The Sweet Forever

by George Pelecanos

“Yeah, Marcus, it tastes pretty bad.”

  “I kind of figured you’d be lookin’ all rough this morning. Can always tell by the albums you were listenin’ to from the night before. Saw that Whoopdie Doo cover lyin’ over there—”

  “Hüsker Dü.”

  “Whatever.”

  “Hey, Marcus, what are ya gonna do, bust my balls forever?”

  “I guess I’m done for now.” Clay got off the stool, rinsed his cup out in the sink. “You are coming to work today, right?”

  “Sure.”

  Clay head-motioned toward the hall. “Your Donna friend gonna be all right?”

  “Why wouldn’t she be?”

  “I’m not even gonna remind you of your age, ’cause we already been down that road. But that woman back there, she’s a little bit past the prime of her life, you agree?”

  “What’s your point?”

  “One of these mornings, you keep feedin’ their noses like you do, you’re gonna wake up next to a blue face. You think you feel bad now, how you think you’re gonna feel when you overdose some girl?”

  “Shit, man—”

  “Shit, nothin’. I’m serious. And while we’re on it, I got word on what Donna’s boyfriend pulled out of that drug car yesterday.”

  “What?”

  “Cash money. Whole pillowcase full.”

  Karras stared into his coffee cup. “Well, she’s not a part of it. She doesn’t even know he took it.”

  “She will, though. And I’m gonna tell you again: I don’t want to have a goddamn thing to do with it.”

  “I hear you, Marcus.”

  “Okay. I’ll be on U Street if you need me.”

  “I’ll hit Arlington this morning, call you later on.”

  Clay nodded and went to the front door. He touched the doorknob, turned, and looked back at his friend. “Got some ball today, Dimitri. Hoyas play Michigan State at noon in Dayton. Terps goin’ at UNLV tomorrow night around seven.”

  Karras glanced over at Clay. “What about the late games from last night?”

  “Syracuse over Brown, that wasn’t no surprise. Arkansas-Little Rock advanced. Auburn took Arizona.”

  “Kentucky?”

  “Put a hurtin’ on Davidson.”

  “The Wildcats are always in there, man.”

  “You got that right.” Clay opened the door. “You take it light, lover. Hear?”

  “Yeah, Marcus. You, too.”

  Dimitri Karras and Donna Morgan drove over the Theodore Roosevelt Bridge into Virginia. Donna stared out the window at the Potomac, the sunlight winking off the swells. She kept a hand up to shade her burning eyes, and also to mask her face. Though she could barely breathe through her nose, she could smell the nicotine and beer on her wrinkled clothes. She looked every day her age and a couple of hundred more. She felt like a twenty-dollar whore.

  She appreciated that Karras hadn’t tried to engage her in conversation. At least he’d been decent enough for that.

  The night before, neither of them had been able to shut their mouths. They couldn’t talk fast enough, couldn’t wait for the other one to finish a sentence before starting in on one of their own. Every statement, every opinion, had seemed so profound. Donna’s jaw ached now from all that talk. She couldn’t remember a word they’d said.

  She remembered the sex, though. Even from her current perspective, a sick, pale rider with an awful case of cokeover depression, she could still remember the sex. After the ice cubes they had done it straight and sweaty, and it had been good. Her legs kicked out and her toes got pointed, and when it was done, the two of them had managed to move the bed halfway across the room. Yeah, Karras was still a cock star in the bedroom, but there wasn’t much more to him than that. When Donna thought of Karras, she pictured a beautifully wrapped present with nothing inside the box.

  “Donna?”

  “Huh?”

  “I was talking to Marcus this morning while you were taking a shower.”

  “Yeah? What about?”

  “Your friend Eddie.”

  “What about him?”

  Karras breathed out slowly. “Marcus saw Eddie take something out of that burning car yesterday. The car was a drug car, Donna. I got to figure that’s why Eddie booked, left you down on U.”

  “A drug car.”

  Karras nodded, looked straight ahead. “Kid who got burned up was either a dealer or a runner, one of the two.”

  “You saying that Eddie took drugs out of the car?”

  “Marcus thought it might have been money.”

