“And?”
“I kept the promise.” Karras ran his thumb along the thin scar that creased his forehead, thinking of his son. He smiled at the memory, looking into the channel’s brown waters.
“You still think you lied to Jimmy about God?” asked Stefanos. “I don’t know anymore. There are days when I’m certain that there is no God. And then I’ll have a day, every now and again, when I think it might be possible. That makes me like most men, I guess. Which is where I’ve been trying to get back to all along.” Karras frowned. “The question is, after what I did in the warehouse — after what you’ve done yourself — does God even care to save men like us?”
“I don’t know,” said Stefanos. “We’ll find out soon enough, I guess.”
Stefanos smoked a cigarette while the two of them looked across the channel.
“They used to call this ‘the speedway,’ ” said Stefanos. “You remember that?”
“I know everything about this place,” said Karras, pointing to the middle of the channel. “My mother told me that my father learned to swim out there on a day just like this, when he was a kid back in the Depression.”
“And my grandfather would bring me fishing down here when I was a little boy.”
“Lotta history.”
“Yes.”
Karras nodded to the restaurants behind the marina on the opposite shore. “Feel like grabbing a beer or something?”
“I don’t think so,” said Stefanos. “How about we just take a walk instead.”
Stefanos pushed away from the railing and headed down the concrete path, Karras at his side. They walked unhurriedly along the speedway, as those who had come before them had done so many times.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
I’d like to express my appreciation to the staffs of the District of Columbia and Montgomery County library systems, who provided assistance in the research for this novel. Thanks to Sloan Harris and Alicia Gordon for their friendship and guidance; my longtime editor, Michael Pietsch, for his friendship, instincts, and smarts; and everyone down the line at Little, Brown for their general kindness. My wife, Emily, and my children, Nick, Pete, and Rosa, continue to be unselfish in sharing me with my work, and for that, and for everything else, I can only say, I love you very much. Finally, a special nod to Joe Aronstamn, who lives it every day.
George Pelecanos, Shame the Devil
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