Down by the River Where the Dead Men Go

by George Pelecanos

  “That’s what I was looking for, yeah.”

  “Well, I’ve been thinking about it—maybe our boys were the buyers, not the sellers. Maybe they read an ad in there, got themselves hooked up as actors in this porno thing.”

  I pushed my coffee cup around on the table. “You know, Jack, you might not be as dim as you look.”

  “If that’s some kind of compliment, then I guess I better take it.”

  “You pick me up at my place?”

  “In an hour,” he said. “Look presentable, okay?”

  “Sure thing, Boy Scout. See you then.”

  After several forced sets of push-ups and sit-ups, I took a long, cold shower. I didn’t feel much better, but I felt human. LaDuke swung by right on the button, and I went out to meet him with one of the newspaper copies in my hand. I got into the passenger side of the big Ford and dropped the tabloid on the seat between us. LaDuke wore a starched white shirt with a solid black tie. He had shined his thick black oxfords, the only shoes I had ever seen on his feet. I nodded at the newspaper on the seat.

  “Good call,” I said. “I was looking in ‘Adult Services,’ when I should have been looking under ‘Wanted.’ I found a couple of items in there… could be something. One’s a photographer looking for healthy young black males to pose nude. The other one’s got a local filmmaker looking for young African-American males for his next production.”

  “Might be a winner,” LaDuke said.

  “We’ll check it out later,” I said. “Let’s go.”

  LaDuke looked me over. “You look like hell, you know it?”

  “Thanks for the observation.”

  “You ought to slow it down a little, Nick.”

  “Just turn this piece of shit over,” I said. “We gotta go pick up Darnell.”

  At the Spot, Darnell was finishing his load of lunch dishes, so LaDuke and I had a seat at the bar. Boyle sat alone, a beer and a Jack in front of him, two stools away from Mel, who softly sang along to the Stylistics coming from the deck. I ordered a quick beer from Mai, just to steady my hands. It worked. Mai put an ice water on the bar, and I chased the beer with that. LaDuke got up and went to talk to Anna, who was cleaning her tables in the other room. Boyle looked down the bar in my direction.

  “Who’s your friend?” he said.

  “Guy’s name is LaDuke,” I said.

  “I knew that,” Boyle said. “Johnson’s been talking to Shareen Lewis. She told him all about him—and you.”

  “So why’d you ask?”

  “Just wanted to see how deep you’d go in your lies, Nick. You keep playing me, tellin’ me you’ve got nothing on the case. But you and Boy Detective over there are working on some kind of angle, am I right?”

  “I said I’d square it with you when I had something concrete.”

  “Sure you will.”

  “How about you? Johnson get any more evidence that Roland and Calvin were moving drugs?”

  “I’m done feeding you information,” Boyle said. “You’re on your own.”

  “Okay,” I said. “Okay.”

  Darnell came out of the kitchen, rubbing his hands dry on a rag. I left a few bucks for Mai and got LaDuke’s attention. He said good-bye to Anna and tossed Darnell the keys to the Ford. The three of us went out the door.

  DARNELL PARKED NEAR THE entrance to Goode’s White Goods, and soon afterward McGinnes came goose-stepping out into the lot. He got into the back with LaDuke, introduced himself, said hello to Darnell. Darnell, his hands on the wheel, gave McGinnes an amused smile.

  “Where’s Donny?” I said.

  “He’ll be along,” McGinnes said, and just as he got the words out, Donny came through the double glass doors. He was wearing some sort of green double-knit slacks and two-inch heeled shoes, with a green shirt and green tie combo to complete the hookup.

  “I remember this movie,” Darnell said, “when I was a kid. Had Sammy Davis, Jr., in it, playing some cavalry guy, like Sammy was supposed to be Gunga Din and shit.”

  “Sergeants Three,” I said.

  “With all this green this cat’s wearin’,” Darnell said, “kind of reminds me of Sammy, tryin’ to be Robin Hood.”

  “Donny’s all right,” McGinnes said.

  Darnell said, “Must be one of those Baltimore brothers, with those threads and shit.”

  “Here,” McGinnes said, passing a few spansules over the front seat, pressing them into my hand. “Eat one of these, man. It’ll do you right.”

  “What is it?”

