Right as Rain (21 page)

Here in the Junkyard, he experienced mainly boredom, relieved by the threat of drama, the occasional quick act of physical violence, or the odd joke that struck him funny and made him laugh deep in his wheezy chest. He slept fitfully and ate little, except for the small bites of chocolate he cadged from the others. Mostly his life was blocks of time between getting high, and mostly he waited, sometimes knowing but not caring that he was only waiting for death.

Tonio crossed the big room, his feet crunching pigeon droppings, puddles dampening his brown socks, water entering where the soles had split from the uppers of his shoes. He stood by the brick wall, in a place that had been hammered out, and watched the Ford Taurus pass, driving by the cop car that idled on the street. They were here, on schedule, and he turned and headed for the stairs.

He passed one of Coleman’s and went up to the second floor, to the open—stalled bathroom area where those who were still strong and those who had something to trade had staked out their spots. The once—beautiful girl named Sondra was in the last stall, leaning against the steel wall, rubbing her arm with her hand as if she were trying to erase a stain.

Tonio went into the stall and stood very close to her so that he could make out her face. He was beginning to go blind, the final laughing insult of the plague.

“Hello, Tonio.”

“Hello, baby. Your boys are here.”

Sondra smiled and showed filmy teeth; zero nutrition had grayed them. Her lips were chapped and bleeding in spots, raw from the cold. She wore a heavy jacket over her usual outfit, the white shirt and black slacks. An old woman back near Gallaudet College had seen her on the street a week ago and handed the jacket to Sondra out the front door of her row house.

“You better get fresh for your man,” said Tonio.

“I got some water here,” she said. She had found an empty plastic Fruitopia container in a Dumpster and filled it with water from a neighborhood spigot.

“Use this to clean your face,” said Tonio. He handed her a filthy shop rag from his back pocket. “Go on, girl.” She took it, examined it, and poured freezing water from the bottle onto the rag. She dabbed it on her cheeks. The oily dirt from the rag smudged her face.

“You’re good to me,” said Sondra.

“And don’t you forget to be good to Tonio, hear?”

“I won’t forget you, T. I always get a little bit for you.”

He eyed her in a hungry but completely asexual way. He wanted things from her but not that. Tonio could no longer make it with a woman even if he wanted to. He no longer wanted to or thought of it at all.

“I better be goin’ back down,” he said.

“See you later,” she said, watching him walk away, hitching his pants up where they had slipped down his behind.

Sondra was fond of Tonio. He never tried to do her like the others did. Tonio was her friend.

“WHAT’S wrong, Cherokee?” said Ray. “Thought you’d be happy. Way you were talking last time, thought you wanted to get out from under the pressure the Rodriguez brothers were puttin’ on you.”

“Didn’t ask you to doom ’em, Ray,” said Coleman.

“They asked for it their own selves.”

“Committed suicide, huh?”

“Damn near like it. Anyway, I can’t wake neither of them up now, so we’re wasting time frettin’ on it, right? Besides, I handled it, you can believe that.”

Cherokee Coleman sat behind his desk, his hands tented on the blotter, staring at Ray. His lieutenant, Big—Ass Angelo, stood behind him, his face a fleshy, impassive mask. Earl Boone got a kick out of Angelo’s sunglasses, the Hollywood—looking kind with the thick gold stems. Dark as it was already in here, with that green banker’s lamp the only light in the room, Earl wondered how fat boy could even see.

“You want to go ahead and tell us how you handled it?” said Cherokee.

“The day after their visit,” said Ray, “I called Lizardo’s wife, asked her where in the hell he and Nestor was. Said that they was due but hadn’t showed up or called. ’Bout a New York minute later I get a call on my cell from one of the Vargas people down in Florida. I told him the same thing I told the wife. He mumbled somethin’ in Spanish and hung up the phone. Next thing we did was, me and Daddy made two trips with those Contours they was drivin’, drove those cars down to Virginia and dumped ’em near Richmond, off Ninety—five south. Dripped some of Nestor’s and Lizardo’s blood on the seats of those cars. Pulled some hairs from their heads and scattered them in the cars, too. When the cops break into those cars and trace the owners, gonna look like the brothers got killed down there on their way up north.”

“What about the bodies?”

“The bodies I got stashed on my property, until this weather turns. I’m gonna take care of that, too.”

