a trace of whiskey. “Why do you think Jimmy talked to you so much at work?”
“What do you mean?”
“Your background and Jimmy’s background—they were very similar. Jimmy told me that you were born overseas. Your parents sent you to the States to live with your grandfather when you were very young, until they could afford to join you. For some reason or another they never made it, and you were raised by your grandfather. Is this correct?”
“Roughly,” I said.
“Jimmy was at that age—he needed someone to relate to. I think he found that a little bit in you.”
“My grandfather died last April,” I said, though I was no longer talking to Pence. The moment his life ended I was doing lines off the bar in an after-hours club on upper Wisconsin Avenue.
I rose from the chair and walked to the window. The traffic had thinned out on Connecticut, the northbound headlights approaching at a relaxed pace.
“I don’t know if I’m up for it,” I said. He was silent behind me and I turned to face him. “I’ll ask around downtown. Maybe somebody knows where he is. But that’s all, understand?”
“Thank you,” he said, moving towards me and gripping my hand. “I’ll make it worth your while.”
I backed away. “We don’t need to discuss that now. I have somewhere to go. I’ll phone you tomorrow.”
I walked out quickly. He was shouting his phone number as I closed the door behind me.
I LET THE CAT in as I stepped into my apartment. I put some dry food in her dish and drank some ice water from a bottle in the refrigerator. Then I took two cold cans of beer with me into the shower.
After leaving Pence, I had driven to a junior-high gym in Northwest to meet Rodney White, a friend of mine who had the curious distinction of being both a physician and a black belt. Though I knew next to nothing about tae kwon do, I had done a fair amount of Boys Club boxing, and enjoyed hooking up with White every couple of weeks to spar, provided he showed me some mercy.
We warmed up with some stretching and light movement. Gradually we began making contact and our sparring intensified. After punishing me for a while with hand and foot combinations, he motioned me to stop. We tapped gloves and removed our mouthguards.
“What were you just doing?” he asked. “You let me back you all the way across this gym. You accepted all of my forward energy.”
“I was letting you kick yourself out. Anyway, I tagged you pretty good at the end.”
He shook his head. “You had already lost. You start backing up, you’re defeated, believe me.”
“I thought I’d use a little strategy.”
“Don’t get too wrapped up in strategy. Technicians lose in the street. The winner in a fight is usually determined before the first punch is thrown.”
“Too mystical for me” I said, adding, “I’ll stick to boxing.”
“Stick to whatever you want, Homeboy. But step on over here and let me show you a little something.”
In the shower I drank the first beer while washing. A bruise had formed on my bicep from a Rodney White side kick, and there was a scratch on my cheek from the nylon tie of his footgear.
After rinsing, I popped the second beer and leaned against the tile wall, shutting the cold spigot off completely. I drank deeply of the icy beer and closed my eyes, as the burning hot water rolled down my back.
THREE
THE NEXT MORNING I called the office at nine A.M. from a payphone located in the side parking lot of the Connecticut Avenue store. Ric Brandon picked up his extension.
“Hello, Ric?”
“Yes.”
“Nick Stefanos here.”
“Where are you?” In his typically tight-assed manner he was asking why I was late for work.
“I’m on my way to Connecticut Avenue,” I lied, not wanting to get the boys in trouble. None of them had arrived yet to open the store.
“What for?”
“Listen, Ric. All of last night I thought about our discussion yesterday in your office. I think one of the reasons I don’t have that team spirit is that I’ve lost touch with what’s going on out in the stores, out on the firing line.” I stopped speaking so as not to make myself sick.
“I understand.” Since he had never been on the “firing line,” that imaginary, danger-filled zone that lowly salesmen are so keen on referring to, he could not have understood. But I had counted on that.
“What I figure is, I’ll get back