Shame the Devil (10 page)

Stefanos said, “That’s called a French inhale, what you did just there.”

“When in Paris,” said Anna, making a quick gesture down the bar at Happy.

“What’s your pleasure?”

“Three Bud drafts, a Light bottle, a sea breeze, and a frozen marg, no salt.”

“Who’s the frozen drink for?”

“Linda, that woman with the hair, from the Treasury? She’s at table three.”

“Tell Linda I don’t do frozen drinks. She wants a Slurpee she’s gotta go to Seven-Eleven.”

“How about I tell her the blender’s on the fritz?”

“Okay. Tell her that.”

Ramon went by with a bus tray, brushing Anna’s leg as he passed.

“I need silver,” said Anna to Ramon.

“Okay,
chica,
” said Ramon, giving Anna a quick wink for good measure.

Anna rolled her eyes and said, “If he’d spend more time getting the dishes and silverware turned over and less time trying
to get in my pants, things would run smoother around here.”

“I’m working on that,” said Stefanos. “But I can’t guarantee the little guy will leave you alone. He’s like Jordan in the
lane: not to be denied.”

“Can I have that frozen marg — please?”

“No.”

Stefanos got Anna her drinks: the beers, the sea breeze, and a frozen margarita, no salt. Anna dressed them and jockeyed them
out to the dining room. Stefanos drew a third pitcher for two Department of Labor drunks, turned the tape over for Melvin,
and refilled the coffee cup of a recovering alcoholic named Dave, who was reading a Howard Browne paperback at the bar. Stefanos
made another Manhattan for Happy, served it, and emptied his ashtray.

“What’s the special today?” asked Happy.

“Grilled chicken breast,” said Stefanos.

“Any good?”

“Chef says you could fuck it.”

“Gimme one of those,” said Happy.

Stefanos said, “Right.”

DAN BOYLE
, a thick man with dirty-blond hair and pale eyes, ambled into the Spot at half past two. He sported a lined raincoat that
looked as if it had been trampled by a horse, a worn Harris tweed jacket underneath, and a Colt Python holstered beneath the
jacket. Dan Boyle had a seat across from the ice chest at the empty bar.

“Nick, how’s it goin’?”

“Going good.”

“Gimme the combo.”

Boyle dropped his deck of Marlboro reds onto the mahogany bar while Stefanos poured three inches of Jack Daniel’s into a beveled
shot glass. He served Boyle the shot and uncapped a bottle of Bud that he had buried in ice. He pulled another bottle from
the same place and put one foot up on the edge of the chest.

Boyle put down half his shot. His fingers were like white fish sticks, and they covered the glass. He picked up his beer bottle
and tapped Stefanos’s. Both of them drank. It was Stefanos’s first sip of the day, and the beer was good.

Boyle made a head motion in the direction of the house speakers. “What’re we listening to?”

“Gaunt.”

“Cunt?”

“Gaunt.”

“Y’know something? When Melvin takes off at two, the musical selection goes to shit around here. Does Phil know you play this
stuff?”

“Phil doesn’t care as long as the reading on the register tape matches what’s in the cash box.”

“I should complain.”

“You are complaining. Anyway, Boyle, I don’t see you running screaming toward the exit.”

“You know I’d never do that.” Boyle winked clumsily over the lip of his glass. “ ’Cause this here is my oasis in the asphalt
desert.”

Stefanos wiped his hands dry on his bar rag. “I read in the
Post
how you got a new boss.”

“Yeah. The
acting
chief of police promoted a guy who’s never worked Homicide.”

“Nice picture of him in the paper.”

“He’s got a sweet smile, doesn’t he? Like I’m gonna march into hell behind that guy.”

“It won’t make a difference. Guys like you don’t really have bosses, Boyle. You’re one of those rogue cops you hear about.
Like the ones you see on TV shows. The guys who are always quitting, tossing their gun and shield on their lieutenant’s desk
before storming out of the office.”

“Except I don’t quit.” Boyle waved his index finger around the top of the glass. “Hit me.”

Stefanos took the Jack off the middle shelf and poured. “What do you hear about a kid named Randy Weston? He’s up on murder
charges for doing a dealer named Donnel Lawton. Up around First and Kennedy?”

“I’m not familiar with the case.” Boyle lit a smoke. “Elaine Clay got you running on that one?”

“She mentioned something about it, that’s all.”