  “Make you go, Jim,” McGinnes said.

  “Maybe later.” I stashed the speed in my pocket.

  Donny got in the car, next to McGinnes in the backseat. He shook hands with everyone, gave Darnell a different shake than he gave everyone else. Darnell rolled his eyes and put the Ford in gear.

  On the way to the Hot Plate, I gave everyone some background and general instructions. I wasn’t worried about McGinnes—I knew he would pick up on the rhythms once we got started. LaDuke sat quietly next to the open window while McGinnes and Donny bantered verbally over who would play what roles when the time came.

  “Listen,” I said, “we’re all supposed to be equal, management-wise—that’s the whole point of this thing. This Bernie guy, he likes to feel like he’s being courted by a bunch of execs, get it?”

  “I get it,” Donny said. “But I ain’t never run down this kind of game before. Understand what I’m sayin’?”

  “Hey, Donny, if you’re not comfortable—”

  “I’ll be all right. It’s just that, you know, I don’t want anybody thinkin’ I’m some kind of punk. See what I’m sayin’?”

  “We’re just businessmen selling this stuff,” I said. “So relax.”

  “ ’Cause I ain’t no punk,” Donny said, unable to give it up. “I ain’t never had nothin’ back there didn’t belong back there. Fact is, I’m so tight, it hurts me to fart.”

  “Shit,” Darnell mumbled.

  “Now, women?” Donny continued, moving forward and leaning his arms on the front seat. “I get me some women. Had me this girl last night, this freak from Dundalk?”

  “Told you he was from Baltimore,” Darnell said.

  “Anyway,” Donny said, “in the beginning, this freak didn’t want to come over to my place, on account of I’m on the… slight side. Maybe she thought that meant I was light in other ways, too. See what I’m sayin’? But when I unspooled that motherfucker”—and here Donny imitated the sound of a line being cast—“the freak says, ‘Goddamn, Donny, where’d a little man like you get so much dick?’ ”

  “Step on it,” LaDuke said, “will you, Darnell?” Darnell gave the Ford some gas.

  THE ONLY SIGN OUTSIDE the Hot Plate said NEWSPAPERS, MAGAZINES, BOOKS. The address, however, jibed with the one given to me by Gerry Abromowitz, so Darnell parked the car on K. We left him sitting behind the wheel, reading a paperback on the teachings of Islam, and went inside the shop.

  The first section of the store featured racks of daily newspapers and magazines, weeklies and monthlies, all of the legitimate variety. The clerk behind the counter did not so much as look up when we entered. We went through another open door, into a considerably livelier and more populated section where the real business was being conducted.

  A couple of employees—one skinny, one fat, there never seemed to be middle physical ground in places like these—were ringing up sales and keeping an eye on the display floor. Donny immediately went to a rack containing shrink-wrapped magazines whose covers almost exclusively featured women with extralarge lungs. McGinnes seemed more interested in the business aspect of things, wondering aloud how the “profit pieces” were merchandised. LaDuke stood with his hands in his pockets, clearly disgusted at the sight of middle-aged men eye-searching the mags that specialized in man-boy action. Most of the activity seemed to be in that area of the store. I waited for one of the clerks to get free, the pock-faced, skinny one, and announced myself. The kid punched an in-house exten
sion, spoke to someone on the other end, pointed to another open door, and told me we could “go on.” I got everyone together and we went through to the back.

  We entered a large warehouse arrangement where three men sat in an office area in front of computers, taking orders over the phone. I guessed that the mail-order end of things was Tobias’s biggest number, the on-line factor a big element in the company’s growth, a way for pedophiles and other pervs to home-shop and network coast to coast without fear of exposure. Progress.

  Bernard Tobias stepped out from a row of shelves. He was short and dumpy, but clean, the kind of man who has a wife and kids and a house in Kemp Mill or Hillandale, complete with ashtrays stolen from Atlantic City hotels and clown prints hung on the bathroom walls. He would have told you that he was providing a service, a form of release for those “poor slobs” who “have a problem” with kids, and that maybe, just maybe, it was safer to sell a magazine to a guy who could take it home and jerk off on some boy’s photograph, rather than have him out prowling the local video arcade, trying to hand quarters out to someone’s son. I hadn’t come here to judge him, though, only to get some information: I smiled warmly and shook his hand.

