And Donna thought of Marcus Clay. If Marcus had seen something like that, what would he have done? Donna was certain he would have told his best friend right away.
“So,” said Donna, “Marcus just got around to mentioning it to you today, huh?”
“That’s right.”
“Why?”
“He wasn’t sure until today, I guess. Or maybe he forgot in all that confusion. Hell, Donna, I don’t know.”
You know. He told you yesterday, Mr. Karras. You knew I wouldn’t have hung with you last night if I had any idea that Eddie was in trouble. You wanted to fuck me first before you cut me loose.
“I want to go home, Dimitri.”
“I’ll drop you right after I check in on Arlington.”
“I need cigarettes.”
“There’s a Seven-Eleven next to the store.”
The lighter popped out. Donna touched the hot end to her cigarette and coughed out her first drag of the day. She looked at Karras full on, no longer embarrassed at her appearance.
Karras cracked the window and relaxed. He’d been silent until they hit Virginia, debating on whether or not to give her the news. He was glad now that he’d gotten it over with. He thought he came off pretty well.
A guy who called himself Dutch ran the Arlington store on Wilson Boulevard. Dutch was one of those names that conjured up barrel-chested beer-drinker types, but Arlington’s Dutch was a skinny dude with a strange beanie-top haircut and two hoop earrings in his left lobe. He favored frilly New Romantic shirts à la Adam Ant, worn out over black jeans. There had been a couple of customer complaints about his aloof manner, and those complaints plus his usual appearance put him in the negative column with Marcus Clay. But he showed up six days a week, didn’t steal, and managed to hit his numbers every month. Karras thought Dutch was pretty good.
Dutch loved electropop and liked to play it in the store. Clay wanted the managers to play the albums in the current top ten, which naturally were inventoried heavily, but the managers rarely complied, except on those occasions when they had been warned by the other managers that Karras and Clay were making the rounds.
Dutch hadn’t been warned, and by the time he saw Karras pushing on the front door it was too late. Dutch had his favorite Talk Talk album, It’s My Life, on the platter, and he had the volume turned way up.
“Dutchman,” said Karras.
“Busted,” said Dutch, who shrugged and threw Karras a sheepish smile.
“That’s okay.” Karras liked this album, though he’d never tell Dutch. “Just turn it down some, huh? My head can’t deal with it today.”
Dutch had a look at Karras before turning down the volume on the house receiver. Karras’s shoulders were sagging, and he looked like he’d lost a little weight. Dutch, who listened to druggy music but didn’t do drugs himself, figured that Karras had a problem with blow. Blow and women, if you could call the latter a problem. That was the rumor around the company, anyway.
Dutch said, “Got some coffee in the back.”
Karras said, “Thanks.”
Karras walked into the back room. The place had been a hardware store up until six months ago, and the office area still smelled of fertilizer and cedar. Dutch’s assistant manager, a girl named Lori, was sitting at Dutch’s desk smoking a cigarette.
“Hey, Dimitri.”
“Lori. Don’t get up.”
Karras tried to smile but couldn’t raise the effort. He’d done Lori one night in this very room after an in-store appearance by the Wygals. Looking at Janet Wygal all evening had made him horny, and one thing had led to the last thing, which was Lori bent over a stack of cartons by the back door.
Lori was looking at him now with something close to pity.
“What, I’ve got something in my teeth?”
“You don’t mind my saying so, Dimitri, you’re lookin’ a little rough today, even for you.”
“Late night,” he mumbled, or something equally meaningless, as he poured bathtub-warm coffee into a Styrofoam cup. He drank half of it quickly, rushing the liquid past his taste buds and down his throat, then dialed the number for the Georgetown store.
“Scott,” said Karras.
“It is me,” said Scott, the store manager. Through the phone Karras could hear the new Pet Shop Boys, “West End Girls,” playing in the store.
“Any action over there?”
“The suburban children seem to be descending on G-town right on schedule.”
“Good. I’ll swing by later, okay?”
“We’ll be waiting.”
Karras hung up, finished the coffee, dropped the cup in the trash. Lori smashed out her cigarette and followed him out to the floor.
“Get the new Simple Minds and the new Hooters to the front racks, Lori.”
“Yes, boss.”
“And put some of those Windham Hills—”
“Oh, shit, those euthanasia records?”
“I know. Don’t ask me why, but the yups are buying them. What’s the name of that popular one?”
“A Winter Snoozefest.”
“Put a bunch of those up front.”
“You got it.”
Karras went behind the counter, where Dutch was adjusting the volume on a new record. Karras speed-dialed Marcus at U, got him on the third ring.
“Marcus.”
“Mitri.”
“I’m in Northern Virginia.”
“Any action?”
“Not yet.”
“What’s that I hear playin’? The Doublemint Twins?”
“No, it’s not the Thompson Twins. I believe it’s the Blue Nile. A Walk Across the Rooftops.”
“I don’t care what it is. But maybe you could tell Dutch, if he ain’t circlin’ around in the sky right now waitin’ for permission to land and shit, that what I want played in the store is what we got numbers on, hear?”
“Sure, I’ll tell him.”
“Good. I’m gonna see you later?”
“Yeah. I’ve gotta drop Donna off, then I’ll be down.”
“Got the Hoyas comin’ on in a few.”
“I’ll be there, Marcus. Later.” Karras hung up the phone.
“What did Marcus have to say?” asked Dutch.
“Nothin’ much,” said Karras. “Told you two to have a good day. Be fruitful and multiply, all that.”
Karras waved to Lori and Dutch, went out the front door to the lot, got into his Beamer. Dutch had seen a woman in what looked like last night’s clothes walk from the 7-Eleven to Karras’s car.
“You see the girl he was with?” said Lori.
“I saw her.”
“Party girl,” said Lori, thinking immediately of that Costello song she liked so much. “Anyway, that’s his business. If that’s what he likes...”
Dutch, who had not yet decided if he was into women or men, or basically disinterested, said, “I guess.”
Lori watched Karras pull out of his space. She’d had fun with him that night in the back, but she’d never expected anything more. Not from Karras, anyway.
Lori had met this guy a month ago at the 9353 show down at D.C. Space. A gentle guy, computer programmer, into music, treated her with respect. Thoughtful and really nice. That was the kind of guy Lori was into now.
Karras took the off-ramp from 495 onto Georgia Avenue north.
“What’re you gonna do about Eddie?” he said.
“What do you mean?” said Donna.
“I mean the money. Somebody besides Marcus must have seen him take that money. It’s going to get back to the ones that kid ran with. Or it’s going to get to the cops. It’s bad either way.”