  Donna felt her heart race. She went into her purse, pushed a crumpled pack of smokes out of the way, found a nearly empty pack, and pulled free a bent cigarette.

  Karras pushed the lighter into the dash. “Thought you might want to know.”

  Donna thought of Eddie, nervous as he was. How it must have been for him, to do the act and then to live with it last night. Eddie doing something bold like that, it must have been something to see.

  And Donna thought of Marcus Clay. If Marcus had seen something like that, what would he have done? Donna was certain he would have told his best friend right away.

  “So,” said Donna, “Marcus just got around to mentioning it to you today, huh?”

  “That’s right.”

  “Why?”

  “He wasn’t sure until today, I guess. Or maybe he forgot in all that confusion. Hell, Donna, I don’t know.”

  You know. He told you yesterday, Mr. Karras. You knew I wouldn’t have hung with you last night if I had any idea that Eddie was in trouble. You wanted to fuck me first before you cut me loose.

  “I want to go home, Dimitri.”

  “I’ll drop you right after I check in on Arlington.”

  “I need cigarettes.”

  “There’s a Seven-Eleven next to the store.”

  The lighter popped out. Donna touched the hot end to her cigarette and coughed out her first drag of the day. She looked at Karras full on, no longer embarrassed at her appearance.

  Karras cracked the window and relaxed. He’d been silent until they hit Virginia, debating on whether or not to give her the news. He was glad now that he’d gotten it over with. He thought he came off pretty well.

  A guy who called himself Dutch ran the Arlington store on Wilson Boulevard. Dutch was one of those names that conjured up barrel-chested beer-drinker types, but Arlington’s Dutch was a skinny dude with a strange beanie-top haircut and two hoop earrings in his left lobe. He favored frilly New Romantic shirts à la Adam Ant, worn out over black jeans. There had been a couple of customer complaints about his aloof manner, and those complaints plus his usual appearance put him in the negative column with Marcus Clay. But he showed up six days a week, didn’t steal, and managed to hit his numbers every month. Karras thought Dutch was pretty good.

  Dutch loved electropop and liked to play it in the store. Clay wanted the managers to play the albums in the current top ten, which naturally were inventoried heavily, but the managers rarely complied, except on those occasions when they had been warned by the other managers that Karras and Clay were making the rounds.

  Dutch hadn’t been warned, and by the time he saw Karras pushing on the front door it was too late. Dutch had his favorite Talk Talk album, It’s My Life, on the platter, and he had the volume turned way up.

  “Dutchman,” said Karras.

  “Busted,” said Dutch, who shrugged and threw Karras a sheepish smile.

  “That’s okay.” Karras liked this album, though he’d never tell Dutch. “Just turn it down some, huh? My head can’t deal with it today.”

  Dutch had a look at Karras before turning down the volume on the house receiver. Karras’s shoulders were sagging, and he looked like he’d lost a little weight. Dutch, who listened to druggy music but didn’t do drugs himself, figured that Karras had a problem with blow. Blow and women, if you could call the latter a problem. That was the rumor around the company, anyway.

  Dutch said, “Got some coffee
in the back.”

  Karras said, “Thanks.”

  Karras walked into the back room. The place had been a hardware store up until six months ago, and the office area still smelled of fertilizer and cedar. Dutch’s assistant manager, a girl named Lori, was sitting at Dutch’s desk smoking a cigarette.

  “Hey, Dimitri.”

  “Lori. Don’t get up.”

  Karras tried to smile but couldn’t raise the effort. He’d done Lori one night in this very room after an in-store appearance by the Wygals. Looking at Janet Wygal all evening had made him horny, and one thing had led to the last thing, which was Lori bent over a stack of cartons by the back door.

  Lori was looking at him now with something close to pity.

  “What, I’ve got something in my teeth?”

  “You don’t mind my saying so, Dimitri, you’re lookin’ a little rough today, even for you.”

  “Late night,” he mumbled, or something equally meaningless, as he poured bathtub-warm coffee into a Styrofoam cup. He drank half of it quickly, rushing the liquid past his taste buds and down his throat, then dialed the number for the Georgetown store.

  “Scott,” said Karras.

  “It is me,” said Scott, the store manager. Through the phone Karras could hear the new Pet Shop Boys, “West End Girls,” playing in the store.

