Right as Rain

by George Pelecanos

  “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 wat
ched 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

  SHARMBA 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.

  “You ever notice,” said Strange, “how many white fighters call themselves Rocky?”

  “I think there’s been one or two.”

  “There’s that hook again,” said Strange, pointing to the ring.

  Takoma Park’s Sharmba Mitchell was defending his WBA super lightweight title against Pedro Saiz, out of Brooklyn. Saiz, a late replacement for a scratched William Joppy, had not been expected to show too much, but he was proving himself tonight. Mitchell wore trunks cut in strips of red, white, and blue. Saiz wore white.

  The fourth round ended. As the fighters went to their corners, a blonde showing a whole lot of leg climbed into the ring and walked around the edge of the ropes, a round—card held up in her hands.

  “You see the ladies?” said Strange.

  “I liked Round Two, myself,” said Quinn.

  “Shame about the face.”

  “Hey, I bet she’s got a big heart.”

  “A big inverted heart, you mean.”

  “Her ass was pretty big. But I thought you guys liked that.”

  “You thought. Anyway, I’m not talkin’ about the ring girls, Terry, I’m talkin’ about our ladies. Our dates.”

  “They went to get a couple of beers.”

  “Fifteen minutes ago.”

  “They’re okay. Probably down there with their faces together, having a firefight. Talking about us.”

  “I hope they are. It’s when they stop talkin’ about us, then we’re in trouble.” Strange sipped his beer and looked at Quinn out of the corners of his eyes. “You didn’t tell me about Juana, man.”

  “That she was fine?”

  “That she was a sister.”

  “She’s half Puerto Rican.”

  “Half nothin’. You got a drop of black in you, you are black.”

  “Got a problem with it?” said Quinn.

  “Uh—uh. I mean, I’m not gonna lie to you, it took me back at first, ’cause I didn’t expect it.”

  “It’s the way we’re programmed, is all it is.”

  “Now you’re gonna tell me what it is.”

  “I was up in Wheaton Plaza a couple of weeks back, the mall? Half the young couples, some of ’em had babies in strollers, were interracial. Fifteen years ago, when I was hanging out up at the Plaza, you wouldn’t have seen it. It’s just natural for these kids now. And it made me think, the way my generation is, and especially the way your generation is, it’s our hang—up, man. It’s something we’ve got to get over, ’cause the world’s changing whether we like it or not.”

  “Case you didn’t notice, you been getting a lot of looks here tonight. From people in all sorts of generations.”

  “She’s been drawing the looks, and I don’t blame the guys who been lookin’.”

  “You’re gonna have to at least face this, Terry: There’s a whole lot of people, black and white, they just don’t believe in mixin’, man. That doesn’t make them racists or anything like that. It’s just their opinion, straight up.”

  “Long as they stay out of my business, they can have any kind of op
inion they want.”

  The fifth round began. A fight broke out by the men’s room to their right, and security guards swarmed the guilty parties, carrying one man out as he kicked his legs and yelled obscenities over his shoulder. There had been a few fights in the crowd that night, and they had occurred with more frequency as more beer and liquor had been served.

  “You been seein’ Juana long?”

  Quinn rolled his eyes. “Shit, man, you still on that?”

  “I got to admit, when we came up on the two of you, first thing I thought was, Terry got himself a one—time date with a black woman for my benefit. Trying to make an impression on old Strange, like, Here I am, Terry Quinn, lovin’ all the people, can’t you see I just want us all to get along?”

  Quinn laughed. “I’m through trying to impress you, Derek. You ought to know that by now. I’ve told you everything I know. I mean, can we just hang out and not deal with it for one night?”

  “So how long you been seein’ her?”

  “Not too long, I guess. I’m crazy about her, too, you want to know the truth.”

  “I got eyes.”

  “How about you and Janine?”

  “Shoot. We been seein’ each other now, I don’t know, about ten years. Not exclusive, nothin’ like that.”

  “She’s in love with you.”

  “Go ahead, man.”

  “Look, I got eyes, too.”

  “My mother always tells me that old parable about the guy, went all around the world lookin’ for diamonds, when all the time he never did think to look in his own backyard.”

  “Diamonds in your backyard. I’ve heard that one plenty of times.”

  “Yeah, she didn’t make it up. But when it’s your mom tellin’ you, you tend to listen. Anyhow, I guess me and Janine, we’re good for each other in a lot of ways.”

  Strange knew it was deeper than that between him and Janine. But he was a private man, and that was all he could bring himself to say.

  Saiz issued a flagrant low blow to Mitchell, sending him to his knees. The increasingly raucous crowed booed loudly as the ref directed Saiz to his corner and deducted a point. At Mitchell’s nod, the ref restarted the fight. Mitchell came out with fury, throwing a flurry of punches in a blur of speed and power.