“What happens,” said Cherokee, “when I get the call from the Vargas family?”

“Hell, Cherokee, you’re just gonna have to tell ’em the same. That you heard from me and that Nestor and Lizardo never showed.”

“Why would I do that?”

“’Cause partners gotta stick together,” said Ray.

“We’re partners now. You hear that, Angie?”

“Look here.” Ray leaned forward in his chair. “I got nine keys of pure brown I’m sittin’ on right now.”

“Got it with you?” said Coleman.

“Nah, man,” said Ray. “I ain’t stupid!”

Ray laughed. Coleman and Angelo laughed, and kept laughing long after Ray was done. Ray frowned, watching them. Were they fuckin’ with him now? He couldn’t tell.

Coleman drew a handkerchief from the breast pocket of his pretty suit and wiped his eyes.

“Anyhow,” said Ray. “Me and Daddy, we been wantin’ to get out of this business for a while now. What I was thinkin’ is, we unload the rest of that brown to you directly, at a price you’re really gonna like, and we are gone.”

“Oh, yeah? What kind of price is that?”

“You were payin’ a hundred a key, right?”

“Including your bounce. It’s
all
bounce now, so you don’t have to add that back in, seein’ as how there wasn’t any, what do you call that,
cost of goods
involved.”

“That’s right. So I was gonna say sixty a key you take the load. Nine keys time sixty —”

“Five hundred and forty grand.”

“Five forty, right. But, ’cause I like you, Cherokee —”

“You like me, Ray?”

“I do. And ’cause of that, I’m gonna sweeten the pie even more.”

“How you gonna sweeten it?”

“Say an even five hundred grand to you, Cherokee, for the whole shebang.”

“Generous of you, Ray.”

“I think so.”

“So when you gonna bring it in?”

Ray looked over at Earl, back at Coleman. “We were kind of thinkin’, Daddy and me, I mean, that we wouldn’t have to come into the city again for this last deal.”

“Got somethin’ against D.C.?”

“We prefer the country, you want the truth.”

“For real?”

Coleman and Angelo laughed again. Ray and Earl, expressionless as stones, waited until they were done.

“Tell you what,” said Coleman. “We’ll split the difference, hear?
You
bring in the first half of the load straight away, and for the last half, I’ll send someone out your way to pick it up.”

“What’s this half stuff?”

“You don’t think I can get my hands on five hundred grand all at once, do you? Think I can walk on over to NationsBank and take out a loan?”

“No, but —”

“Got to turn that inventory first, man, get some cash flow goin’ in this motherfucker. Only way we can do this deal, Ray.”

“I don’t know,” said Ray.

“Fuck it,” said Earl, surprising Coleman with his voice. It was the first time Earl had spoken since he and his son had walked through the office door.

“You got somethin’ on your mind,
Daddy?”
said Coleman.

“We’ll bring the next load down,” said Earl, “that’s what you want. But I want somethin’, too.”

“Let me guess,” said Coleman. “This somethin’ got light skin and green eyes?”

“That’s right,” said Earl. “I want to take that pretty girl home with me, the one you got livin’ over there across the street. I’m gonna take her with me today.”

“Shit, Daddy.”

“Hold up, Critter. I’m talkin’ now.”

“Aw, you’re sweet on her,” said Coleman. “That’s real nice.”

“Got no problem with me takin’ her, do ya?”

“No problem at all. I ain’t got no kind of claim on it. Course, some of the fellas over at the Junkyard, they might want to up and flex on you, you try to take her away. ’Cause most of them been kickin’ it, one behind the other, the last month or so.”

“Kickin’ it?”

“Fallin’ in love with her, Ray.”

Big—Ass Angelo went
“ssh, ssh, ssh,”
his shoulders jiggling hard.

Earl ignored him and said, “That’ll do it, then. We’ll be on our way.”

Ray stood. “I’ll call you. We’ll be back with that first load in a couple of days. Then you can come on out and get the rest.”

“Oh, I don’t think I’ll be makin’ the trip personally, Ray. I’m gonna send out a po—lice escort, make it nice and official.”

“You’re gonna send that guy Madonna?”

Coleman chuckled. “Sure, Ray. I’ll send Madonna.”

“All right, then. See you fellas later.”

“Ray,” said Coleman. “Earl.”