  “Any action over there?”

  “The suburban children seem to be descending on G-town right on schedule.”

  “Good. I’ll swing by later, okay?”

  “We’ll be waiting.”

  Karras hung up, finished the coffee, dropped the cup in the trash. Lori smashed out her cigarette and followed him out to the floor.

  “Get the new Simple Minds and the new Hooters to the front racks, Lori.”

  “Yes, boss.”

  “And put some of those Windham Hills—”

  “Oh, shit, those euthansia records?”

  “I know. Don’t ask me why, but the yups are buying them. What’s the name of that popular one?”

  “A Winter Snoozefest.”

  “Put a bunch of those up front.”

  “You got it.”

  Karras went behind the counter, where Dutch was adjusting the volume on a new record. Karras speed-dialed Marcus at U, got him on the third ring.

  “Marcus.”

  “Mitri.”

  “I’m in Northern Virginia.”

  “Any action?”

  “Not yet.”

  “What’s that I hear playin’? The Doublemint Twins?”

  “No, it’s not the Thompson Twins. I believe it’s the Blue Nile. A Walk Across the Rooftops.”

  “I don’t care what it is. But maybe you could tell Dutch, if he ain’t circlin’ around in the sky right now waitin’ for permission to land and shit, that what I want played in the store is what we got numbers on, hear?”

  “Sure, I’ll tell him.”

  “Good. I’m gonna see you later?”

  “Yeah. I’ve gotta drop Donna off, then I’ll be down.”

  “Got the Hoyas comin’ on in a few.”

  “I’ll be there, Marcus. Later.” Karras hung up the phone.

  “What did Marcus have to say?” asked Dutch.

  “Nothin’ much,” said Karras. “Told you two to have a good day. Be fruitful and multiply, all that.”

  Karras waved to Lori and Dutch, went out the front door to the lot, got into his Beamer. Dutch had seen a woman in what looked like last night’s clothes walk from the 7-Eleven to Karras’s car.

  “You see the girl he was with?” said Lori.

  “I saw her.”

  “Party girl,” said Lori, thinking immediately of that Costello song she liked so much. “Anyway, that’s his business. If that’s what he likes…”

  Dutch, who had not yet decided if he was into women or men, or basically disinterested, said, “I guess.”

  Lori watched Karras pull out of his space. She’d had fun with him that night in the back, but she’d never expected anything more. Not from Karras, anyway.

  Lori had met this guy a month ago at the 9353 show down at D.C. Space. A gentle guy, computer programmer, into music, treated her with respect. Thoughtful and really nice. That was the kind of guy Lori was into now.

  Karras took the off-ramp from 495 onto Georgia Avenue north.

  “What’re you gonna do about Eddie?” he said.

  “What do you mean?” said Donna.

  “I mean the money. Somebody besides Marcus must have seen him take that money. It’s going to get back to the ones that kid ran with. Or it’s going to get to the cops. It’s bad either way.”

  “We’ll figure it out.”

  “I don’t think you realize—”

  “We’ll take care of it,” said Donna. “Thanks for the advice. And thanks for letting me know about it so quickly, too.”

  There was enough sarcasm in her voice to convince Karras to end the conversation. Anyway, they were coming up on her place.

  Karras pulled into the lot of Donna’s garden apartment, a small complex butting up against the Chevrolet dealership at the south end of the Wheaton business district. Eddie Golden sat on the steps leading up to Donna’s unit.

  Karras pulled up alongside a group of cars parked in front of the steps. Eddie stood but did not move toward Karras’s car. Eddie smiled seeing Donna’s face. He didn’t even bother to look at Karras or shoot him a hard glance. Karras felt an unfamiliar stab of guilt then, thinking, This Eddie character, he seems like a pretty good guy.

  Donna shook Karras’s hand. “I had a good time, Dimitri. I had fun.”

  “Wait a second.”

  “Huh-uh.” She reached over and patted him on the arm. “I gotta go.”

  She was out of the car quickly, closing the door behind her and moving toward Eddie. She had a bounce in her step, a sudden rejuvenation triggered by the thought of the money or the sight of her man, Karras couldn’t tell which. He watched them embrace before pulling the BMW out of the lot.