  “Ron Roget,” I said.

  “Bernie Tobias,” he said, and looked expectantly at the rest of my group.

  “My associates,” I said, presenting them with an elaborate swing of my hand. “Mr. Franco, Mr. Magid, and Mr. Jefferson.”

  The names were characters from the film The Dirty Dozen. After a pointless argument on the drive over—McGinnes wanted to be Jefferson, but Donny, of course, wouldn’t let him—we had agreed on the aliases.

  “I’ve heard of you guys,” Bernie said, scratching his head.

  “Of course you have,” Donny said. “We’re large.”

  “Follow me,” Bernie said, and we all walked through the warehouse aisles to an open area that looked like a small-timer’s idea of a meeting room. We took seats around a shiny oval table, with Tobias in the sole chair with arms. There was a desk near the table. Plaques of some sort hung on cinder block. A wooden shelf over the desk contained a row of trophies.

  “Thank you for seeing us,” I said. “I can see you’re very busy.”

  “Business is good,” Bernie said, his fingers locked and resting on his ample belly. “You say you guys are out of Philly?”

  “South and Main,” Donny said.

  “I’d give you a card,” I said, “but the truth is, we didn’t come prepared for this. We’re on a kind of vacation here.”

  “A retreat,” McGinnes said.

  “Down south,” I said.

  “Miami,” LaDuke said, probably just wanting to hear his own voice.

  “South Miami,” Donny said, as if he had ever been out of the Baltimore-Washington corridor. “South Beach.”

  “We got a boat down there,” McGinnes said.

  “A yacht,” said Donny.

  “So,” I said, “we were passing through town, heading south, and I thought I’d look you up, make an introduction.”

  Bernie Tobias looked at Donny and McGinnes, back at me. “What exactly is it that you and your associates do, Mr. Roget?”

  “Ron,” I said.

  “What do you do, Ron?”

  “Like I told you on the phone, we cater to the NAMBLA crowd—man-boy discipline, that sort of thing.”

  “In what capacity?” Bernie said.

  “We’re producers,” I said. “We specialize in the type of product you specialize in, on the distribution end.”

  “And how do you know of me?”

  “The network,” I said mysteriously, and with a wink.

  “But we ain’t no punks, now,” Donny said.

  “It hurts him to fart,” McGinnes said, giving a quick head jerk toward Donny.

  Bernie Tobias looked oddly at Donny, and then the phone rang on his desk. He excused himself, got up to answer it. LaDuke and I simultaneously shot killer looks at Donny and McGinnes. Tobias raised his voice into the phone, hung it up, and returned to his seat.

  “I’m sorry,” he said. “I really don’t have much time today. There’s a lot going on.”

  “We won’t keep you,” I said. “But I just wanted to let you in on what we’re doing. As far as production values go, we’re doing the highest-quality videos for the broadest customer base of anyone else on this coast.”

  “But I’m very satisfied with what I have,” Bernie said. “I deal with only a couple of suppliers. They’re local, so there’s never any problem in getting merchandise quickly. And they know just what I want—this discipline thing is really taking off for me right now, I’m telling you. It’s legal, too—no penetration shots, no actors who are obviously underage.”

  “Not obviously underage,” LaDuke said.

  “Well, you have to know how to straddle that line, don’t you?”

  “Of course,” LaDuke said, struggling to form a smile.

  “Your suppliers,” I said, “they wouldn’t be the Brontman Brothers, out of Northwest, would they?” I had seen a sign for Brontman Bakers on a storefront on the way downtown.

  “No,” Bernie said, distracted by Donny, who had gotten out of his chair and picked up one of Tobias’s trophies off the shelf. “I don’t even know them. Look, Mr.—”

  “Jefferson,” Donny said.

  “Mr. Jefferson, please put that down, it’s my son’s—”

  “Mr. Tobias,” McGinnes said, warming to it now, “you sure you’re not getting your product from the Brontmans? Because I know—I know—that our product has ten times the value—”

  “Sir,” Bernie said, “I’m getting most of my product out of Southeast right now, the Buzzard Point area. Some of my stuff comes out of an apartment house in Silver Spring. I mean, I know where my product’s coming from.”

