knelt down over Malone’s body.
He had taken a blast low in the abdomen and one in the chest. The gutshot had opened him. His upper lip had curled up and stuck on one of his teeth, so that it looked as if he were sneering. I pulled the lip away and down. Then I closed his eyes.
“Let’s move, chief,” Wayne said.
I reached into Malone’s wet trouser pocket and pulled out keys. His blood stained my fingers. I tossed the keys back to Wayne.
“Get the van,” I said. “Pull it up to the warehouse door.”
Wayne walked away. I held my gun on the buyer until Tony made it down to the floor. He nodded, saw Malone, and looked back at me. I picked up the suitcase and turned to the man still kneeling on the floor.
“Get the forklift going,” I said, “and load the van with the goods. Do it and you’ll live.”
He got started. I sat against a carton and smoked a cigarette while he moved the bodies to the side. Tony rode the forklift with the man for several trips until the VCRs were all loaded. Tony walked back and stood over me.
“It’s done,” he said. “What now?”
“Put him in the van,” I said, motioning towards Malone. “Tie the other one up and wait for me. I’ll be out in five minutes.”
I switched on the light in Dane’s office, found my knapsack, and pulled a phone number from its front compartment. I put the Browning in my knapsack and carried it and the briefcase to Dane’s desk. I lit another cigarette and dialed the phone number.
“Hello.”
“Jerry Rosen, please.”
“This is he.” The voice was deep and rich.
“This is Nick Stefanos.”
“I’m sorry, Nick, but it’s very late. If this is about your termination—”
“Shut up,” I said. “Don’t say a word, understand? Just shut up and listen.” I heard him swallow. “I busted up your deal tonight. All four of your employees and one of your customers are lying dead in the warehouse.” He cleared his throat. “I own the remainder of your supply now. If you want it back, bring Jimmy Broda with you to the roof of the Silver Spring parking garage tomorrow morning at nine o’clock sharp. We’ll make the trade there.”
“I don’t—”
“I told you, no talking. Now you’d better get down here. Someone will be waiting for you to confirm everything I’ve told you.” I hung up and stubbed out my cigarette. I grabbed my knapsack and the briefcase, and left the warehouse.
* * *
THE WIPERS STRUGGLED TO clear the rain from the van’s windshield. I was driving south on Eleventh Street, into the darkest center of the city. The liquor and convenience stores were closed now and few of the streetlights were lit. People walked through the rain, drenched and unprotected, in slow, druggy steps.
The briefcase was next to me on the seat. Tony and Wayne sat in back, on opposite sides of the cartons. Malone lay between them, covered by the blanket.
Tony pointed me into an alley near a Bible Way church. I stopped at the head of it and cut the lights. A stream carried small bits of trash down the center of the alley.
Tony said, “Wait for me in there, Wayne.”
Wayne exited the van through the back door. He walked into an open garage and was consumed by its blackness. I continued down the alley with the headlights off until Tony told me to stop.
“What you gonna do with all this ’caine?” he asked.
“I’ve got plans for it.”
“You make more at the cookin’ house,” he said, and looked me over slowly. “You got plans for Homeboy’s money, too?”
“Yeah,” I said, and stared him down with all the energy I had left.
“I’ll take mine,” he said.
I counted twenty thousand in worn bills from the briefcase. He shoved the stack into his jacket. I looked at the lumpen figure in the back and then at Tony.
He nodded and pulled the blanket off Malone. I grabbed him under the arms and lifted. Tony held his feet. We stepped out of the back of the van and carried him into the rain.
“Set him down,” Tony said, and we placed him in the middle of the alley.
For some reason I straightened Malone’s shirt. I looked up from where I knelt. Tony was standing over me, dripping wet and staring into my eyes.
“Just another dead nigger,” he said. “Right?”
He turned and walked away. I watched him meet Wayne at the door of the garage. They passed under the glow of