  Heading down Georgia toward D.C., Karras pulled into a Shell station to gas up and use the head. In the men’s room he blew his nose into some toilet paper and dropped the bloody mess into the bowl.

  He washed his face, stared at his wasted reflection in the smudged mirror. He had a long workday ahead of him and some weekend left over after that. He knew what he needed to bring himself back. Not too much, nothing in quantity like last night. Just a little bit would do him right. A little bit of something to clear his head.

  Eddie dipped his head, kissed Donna’s cool lips. He stroked her belly, took in the pleasure of her naked body beside him.

  “I gotta go to work,” said Donna.

  “I know,” said Eddie.

  They had made love as soon as they had gotten in the door. Donna was sore from the night before, but she couldn’t mention it to Eddie. Her bedside jar of Vaseline helped. Also, Eddie was on the small side, and he never did last too long, a blessing for once.

  “Eddie?”

  “Huh?”

  “I’m proud of you, Eddie.”

  Eddie Golden smiled. “Thanks, Donna. I don’t know what made me do it. I don’t know if it was right. I still don’t know.”

  “That’s drug money, Eddie.” She pointed lazily to the bills spilled out on the carpet beside her bed. Eddie had brought the pillowcase up from the trunk of his car. “It doesn’t belong to anybody, not really.”

  “Who told you that?”

  “Karras.”

  “Your new boyfriend?”

  “You’re my boyfriend, Eddie. Like I told you, nothing happened last night.”

  She had said they’d gone out to a show and it had gotten too late for Karras to drive her home. She had said that she’d slept out on his living-room couch.

  Eddie knew she’d fucked Karras. He knew and he didn’t care. He didn’t want to lose her. With the money it would be different between them. The money and what he’d done to get it. She respected him now.

  Eddie ki
ssed her again on the lips.

  “Stop it,” she said playfully. “I gotta go to work.”

  “You don’t have to, not really. Not anymore.”

  “What are we gonna do, run away together?”

  “We could.”

  “How about Florida?” said Donna.

  And Eddie said, “Why not?”

  Donna showered for the second time that day and changed into fresh clothes. Eddie had cut out a couple of lines from the coke he had left over from the night before. Donna did both lines, figuring it would help her get through her shift behind the novelty jewelry counter at Hecht’s. The blow made her feel much better, and she did two more bumps before leaving the apartment with Eddie.

  Out in the parking lot, Eddie said, “I’ve got a dishwasher installation this afternoon. Gotta go over to Beltsville to pick up my tools and my truck. Afterwards I’m gonna swing back by my place, get some clothes. I’m thinkin’, till we find out if anybody’s looking for me, I’ll stay here for a day or two. That okay by you?”

  “Fine.” Donna touched Eddie’s brow, then his hairline where it had been singed. “You okay?”

  “It’ll grow back, I hope.”

  “I love you, Eddie.”

  “We gotta talk, Donna, tonight. We gotta make some kind of plan.”

  “I get off at six. And I promise, I’m coming straight home.”

  He kissed her and went to his Plymouth. On the ride out to Beltsville, he pushed in a John Cougar Mellencamp tape and played it loud.

  “Little pink houses for you and me,” sang Eddie.

  He looked in the rearview, checked out his smile. Donna sayin’ she loved him, that was really something. He’d been waiting on that for a long time.

  Karras studied the checkbook register in his hand. Looking down the withdrawals column, he saw mostly 50s, with the odd 100 inked in here and there. He might as well have written the words half, gram, half right next to the numbers. One look at his checkbook reminded him of how much coke he had been doing these last few months. Well, he’d give it up someday soon. He’d get bored with it, most likely, the way he’d gotten bored with grass.

  Karras put the checkbook back in his glove box, exited his car, and went up Connecticut on foot. Clouds passed across the sun and shaded the street. He pulled up his jeans, which were hanging loose at his waist. At the ATM by the Safeway he withdrew another fifty, crossed the avenue and headed toward the old apartment house on the corner of Albemarle. His dealer lived on the building’s eighth floor. The dealer, a guy named Billy Smith, owned an antique store on 18th Street in Adams Morgan. Sometimes it seemed to Karras that half the antique dealers in D.C. dealt coke.