D stared at me, his eyes searching mine for an answer to whatever question he needed answered. I guess he saw some truth there, because he shrugged and said, “Aw’ight, if dat’s how it is.”
“That’s how it is.”
He gave Wiry an upward nod. Wiry rose from the couch, still rubbing his jaw, and walked toward a short hallway.
“Keep your hands where I can see them,” I told him.
Wiry kept walking.
“Why’d you do it?” I asked D.
“Jus’ bidness,” he answered, his eyes flat.
We waited in the living room, the low bass from the stereo thumping. D still held the videogame controller in his hands.
A few moments later, Wiry emerged from the hallway, both his hands held up at shoulder level. His left was empty. His right held a wad of cash.
“Put it on the table,” I ordered him.
He set it on the table next to an ashtray and an open bottle of malt liquor.
“Count it.”
“It’s all there.”
“Good. Now count it.”
Wiry counted out the hundreds first, reaching forty-five hundred. Then he counted out the last five hundred in twenties. It was all there.
“I told you it was all there.”
“Sit back,” I ordered.
Wiry did as he was told. I reached down and picked up the money, stuffing it into the breast pockets of my flannel. D watched on, his eyes cool and appraising.
When I finished buttoning up the pocket, I motioned to Wiry with the shotgun. “Now go get the dope you ripped.”
“What the fuck?” D demanded.
“You heard me,” I told Wiry. “Get the crank.”
“Dat’s bullshit,” D snapped, his voice a growl. “You got yo’ money back. We even.”
I shook my head. “No. You left them with no dope and no money and that’s how I’m going to leave you. That’s even.”
“Aw, man, dat’s fucked up.”
“That’s the way it is.” I motioned at Wiry with the shotgun. “Go get it.”
Wiry hesitated until D gave him a reluctant nod. Rubbing his jaw, he disappeared down the hallway.
“This isn’t personal,” I told him. “Just business.”
“It’s fucked up.”
I shrugged. “I’m just doing what Paco ordered.”
D’s eyes narrowed. “Dat boy was Paco’s?”
“Yeah.”
“Shit. I din’t know dat. Give him back his money, yo? Den we be cool.”
“I’ve got my orders,” I said. “It’s the money and the product.”
“Dat shit’s unreasonable.”
“That’s what Paco said to do.”
D cursed under his breath.
“Of course,” I said, “his woman didn’t help matters much.”
D cocked his head and regarded me. “How’s dat?”
I shrugged. “She pushed him, is all. Said there was no way Paco could let some stupid niggers get the better of him.”
The change in D’s face was palpable. His eyes widened at the epithet and then narrowed to slits. “Bitch said dat?”
I nodded. “If it was up to her, this would’ve been a hit instead of just a recovery. She said the only way to deal with niggers who didn’t know their place was to put ‘em down, just like a rabid dog.”
D clenched his jaw. “Who you callin’ dog?”
“Her words, not mine. This is just a one time deal for me and I fly back-well, you don’t need to know that part, do you?”
“Don’t care,” D grunted. “My bidness is wit dat motherfucker Paco and his bitch.”
Wiry returned to the living room holding a manila envelope. He extended it toward me.
I shook my head. “On the table.”
Wiry dropped it on the coffee table.
“Sit.”
He obeyed.
I lifted the package and looked inside at the baggie full of yellowish-white powder.
“You tell Paco,” D said, his nostrils flaring, “he wants a war, he got himself a motherfuckin’ war.”
I tucked the package under my free arm. “He said if you niggers don’t play nice, he’d listen to his woman and cap the whole lot of you.”
D’s eyes flashed. He dropped the game controller and jabbed his finger toward me. “You tell him. He a dead motherfucker now. His bitch, too.”
“I’ll tell him,” I said, backing toward the door. “But he said you don’t have the balls.”
“We see about dat shit,” D said.
I backed through the doorway and pulled the door shut behind me. Then I ran like hell.
“Jesus, you got it?”
I drove north, watching for cars that might be tailing us. So far, none.
“How’d you do it?”
“I just did it.”
“Oh, Jesus,” Andy muttered. “I can’t believe it.”
At Franklin Park, I pulled into a parking lot and turned off the car. The motor cooled, ticking.
“Here,” I said, handing Andy the money.
He took it, his eyes brimming with tears. “Thanks, Dad. Thanks.”
“Don’t thank me yet. You remember our deal?”
“Yeah. I gotta get clean.”
“Exactly. And I want you to leave town to do it.”
“Leave town?”
“You’ve got to get away from what you know if you’re going to get clean.”
“But I don’t have any money.”
“I just gave you five grand.”
He blanched. “No, that’s Paco’s money. I can’t-”
“Don’t worry about Paco,” I told him. “Just take the money and go. Today.”
“You don’t understand. He’ll come after me. He’ll-”
“No, he won’t. He’ll leave you alone, because I’m going to see that he gets his dope. Okay?”
Andy’s face filled with surprise. “You took D’s dope, too?”
“I took the dope for Paco, and I took the money for you to get the hell out of River City.”
“What about D? He’ll come after-”
“He thinks the bikers did it,” I lied. “They’ll leave you alone, and they’ll leave Paco alone.”
Andy swallowed. “Jesus.”
“I want you to go someplace warm,” I said. “Stay away from everyone who uses. Get in a program. And send me a postcard.”
He nodded. “Okay. I will.”
I shrugged. “Maybe I’ll come down and join you, wherever it is.”
“Cool.”
We sat for a moment in the truck, silent in our thoughts. I hoped half-heartedly that he’d hug me, but he didn’t.
Finally, I said, “Come on. I’ll take you to the bus station.”
At the bus station, I paid for Andy’s ticket to Phoenix. When I handed it to him, he reached out and clasped my hand in his. We said nothing, but held that handshake for what seemed like forever, until they called for his bus to board.
“Be safe,” I told him.
“I will,” he assured me, then turned and trudged up the bus steps.
I watched while he threaded his way down the aisle past other passengers to find a seat near the rear of the bus. He gave me a nervous wave.
I waved back. “Good luck,” I whispered.
Luck. He’d need some. Odds were good he’d just find someone selling crank at the first stop the bus made and inside of a month, the money would be gone and he’d be worse off.
But at least he had a chance.
Half an hour later, I strolled across the Post Street Bridge on the pedestrian lane. Halfway across, I stopped and looked over the side. The tumbling, white waters of the Looking Glass River flowed a hundred feet below. I thought of how many times I’d driven over this bridge and thrown pot pipes or other minor confiscated items over the side. I thought of the people who jumped over the edge from time to time. I thought about my son, and how he could easily become a part of all of that, a part of things being thrown away and people going over the edge.
I stared down into the roiling waters. My thoughts turned to Maureen and her drug dealer partner. I tried to feel bad for what I’d done and for what was coming to both of them. I knew what it was. I’d seen the rage in D’s eyes when I uttered that magic word. Paco and Maureen were finished.