tonight.”
Montgomery nodded but did not meet Strange’s eyes.
“You like kids, don’t you, Mike?”
Montgomery shrugged.
“How about football, you into that?”
Montgomery swigged from the Coke can and set it back down on the table.
“I got a football team for young men, just getting close to their teens. I could use a guy like you to help me out.”
“Shit,” said Montgomery, shaking his head, smiling but without joy. “I don’t think so, man.”
“Okay, you’re tough,” said Strange. “But you don’t have to be so tough all the time.”
“What else I’m gonna be?” said Montgomery, now looking at Strange. He wore his scowl, but it was a mask. His eyes told Strange that he could be, was, someone else.