Coleman and Angelo watched them go out the door.

Coleman said, “Call all our dealers, Angie. Tell ’em we got a lot of good product comin’ in. And don’t forget to call that white boy, too. He can move it on the other side of town, and we need it moved out quick. Get that first load out on the street so we can do the same with the second. This a big opportunity we got right here. We gonna make some large bank on this motherfucker, Angie.”

“Yeah, but we got to go all the way the fuck on out to Hooter—ville to pick it up.”

“That’s all right. Got to throw dirt on the Boones sooner or later, might as well do it while we’re out there. Make a nice pile of bodies, them and the Rodriguez brothers. Get it lookin’ like Jonestown out there and shit. Make it right for those Colombians. ’Cause you know I don’t want to see the Vargas family in town, lookin’ to start a war.”

“
I
ain’t goin’.”

“Don’t worry, big dawg. I’m gonna send Adonis and his shadow.”

Angelo grinned. “You mean
Madonna,
don’t you?”

“Ray Boone,” said Coleman. “That’s a real genius, right there.”

“I ain’t
stupid!”
said Big—Ass Angelo.

Coleman cracked up and held out his palm. Angelo gave him skin.

EARL
Boone walked along the doorless stalls, stopping at the very last one in the row. Sondra Wilson stood there, the flame from a single candle throwing light upon her face. Her white blouse was filthy, and dirt streaked her cheeks. She seemed unsteady on her feet.

“Hey, honey girl,” said Earl.

“Earl.”

He stepped in close and looked into her eyes. One was brown and one was green.

“What happened to your eyes, young lady?”

“I lost a contact, I guess.” She tried to curl her lip seductively. “You got somethin’ for me, Earl?”

“I got it. But not here. I’m takin’ you out of this place.”

“Where we goin’?” she said.

“You’re coming to live with me for a while. You’re gonna have a shower and new clothes and clean sheets to sleep on every night.”

“What about the other thing?” she said, because that was all she cared about now.

“You’re gonna have plenty of that, too.”

Sondra turned to the wall and untaped the magazine photo of the model. She folded it and picked up the paperweight off the toilet—paper dispenser and looked around for her other possessions. She picked up a wet, half—used book of matches from the tiles and realized that there was nothing else.

“Come on, baby doll. Ray’s waiting on us out in the hall.”

“Can I get a little somethin’ for my friend Tonio before we go?”

“Forget about him. We want to get out quiet and quick. I understand some of the other fellas in here might have fallen in love with you, and we wouldn’t want them getting jealous.”

“Love?” said Sondra. She rubbed her nose and laughed.

THEY
took her down the stairs and went through a large hole in the brick wall. From deep in the darkness of the side room, Tonio Morris watched Sondra leave with the old white man and his son. He wondered why Sondra would go without saying good—bye. He was sad for a moment, then felt a shudder of panic, realizing that maybe his source was gone for good.

In the street, the cop behind the wheel of the idling cruiser watched the Boones emerge from the Junkyard with the pretty junkie from the second floor. The three of them were headed for the garage where the others were holding their car. The cop snapped the cigar that he was holding between his fingers and tossed it to the floor.

Chapter
20

S
HARMBA
Mitchell,” said Strange. “That’s a beautiful fighter right there.

”“Look at that left,” said Quinn.

“I had a left like that one, I’d never throw a right.”

Strange and Quinn sat in the bleachers of the Washington Convention Center, drinking a couple of four—dollar drafts. In the crowd of four thousand, Quinn was among a small number of whites, the others being the parents of a light heavyweight Texan, four frightened—looking fraternity boys, and several white women accompanied by black men. The convention center was a grim, outdated white elephant that had underserved the city from day one. But the sport almost lent itself to unattractive, spartan arenas; as boxing venues went, this wasn’t a bad place to see a fight.

The white, light heavyweight Texan, who fought under the name of Joe Bill “Rocky” Jakes, was walking along the edge of the stands, having changed into street clothes after his disastrous defeat. His face was marked and puffy, and one eye was swollen shut.

“Hey, Rocky!” shouted a guy from the stands.

“Yo, Adrian!” shouted another.

“You’ll get ’em next time, Rock,” shouted a third, with a Burgess Meredith growl, to much laughter from the spectators in the surrounding seats.

“They’re usin’ the hell out of that guy,” said Quinn.