“George Dozier? What’s this got to do with George?”
“Just put it in his hands. That’s all I’m askin’. You’ll do that for me, right?”
Clay and Murphy locked eyes.
“Thanks, Marcus.”
“Ain’t no thing.”
“I best be goin’,” said Murphy.
“Kevin,” said Clay.
But Murphy turned and left the store. They watched him pass beneath a streetlamp. They heard the Trans Am’s engine come to life.
“Kind of hard on him, weren’t you?”
“Yes, I was.”
Karras opened the last two Heinekens and put one in Clay’s hand.
“Cheers, Marcus.”
“Cheers?” said Clay. “Right.”
Karras did some paperwork in the office while Clay paced around the store, moving records from one bin to another and back again. When Clay could stand that no longer, he went to the back room and dropped the letter on the desk in front of Karras.
“Can’t stop thinkin’ about Murphy, Dimitri.”
“I hear you. I been workin’ on the same purchase order and not gettin’ anywhere for the last half hour.” Karras rested his pen on the desk. “What do you think’s gonna happen to him?”
“You heard the man. He went to make his peace.”
“With a gun?”
“That’s one way.”
“Ah, shit.” Karras ran a hand through his hair. “Look, you know where he’s goin’, right?”
“Yeah. Your boy McGinnes gave me Tyrell’s address. Got it written down here somewhere.”
“Call George, Marcus.”
“Mitri, I don’t even know what’s in that letter.”
“Read it, then.”
“That letter’s sealed, man.”
Karras picked up the envelope and tore it open. “Here.”
Clay unfolded the letter. Karras watched his face as he read it.
“Come on, Marcus, what’s it say?”
“It’s a confession. Murphy implicates himself and Tutt as willing employees of Tyrell’s drug operation. Puts the finger on Short Man for the murder of Wesley Meadows and James Willets.”
“What’re you gonna do?”
Clay looked up. “Guess I’m gonna have to go ahead and break my word.”
Clay picked up the phone and dialed. Karras listened to him tell George Dozier about a couple of rogue cops who were taking it upon themselves to arrest the killers of Chief Meadows and P-Square Willets, holed up in a house in PG County.
“It’s goin’ down now, George,” said Clay, and he gave Dozier the address. He cradled the phone.
“Didn’t hear you mention the part about Murphy and Tutt bein’ on Tyrell’s payroll.”
“Must have slipped my mind.”
“Gettin’ forgetful in your old age, Marcus.”
“Yeah,” said Clay, tearing up the letter and dropping the pieces in the trash. “And clumsy, too.”
Clay began to punch another number into the phone’s grid.
“Who you callin’ now?” said Karras.
“Elaine,” said Clay. “Murphy’s gonna need a good lawyer, he makes it out alive.”
Thirty
Kevin Murphy curbed the Trans Am at Colorado and Longfellow and killed its engine. He got out of the car and crossed the street. The Bronco was idling out front of O’Grady’s. Murphy showed the last stack of bills to Tutt through the driver’s-side window. Tutt nodded. Murphy dropped the pillowcase in the back of the Ford, came back, and got in the passenger seat.
“Ready, partner?” said Tutt.
“Yeah. Let’s move.”
They took 14th Street downtown, turned left on Florida Avenue, went past Gallaudet College and Trinidad, and drove east.
Murphy told Tutt about Bennet and Linney as they hit Benning Road.
Tutt said, “That’s a damn shame.”
The Bronco rolled onto the Allen and Benning Bridges. Murphy cranked his window a quarter turn, the air crisp on his face. The moon reflected pearl off the Anacostia River below.
“What’s so funny?” said Tutt.
“How’s that?”
“You’re smiling.”
“Was I? Didn’t mean to be. Just thinkin’ back on somethin’.”
“Must be a good memory.”
“There was this time when I was a boy, I went with this girl to her house. Older girl, used to tease the young boys in the neighborhood. Afterwards, my father found out and made me go to our reverend, tell him what we’d done.”
Tutt smiled stupidly. “D’you fuck her?”
“Nah, Tutt, it wasn’t nothin’ like that. It was one of those ‘you show me yours, and I’ll show you mine’ kind of things. Real innocent, lookin’ at it now. But I thought I had committed an awful sin, and it was weighin’ on me hard. The point I’m tryin’ to make is, after I talked to my reverend, I had this, I don’t know, clean feeling, see, like I had got it all out, and there wasn’t nothin’ dirty left inside me. Like everything was in front of me again.”
“Way you feel tonight, huh?”
“Yes.”
Tutt looked over at Murphy. “You’re scarin’ me a little bit, man. We ain’t goin’ to no revival meeting here.”
“I know where we’re goin’, Tutt.”
“’Cause we gotta be together on this. You gave Rogers the instructions just like we said?”
“Alan knows what to do.”
“He brings Golden out, we smoke ’em all at once. Has to be that way, Kev. I’ll do Rogers if you want, ’cause I know it’s gonna be hard for you. And I’ll do Monroe, too. Want to see his face when I wave good-bye to him.”
“Take your time in there, Tutt.”
“They’ll live a few minutes longer, long as they don’t fuck with me too much. But I ain’t gonna take any of their insults. You just remember, they’ve all got to be put down.”
“Like animals.”
“What?”
“Forget it.”
“Afterwards,” said Tutt, “we arrange it so it looks like a hit. Bury our guns somewhere.”
“Whatever you say.”
“Tell you one thing. Someone did us a big favor today, evened the odds when they blew up Chink and Jumbo’s shit. That’s just two less to worry about, right?”
“Two more dead ones,” said Murphy, looking at Tutt. “It’s a start.”
“What d’you say?”
“Heard you tell that joke one night in the FOP bar when you thought I wasn’t listenin’. ‘What do you call a hundred niggers chained to the bottom of the ocean: A start.’ ”
“Jesus, Murph, you gonna get up on that soapbox again? Thought you and me were square—”
“Just wanted you to know.”
“Wanted me to know what?”
“That I hate you, Richard. Truth is, I always have.”
“Fine.” Tutt squirmed in his seat, the green dash lights tinted his reddening face. “Long as we got an understanding about tonight.”
“Don’t worry,” said Murphy, his eyes level and calm. “Everything’s clear.”
The Bronco crossed the Maryland line.
Tyrell Cleveland squatted on the hearth and placed a fresh log on the fire. The flames heated his rayon shirt and beaded his forehead with sweat.
“Damn, cuz,” said Antony Ray. “Don’t need no radiators in this joint, way you keep that bonfire goin’.”
“Like it, man,” said Tyrell. “Makes me feel good.”
“How this gin make me feel,” said Short Man Monroe, seated next to Ray at the round wooden table, a plastic cup of Gilbey’s and pineapple held loosely in his hand. “Cash good.”
“You don’t look so good, black,” said Ray.