Read Down by the River Where the Dead Men Go Online

Authors: George P. Pelecanos

Tags: #Fiction, #General, #Nick Sefanos

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BOOK: Down by the River Where the Dead Men Go
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“Shareen Lewis hired me to find her son,” he said.

“So she
is
worried about him.”

“Yes.”

“Why’d she call you?”

“She didn’t,” he said, “at first. She called a bondsman she knew named William Blackmon.”

“I’ve heard of him.”

“Yeah, they tell me he’s been around forever. But he farms out a lot of his work now. First thing I did when I came to town,
I went to all the skip tracers and bondsmen, went to see if I couldn’t work something out.”

“Blackmon recommended you to Shareen Lewis.”

“They go to the same church. Blackmon took me for a flat referral fee.”

“And when I dropped my card in the Lewis’s door, she wanted to know what was going on.” LaDuke nodded. “She agreed to meet with me just so you could set up the tail, check me out.”

“That’s right,” LaDuke said. “Now I’ve been straight with you. What
is
going on, Stevonus?”

“I’m working on the Calvin Jeter murder,” I said, “just like I told her. Roland Lewis seems to be the key.”

“Working for who? And don’t kid me with that ‘police assistant’ crap, okay?”

I considered how much I wanted him to know. “I was the first one to find Jeter’s body. I came on it by accident. I called it in anonymously to the cops. The cops have gone as far as they’re going to go on it. I’m doing some digging on my own.”

“For who?” he repeated.

“Jeter’s mother. And me.”

LaDuke eyed me suspiciously. “There’s more to it than what you’re telling me. But I guess that’s good enough for now, Stevonus.”

“The name’s
Stefanos
. What have you got, a speech impediment or something?”

“I’ve got trouble with names,” he said with a touch of embarrassment. “That’s all.”

“Call me Nick, then. You can remember that, can’t you?”

“Sure.”

I flicked my cigarette out the window and watched its trail. LaDuke shifted nervously in his seat, tapped his fingers on the vent window.

“So what are we going to do now?” I said.

“Well,” LaDuke said, “I could use a little help on my end.”

“I bet you could.” I looked him over. “How long you been in D.C.?”

“Does it show?”

“A little.”

“I don’t know. Six, maybe seven months.”

“Six months. Shit, LaDuke, you don’t even know your way around yet. You’re never gonna find that kid.”

“It’s beginning to look like that.” He rubbed the top of his head. “How much have you got on the Jeter case?”

“A few things,” I said.

“I was thinking… maybe you and me, we ought to work together on this. You know, feed each other information. I mean, you’re not getting paid right now, isn’t that right? We could cut it straight down the middle.”

“Cut what? After Blackmon’s piece, that doesn’t leave enough for two.”

“I’ve got a couple of other cases I’m working on,” he said. “I’m after a deadbeat husband, for one. Maybe you could help me out there, too.”

“I don’t think so,” I said.

“Sleep on it,” he said. “Because, the thing is, if you’re set on talking to Roland Lewis about Jeter, you’re going to have to go through me. Shareen Lewis isn’t going to let you near her house, that’s for sure. I don’t think she cares too much for you.”

“She must prefer them on the clean-cut side,” I said, scanning his shirt-and-tie arrangement, damp and limp now in the evening heat.

“Yeah, well, this is a business. If you’re going to make it, you’ve got to treat it like a business, act in a businesslike manner, and be presentable.”

“And brush your teeth after every meal.”

“What’s that?”

“Forget it. We about done?”

“Yeah,” he said, “let’s go. But move over, will you? This time, I’m gonna drive.”

HE PARKED THE FORD
in front of the Spot and let it idle. I got out, went around to the driver’s side, and leaned my arms on the lip of the open window.

“Think about my proposition,” he said.

I nodded and said, “I will.”

He looked at me curiously. “Something else?”

“There’s one thing I wanted to tell you.”

“What’s that?”

“Don’t ever pull a gun on a man unless you intend to use it. And even then, don’t pull it. Do you understand?”

“I know all about guns,” he said. “I grew up in the country. I’ve known how to shoot since I was a kid.”

“Congratulations. But it’s not the same thing. An animal’s not a man.”

“No shit,” he said with a cocky grin.

I pushed off from the car and stood straight. “Well, I guess you already know everything there is to know. So you might as well get on home.”

“Right. I’ll call you tomorrow.”

“Take care, hear?”

I walked across the street to my car. LaDuke drove away.

SEVEN

 

I
WOKE UP
early the next morning, fed my cat, went outside and picked my
Post
up off the stoop, then went back in and read it over a couple of cups of coffee. After a week, there had still been no follow-up on Calvin Jeter’s murder. Nothing in the
Post
or in the
Washington Times
, and nothing on the TV news.

I phoned Boyle, and when he phoned me back he confirmed it: “This one’s already cold, Nick.”

He asked me what I had. I said, “I’ve got nothing.” It wasn’t exactly the truth, but it was close enough. Boyle told me to keep in touch before he cut the line.

I paced around some after that, did a few sets of sit-ups and push-ups in my room, showered, dressed for work, and paced around some more. I found Jack LaDuke’s business card on my dresser and rubbed my finger across its face. I put it down and walked into another room. A little while later, I returned to my bedroom and picked the business card up off the dresser once
again. I went to the phone and dialed LaDuke’s answering service. He phoned me back right away.

“Glad you called,” he said.

“Just wanted to make sure you were all right after last night.”

“I’ve got a hell of a stiff neck. All that bouncing around and shit. Where’d you get your license, anyway? Sears?”

