turning up the volume on my deck to cover the scraping of my wipers.
“Man, that felt good,” McGinnes said. “I’m ready now.” He was pulling assorted candies and pecan logs from the bag.
“Careful. You might have bought something healthy. By mistake, I mean.”
“I doubt it,” he said. “You want a beer?”
“No.”
But an hour later there was a cold can of Bud between my legs and McGinnes was working on his third one.
As we approached the Tidewater area, traffic increased and we crossed several small bridges. McGinnes rolled a joint, which we smoked while driving over and through the Hampton Roads Bridge Tunnel. We had been on the road for just under four hours.
At Route 17 I headed south along the Dismal Swamp Canal. The leaves on the trees had not yet begun to turn here. The rain had stopped and steam rose off the asphalt up ahead. We rolled our windows down. Jonathan Richman was on the stereo, telling his girl to “drop out of BU.”
I looked over at McGinnes, who was wearing a Hawaiian print shirt with three pens in the breast pocket, a pair of twills, and Chucks. I had never seen him in sneakers.
“I like the shirt,” I said.
“I’m on a holiday,” he said with a Brit accent, holding the shirttail out and pointing it in my direction. “Do you fancy it?”
“Yeah, I fancy it. But what are the pens for? You plan on writing some business while we’re down here?” We crossed the state line into North Carolina, and McGinnes tapped my can with his.
“Just a habit,” he said.
“Hey, maybe you could get some work. Nathan Plavin’s got a brother in the business down here, has a few retail stores of his own.”
“Yeah, I know. Ned Plavin. Ned’s World, it’s called. Jerry Rosen worked for him before he worked for Nathan. But his stores are in South Carolina, smartass.”
“Nutty Nathan’s and Ned’s World. Their parents must be proud.”
“Anyway,” he said, “you’re the one out on his ear. I’ve still got a job.”
“Thanks.”
“I just hope you know what you’re doing,” he said. “I talked to Andre, told him the whole deal. Let’s just say he’s more familiar with the types of people you’re dealing with now. He says the guys who worked you over aren’t going to let that shit lie.”
“What else did Andre say?”
“He said the next time you’re in the way, your Korean buddy won’t be around to protect you. And then they’ll take you down, man.”
“I’m not worried,” I said, and pinched his cheek. “I’ve got you.”
WE REACHED THE ELIZABETH City area before two in the afternoon. McGinnes suggested we drive around to get a feel for the place. In certain residential areas of the city were large Victorians, some with wraparound porches on more than one level. Cypress trees stood handsomely on wide green lawns.
We drove by the waterfront, which seemed to be rundown to the point of decay in several sections. There was little commercial activity on the Pasquotank River that day, though there were a few pleasure boats heading out to the sound.
“This used to be quite a port,” McGinnes said.
“It doesn’t look like it was in our lifetime.”
“Not in our lifetime. I’m talking about in the nineteenth century. Some serious Civil War shit went down in these parts. Naval battles. The Union ended up taking this place early in the war.”
“How do you know so much about it?”
“I grew up in this state.”
“Come on, man,” I said. “You’re not talking to one of your customers now.”
“No, I’m serious. My old man was stationed at Lejeune. So we spent some time on the Carolina coast.”
“Then maybe you can steer us to a motel.”
“Is that an order?” he said, and wiggled his eyebrows.
We found a place off the bypass, a row of cottages that looked like toolsheds with stoops. The sign said Gates Motel. McGinnes kept calling it the “Bates Motel” as we approached it, and insisted we stay there.
The woman in the office had probably seen a few things. But she couldn’t help staring when we walked in, announced by the sleigh bells that hung on the inside of the door. McGinnes had on his Hawaiian retailer outfit and a beer in his hand, and I my crisscross adhesive nose mask.
“We’d like a room, please,” McGinnes said.
“Sure,” she wheezed, her slit of a mouth barely moving on her swollen face. “Eighteen a night, checkout at eleven. How many nights you fellas plan on stayin’?”
“Just tonight for now,” I said. I signed