Dimitri Karras knocked on Donna Morgan’s apartment door. Though she tried to hide it, he caught the flash of disappointment in her eyes when she first saw his face.
“Yeah, it’s just me. Can I come in?”
“Sure. I’m sorry, I thought—”
“I know.”
“Come on, take that wet jacket off.”
Karras had a seat next to Donna on her living-room couch. Small pillows were spread about on the furniture, and lace curtains hung in the windows. A print on the wall depicted turn-of-the-century women wearing long dresses and carrying umbrellas at the beach. The room smelled of hairspray and butted cigarettes.
“Well?”
“I went by where Eddie works. You say he hung dice from the truck’s rearview?”
“Yes.”
“His truck’s there in the lot.”
Donna blinked her eyes. “What about his car?”
“His car’s gone.”
I went to the Dumpster where you said he always parks it. A crescent wrench and a flat-head screwdriver were lying on the asphalt near the empty space.
“What’s it mean, Dimitri?”
Karras shrugged. “He finished work, went back and picked up his car, and took off. That’s what you’ve got to assume. It sure doesn’t suggest that anything’s happened to him.”
But it looks like something did happen to him. Or someone was after him, and he knew it. Like he was in a hurry, or got in a scuffle, dropped his tools, and left them there.
“He would’ve called me if he wasn’t coming tonight.”
“You’ve said that already. Okay, so he wasn’t a good Boy Scout and didn’t check in. That doesn’t mean there’s something wrong.”
“I was thinking maybe we ought to call the cops.”
“And tell them what, that Eddie ripped off a drug dealer? You ready to get him thrown in jail on top of everything else? For all you know, Eddie’s out celebrating right now, or shopping for something special, you know, to bring home.”
“I’m worried, Dimitri.”
“I know you are. And I don’t mean to make light of it.”
Yes, I do. I can make you laugh, and maybe forget. Whip out this C, get you high. I’m not good for much, but I can do that.
Karras looked down at Donna’s wrist. “Hey, kiddo, you aware you got two watches on?”
Donna nodded. “I was trying one on for a customer, and I walked out with it on when my shift was done.”
“Got two, in case you’re crossing time zones and all that.”
“I’m such a world traveler.” Donna looked at her wrist. “Jesus, you wouldn’t believe it; people are going crazy over these things.”
“That’s what you do at Hecht’s? Sell plastic watches? You makin’ a career out of that?”
Donna laughed. “Yeah, I’m the Swatch queen.”
“C’mere.”
Karras put his arms around her and gave her a hug, kissing the top of her head. He felt himself grow hard as her breasts crushed against his chest. It annoyed him, that his body would betray him when for once he was only trying to be a good guy. He broke away and sat back. He ran his hand through his hair.
Donna grinned. “I felt that, you know.”
“Ah, Christ.”
“You tried, Dimitri. But you’re just not the big brother type.” She kissed him on the cheek. “You’ll stay here, though, right? Until Eddie calls?”
I don’t think he’s gonna call, thought Karras.
“Sure, Donna,” said Karras. “I’ll stay.”
Short Man Monroe, Jumbo Linney, and Chink Bennet stood under the narrow awning out front of Real Right Records on U, the Supra idling at the curb. Monroe rubbed the rest of his cocaine on his gums and dropped the empty paper to the sidewalk.
“He closed, Short,” said Linney.
“I can see that, man. But maybe he forgot somethin’. Maybe he needs to do some of that paperwork, and he’s on his way back.”
“Maybe not,” said Bennet.
“Need to fuck somebody up tonight,” said Monroe, punching a fist into his palm. “Feel like bustin’ somebody good.”
“We oughtta get on back to Tyrell’s,” said Bennet.
Short said, “We got time.” He looked across the street and narrowed his eyes. “Hey, now. See what happens when you wait?”
“Who’s that?”
Monroe smiled. “Calls himself T. And his protector, Vietnam, ain’t around right now.”
The kid in the Raiders jacket had come around the corner. He froze for a moment, seeing Monroe in front of Real Right. He turned and ran.
“Let’s go,” said Monroe.
Monroe got behind the wheel of the Supra. He waited for Bennet to scamper over the backseat and for Linney to fold his big self into the passenger side. Monroe slammed the shifter into first, took off. He got around the construction equipment in the middle of U and kicked it south on 12th.
“There he is,” said Monroe, pointing at Anthony Taylor, blowing down the sidewalk on foot.
“Haw, shit,” said Bennet, nervous and stoked. He began to giggle.
Monroe jumped the curb and got the Supra up on the sidewalk. Anthony was full in the headlights now, the rain falling around him like a net. Anthony looked over his shoulder, his eyes and mouth open wide.
“He movin’,” said Bennet.
Monroe downshifted, punched the gas.
“Easy, Short,” said Linney. “You don’t want to kill his ass.”
“I don’t?”
Anthony dove right, rolled between two cars parked at the curb, came up on his feet and reached the west sidewalk, beat it toward T.
“Dag, boy,” said Bennet. “Nigga can go.”
Monroe got the Supra back on the street. He pinned the pedal, skidded into a right at T Street, and came to a stop. The Taylor kid was nowhere in sight.
“Where is he?” said Linney.
“Forget about him,” said Monroe. “Look.”
Monroe pointed to the head of the alley on T, where three boys stood. Even through the wipers working the windshield, Jumbo Linney could see that one of them had a normal build and one was skinny as a Biafra child. The third wore a bright green cap.
Monroe laughed, working the gas against the clutch.
“Now,” said Monroe, “we gonna play for real.”
Anthony Taylor heard the Supra scream by. He waited for the sound to subside and crawled out from underneath the car where he had pinned himself to the ground.
He ran.
He ran as hard as he’d ever run, cutting right on 13th, crossing U, going up the hill between Cardoza and Clifton Terrace without breaking stride. He heard boys yelling at him and laughing as he ran. There were ghosts chasing him, the dead, fire, snakes, rats, everything pale and ugly that slept beneath his bed, and every sharp-toothed, rotted thing that had ever waited in the dark corners of the basement of his granmom’s house. They were all chasing him now, and he wasn’t going to stop, because they had all come out tonight and they were all behind him and close, so close he could feel their stinking, hot breath raising the hairs on the back of his neck.
He heard the crack of a gunshot echo up from the south.
He pounded on the front door of his grandmother’s house. She let him in, openmouthed. He brushed by her and ran up the stairs to his room. He took his mother’s letter off the dresser and crumpled it in his fist. He fell forward on the bed.
Anthony heard another gunshot.
“God please, God please.”
He slammed his hands over his ears and shut his eyes.