“You watch yourself if you’re going to be hanging around Kennedy. People think, it’s just off North Capitol and New Hampshire,
it’s residential, nothing’s going to happen, right? I’ve seen some really bad shit go down on that strip. Remember the First
and Kennedy Crew? The kid who shot up the police station a few years back, he was a member. Our guys were investigating a
multiple homicide in that neighborhood the first time they brought him in. Things happen down there, brother. So you just
watch yourself, hear?”

“Thanks, Dad.” Stefanos put fire to a Camel. “So how’re the kids?”

“Great. I walked into my daughter’s room last night — she’s all of thirteen — and I see this poster of a rapper hung on her
wall. Wearing one of those slingshot swimsuits, too; the guy’s got a crank on him that would scare a mule. He’s one of those
former drug dealers who make records now, raps about busting a cap in someone’s head, fucking women in the ass, all that.
The same kind of boofer I see on the street every day, lookin’ at me like he wants to cut my throat. A dude bragging about
being a cop killer and getting paid for it — that’s my daughter’s hero. And then, the same night, some guy calls for her on
the phone; I can tell by the sound of his voice he’s a common little street —”

“Boofer?”

“I was gonna say ‘punk.’ ”

“I should have waited to read your lips instead of your mind.”

“So I give the phone to my daughter, and I gotta watch her face light up for
him.
I tell my wife we ought to move, but where are we gonna go, huh? We already live in the suburbs.”

“You could try Utah.”

“Ah, I hear they got ’em out there, too.”

“What do you want, Boyle? You think she ought to have a poster of
you
up on her wall?”

“Look, I don’t expect you to relate.”

“You’re right; I can’t relate. But I do understand you, Boyle. I got you pegged for just about the most enlightened guy I
know.”

Boyle smiled. “Good thing you and me have got an understanding, Nick. Nothing like spilled blood to hold a couple of guys
like us together, right?”

Stefanos dragged on his cigarette, watched Boyle crush his dead in the ashtray. Boyle got up, drained his shot, upended his
bottle, finished his beer. He dropped a five and some ones on the mahogany and walked out of the bar.

Mai, the Spot’s second-string tender, came in around four and ate her dinner at the bar. Mai was wide of hip, with round shoulders
and a plain, kind face featuring rosy Raggedy Ann cheeks. At work she wore her blond hair pinned back in pretzels. She was
a German with a green card and a weakness for marines. Conveniently, the barracks were right down the block.

“Where you off to tonight, Nicky?” said Mai. “Gonna see your girl?”

“What?” said Stefanos. “Do I ask you personal questions about Sergeant Slaughter?”

“His name’s Sergeant DeLaughter.”

“Go ahead and answer her,” said Anna Wang, sitting beside Mai with one of Stefanos’s Camels hanging from her pouty mouth.
“You don’t need to be embarrassed. We’re practically like your sisters.”

“Does that mean we can take showers together?”

Mai laughed as Anna blew a smoke ring in his direction.

“How
is
she, Nick?” said Anna. “C’mon.”

“Alicia’s fine.”

“That’s all you’re gonna say?”

“She’s fine.”

Roberto Juarez, Maria’s husband, entered the Spot and stayed up on the landing. He was a humorless man with a thin mustache,
hard forearms, and thick, heavily veined hands. It made Stefanos angry to look at Juarez’s hands.

Stefanos put his head in the reach-through. “Maria! Your husband’s out here!”

“I’ll be right there!”

“So long,
senorita,
” said James Posten in a musical way.

James came out of the kitchen, fully dressed for the weather, swinging his walking stick by his side. James cooked round-trip
on the D.C.–to–New York Metroliner three nights a week, and he was off to work.

“What’s this?” he said, making a gesture toward one of the house speakers.

“Beastie Boys,” said Stefanos. “
The In Sound from Way Out.
”

“That’s some beautiful shit,” said James. “I thought they only shouted.”

“They
play
on this one,” said Stefanos. “Say hello to the Big Apple for all us provincial types down here.”

“Closest I’ll get to that apple is beneath Penn Station. But I’ll make sure and soak up some of the vibe.”

He waved good-bye to Mai and Anna, and walked toward the front door. Juarez did not step aside to let him pass. As James went
around him, Juarez smiled thinly and gave James a small air-kiss. James ignored him and left the Spot.

Maria emerged from the kitchen, a cheap nylon coat over her uniform. Her smile faded as she reached her husband. The two of
them went quietly out the door.