  “We wouldn’t suggest otherwise,” LaDuke said. “But aside from the fact that we offer the best value for the money, we also offer a steady supply of product. New titles every two weeks.”

  “I’ve even got you there,” Bernie said. “My suppliers, they shoot one night a week, deliver me new product each Saturday. I couldn’t be happier with the situation I’ve got.”

  “They shoot on what night?” I said, and saw from the exasperated look on Tobias’s face that I had pushed it too far.

  He breathed out slowly, let his composure creep back in. “Gentlemen, I know what you’re trying to do here. You’re trying to pump me for information, gain some kind of competitive advantage so you can come back to me with a program. But that’s not the way I do business.” Tobias smiled genially. “Listen, the next time you’re in town, bring some samples of your product. We’ll have a look, sit down, work on some pricing. If I like what I see, who knows, maybe we’ll make a deal. In the meantime, I’ve really got to get back to work.”

  “Fair enough,” I said, and pushed myself up from my chair. My associates followed suit. I shook Tobias’s hand.

  “Thanks for your time, Mr. Tobias,” I said. “We’ll be in touch.”

  “I’m sure you will,” Bernie said. “You fellows have an unusual style, by the way.”

  “We try,” I said. “Thanks again.”

  LaDuke went to shake Tobias’s hand. I heard a bone crack, and Tobias jerked his hand back.

  “You’ve got a hell of a grip,” Bernie said with a nervous chuckle. “That’s my golf hand, you know.”

  “Sorry,” LaDuke said. “I’m stronger than I look, I guess.” He smiled, his teeth bared like a dog’s. We walked from the room, leaving Tobias staring at his hand.

  DARNELL DROVE US BACK to the lot of Goode’s White Goods. Donny and McGinnes got out of the car, and I got out with them. The heat rose off the black asphalt of the lot. I put fire to a smoke.

  “How’d I do?” Donny said. He looked shrunken in his clothes, his mouth screwed up to one side.

  “You did good,” I said. “When I get paid on this one, I’ll send you and Johnny a little piece of it.”

  “At you
r service.” Donny looked at Darnell through the open window of the Ford and said, “My brother.” Darnell smiled, and Donny stepped across the parking lot, toward the double glass doors.

  McGinnes said, “Told you he was all right.”

  “Thanks, man. Thanks for everything.”

  “Hey, you and me…” McGinnes shuffled his feet. “Nothing to it.” He rubbed at the bridge of his nose. “By the way, No Damn Good’s got an opening on the floor. Any interest? You can’t keep doing this sideline thing of yours forever.”

  “It’s not a sideline,” I said. “It’s what I do.”

  “Right,” McGinnes said, unconvinced. “Just thought I’d ask.”

  “You wouldn’t want me to take the food out of your mouth, would you?”

  “Wouldn’t want that.”

  “Take it easy, Johnny.”

  “You too, Jim.” McGinnes grinned. “Better get my ass back inside. The little bastard’s probably in there stealing all my ups.”

  He put his hands in his pockets and walked away, whistling through his teeth. I hit my cigarette, dropped it, and ground it under my shoe.

  We dropped Darnell back at the Spot, and afterward LaDuke took me back to my place. We sat out front, the Ford idling at the curb.

  “Wish we could have gotten more out of Tobias,” LaDuke said.

  “We got everything we could,” I said. “And anyway, I think we got plenty.”

  “Like?”

  “Just a feeling. This thing’s getting ready to bust.”

  “You think?”

  “Yeah.” I put my hand on the door latch and lightly tapped his arm. “You did all right back there, you know it?”

  “I’m catching on.”

  “I’ll call you in the morning,” I said. “We’ll put it in gear.”

  “Why not tonight?”

  “ ’Cause I got to go see somebody right now.”

  “On the case?”

  “No.”

  “What, then?”

  “Look, LaDuke, you don’t have to worry. I’m not gonna leave you behind. We’re partners, right?”

  LaDuke smiled, sat a little straighter behind the wheel. I got out of the car, rapped the roof with my knuckles, and walked toward my apartment as he pulled out from the curb. Some electric guitar and a screaming vocal cut the quiet of the early-evening air. If I hadn’t known better, I would have sworn LaDuke had turned his car radio on, and was playing it loud as he drove away.