“You were holding a gun on me, remember?”

“Yeah, well…”

“Listen, last night’s over, as far as I’m concerned. You say you can get me into the Lewis house.”

“Sure I can.”

“Well, let’s do it. Today.”

“It’ll have to wait until after Shareen gets off work.”

“That’s fine. I’ve got a day shift at the Spot. I can swing by afterward, pick you up. Where’s your crib?”

“Never mind that,” he said. “I’ll pick you up at the bar. You tellin’ me we got a deal?”

“Not so fast. Let’s take this a little bit at a time, okay?”

“Just don’t want to give everything away and get nothing back.”

“I don’t blame you. But let’s see if we can work together first. And LaDuke?”

“Yeah?”

“Don’t forget your tie.”

He didn’t forget it. He was wearing it, a solid blue number on a white shirt, knotted tightly despite the heat, when he walked into the Spot at half past four that afternoon. LaDuke had a seat next to Mel, who had stretched a lunch hour into three and was working on his fifth martini of the day. Anna stood by the service bar, counting the sequence of her checks. She glanced at LaDuke when he entered, then gave him a second look as he settled onto his bar stool.

“Nice place,” LaDuke said. “Really uptown.” He wiped his hands off on a bev nap and left the crumpled napkin on the bar.

“Thanks,” I said. “Get you something?”

“I’ll just have a Coke, please.”

“So you don’t drink, either.”

“Not really, no.”

“Okay, Boy Scout. One Coke, coming up.” I shot a glassful from the soda gun and placed it in front of him. “Want a cherry in it?”

“No. But do you have a place mat I can color on?”

I heard Anna laugh from the service end of the bar. Ramon walked behind her on his way to the kitchen and patted her ass. She slapped his hand away. Mel continued to croon along to the Staple Singers coming from the system, doing a Mavis thing with his pursed-out mouth. Happy sat in the shadows, his hand curled listlessly around a manhattan.

“I’ll be ready to go,” I said, “soon as my replacement shows up.”

“I’ll just sit here and soak up the atmosphere,” said LaDuke.

“Cash in!” Anna yelled.

I went to her and took her tip change, all lined up in neat little rows, and turned it into bills. I handed it over to her and she put her hand into my breast pocket and withdrew a smoke. I lit it for her and she blew the exhale away from my face.

“Who’s the guy?” she said.

“Name’s Jack LaDuke.”

“I like it,” she said.

“The name?”

“The whole package.”

“You go for the puppy-dog type?”

“Not usually,” she said. “But he’s cute as shit, man. What’s he do?”

I winked broadly. “Private dick.”

“Why’s he keeping it private?”

“I don’t know. Why don’t you ask him?”

She did, but it didn’t work out. She started by getting herself a beer and having a seat next to LaDuke and initiating some
conversation. LaDuke was polite, but clearly uncomfortable. Anna took his manner for disinterest; she downed her beer quickly and drifted away. Darnell came out of the kitchen and introduced himself, and soon after that Mai arrived in a chipper mood and relieved me of my position behind the stick. I changed into something presentable and told LaDuke that it was time to go.

We headed into Northeast in LaDuke’s Ford. He stared ahead as he drove, his hands tight on the wheel, ten and two o’clock, right out of driver’s ed. I tried to get a station on his radio, but he reached across the bench and switched it off. I wondered, What does this guy do to get off?

“Anna thought you were interesting,” I said.

“You know that little guy? The busboy, the guy with the gold tooth?”

“You mean Ramon?”

“Yeah,” LaDuke said. “Him. Does he like her or something?”

I laughed. “Ramon likes anything that has to sit down to take a piss. But no, they got nothin’ going on.”

“Well, she’s really cute.”

“That’s what she said about you. So why’d you blow her off?”

LaDuke blinked nervously. “I didn’t mean to, exactly. I’m not very good with women, to tell you the truth.”

“I’m not very good with them, either. But when I find one I like and I think she likes me back, I give it a better shot than you did. Anyhow, a pretty motherfucker like you shouldn’t have any problems.”

“I’m not pretty,” he said, a touch of anger entering his voice.

“Relax, man, I’m only kidding around.”

“Look,” he said, “just forget it, okay?”

“Sure.”

We drove for a couple of miles in silence. LaDuke looked out the window.

“Maybe I’ll give her a call,” he said.

SHAREEN LEWIS WAS SITTING
on the rocker sofa on her porch when we reached the top of the steps leading to her house. She stood and took LaDuke’s hand, then briefly shook mine without looking in my eyes. She wore linen shorts and a short-sleeved blouse, with a masklike brooch pinned beneath the collar. As on the day before, the makeup somehow managed to match the clothes. She was a handsome woman, nicely built; she might have been lovely had she simply smiled.

We followed Shareen through the front door and found seats in her comfortably appointed living room. For my benefit, LaDuke repeated to Shareen what they had obviously discussed earlier over the phone: that I would team up with him in trying to locate her son, and that the teaming could only double our chances of finding him. Her eyes told me that she doubted his reasoning, but she nodded shortly in agreement. I asked her for a recent photograph of Roland. Shareen Lewis nodded with the same degree of enthusiasm. I asked her if she had heard from her son either directly or by message and she said, “No.” I asked her if she had any idea at all as to his whereabouts. To that one, she also said, “No.” We sat around and listened to the clock tick away on her mantelpiece. After some of that, I asked to see Roland’s room.

BOOK: Down by the River Where the Dead Men Go
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