“Phil said he wanted to talk to me,” said Darnell, stepping off the rubber mats and coming out into the bar area, his full
apron wet from the sink. “You know what it’s about?”

“He’s gonna get you some help for lunch, I think,” said Stefanos.

“I told him I didn’t need no dishwasher.”

“It’s for the expediter’s position.”

“Oh. Y’all don’t think I can handle it, is that it?”

“We can all use help from time to time, Darnell.”

“Uh-huh. Well, I’ll listen to what the man has to say,” said Darnell. “He
is
the boss.”

Stefanos looked at Mai. “You about ready to jump in here?”

“Let me just finish the rest of this chicken. It’s really tender.”

“Nick’s gonna take some home with him tonight, on account of it’s so tender.” Anna grinned as she stubbed out her smoke. “Just
in case he doesn’t hook up with Alicia.”

Stefanos left a little rubber on the street as he gave the Coronet 500 gas on the green.

From the shotgun bucket, Anna Wang side-glanced Stefanos. “Nick, don’t you think this car is a little noisy?”

“I put custom pipes on it. You know, dual exhaust. It runs more efficiently now, and it’s faster.”

“And noisier.”

“I didn’t notice.”

“Everybody at that stoplight did.”

“They were just checking out the boss lines on the car. You know what they used to call the shape of this model? ‘Coke bottle,’
on account of the way the metal cuts in on the rear quarter panels.”

“You remind me of why I never dated Chinese guys. Those dudes, all they want to talk about is their cars and the next car
they’re going to buy. They’re all gearheads, like you.”

“I’m no gearhead.”

“Yes, you are.”

“You know, good thing you’re cute. You remind me of this really pretty four-barrel carb I saw the other day.”

“You think I’m cute?”

“Sure. If I wasn’t —”

“Fifteen years older than me?”

“I was gonna say ‘attached.’ ”

“You’re attached, all right. But thanks for the compliment, Nick.”

Stefanos pulled over on 7th Street, just south of the Mount Vernon Square Metro stop. Anna’s apartment building, a beat-to-shit
white building with white columns and forest green doors, was across the street. A guy wearing an army jacket and socks without
shoes stood outside the door, insulting people who were walking by. A young man a half block south was leaning into an open
car window, selling crack in the middle of the day.

“Now, go straight inside,” said Stefanos.

“I thought I’d ask that guy up for a drink first.”

“There’s an idea. And then he could, I don’t know, hack you up into little pieces while he cries for his mommy?”

“Thanks for the ride, Nick.”

“My pleasure.”

Stefanos watched Anna cross the street, one hand gripping the strap of her backpack. She lived on the subway line, but he
drove her home whenever he was able. Anna was his friend, and he couldn’t stand to think of anyone hurting her. It wasn’t
just Anna; lately, he couldn’t stand to think of anyone getting hurt at all.

Lou Reed was singing “Perfect Day” from the juke as Nick Stefanos navigated the crowd at Rio Loco’s on U at 16th. He found
Alicia Weisman at the bar and kissed her on her mouth.

“How’s it goin’, sweetheart?”

“It’s going good. How about for you?”

“Great, now.”

Stefanos smiled. She had small, light brown eyes, great blossoming laugh lines, and a crooked nose. Her lipstick always overshot
her lips. Her hair was in some kind of irregular-length cut, and the color of it changed every few weeks. No one would ever
mistake her for double-take pretty on the street, but she was pretty to Stefanos, and looking at her made him smile.

“Mind if I sit down?” said Stefanos.

“I was saving the stool for you.”

“I bet it wasn’t easy.”

“You don’t know the half of it. I’ve been beating them off.”

“That must have made them happy.”

“Not like that, silly.”

Stefanos had a seat, lit a cigarette for himself, lit Alicia’s. The bartender placed a bottle of Bud in front of him. Stefanos
chin-motioned the call rack, and the bartender returned with a shot of Old Grand-Dad.

“Ah,” said Stefanos, sipping the bourbon and lifting his bottle. He tapped Alicia’s and drank.

She said, “Hey.”

He rubbed her back and gave her another kiss.

“What’s up tonight?” he said.

“I was gonna go over to Arlington. Kevin Johnson’s at Iota, and Dana Cerick’s new band is the opening act. Plus, we just put
out the seven-inch on this band that’s playing a couple of sets at Galaxy Hut. I should drop by and see how they’re doing.
Wanna go?”