Hell To Pay

chapter 11

“GIRL,” said Strange, “you gonna bleed me dry.”

“House rules,” said Eve with a shrug. “You want me to sit down with you, you gotta buy me one of these drinks.”

“Tell the truth, though. There’s no liquor in that glass, right?”

“You know it ain’t nothin’ but sugar and juice.”

“Figured it was some kinda hustle,” said Strange.

They were seated at the far end of the bar, away from the sports junkies, near the service station. Eve’s bouncer was nearby, talking to one of the dancers, keeping one eye on the house, one on Eve.

“That your man?” said Strange.

“Yeah. You got to have one, and he’s as good as any I’ve had. Never has raised a hand to me once.”

Eve slid a cigarette from a pack the bartender had placed before her as she took her seat. Strange struck a match and gave her a light.

“Thank you, sugar.”

“Ain’t no thing.”

“Say your name again?”

“Derek Strange.”

She dragged on the smoke, then hit it again. Strange took a ten from his wallet and placed it on the bar between him and Eve. Eve’s head was moving to the Tower of Power coming from the house system as she slipped the ten into her shorts.

“‘Clever Girl,’” said Strange.

“I ain’t all that. Would I be here if I was?”

“I’m sayin’, that’s the name of this song. Lenny Williams up front. Ain’t no question, he was the best vocalist this group had, and they had a few.”

“Little before my time.”

“I know, darling.” Strange leaned in close to Eve. “Let me just go ahead and ask you straight up, you don’t mind. Do you know the girl in the flyer?”

Eve shook her head. “No.”

“I didn’t think you did.”

“I told your boy.”

“But you do know this cat Worldwide.”

“He was my pimp at one time.”

“Was?”

“I stopped trickin’ last year. I can make a better living doing this right here. Plus, I got this thing at Lord and Taylor’s, up in Chevy Chase? Givin’ out perfume samples, like that.”

“Always wondered where they found those pretty girls in places like that.”

“Thank you,” said Eve, lowering her eyes for a moment and then fixing them again on Strange.

“Sounds like you’re doin’ all right.”

“I’m makin’ it.”

“You just walked away from trickin’, huh?”

“Worldwide specializes in those young girls. It wasn’t like I went off to another pimp. That’s something he wouldn’t let happen, understand what I’m sayin’? What it was, he couldn’t use me no more. I got old, Strange. So I clean-breaked and came on over here.”

“You’re like, what, thirty? That ain’t old.”

Eve tapped ash off her smoke. “I’m twenty-nine. That’s old for World.”

“What about the one who gave Quinn your name? You know her?”

“Oh, yeah. Had to be this little white bitch, name of Stella.”

“She told him you steered girls over to Wilson.”

“I ain’t never done that. It’s what she does. Can’t sell her own ass; ain’t nobody even wants that pussy for free. Trick-ass bitch hustled your boy out of his money, bringin’ him my way. I knew straight off, he mentioned P Street, it was her. ’Cause that’s her corner, right? She gets next to those young white-girl runaways and puts them up with World. She was doin’ that shit when I was with him, and she still is, I guess. Thought she could make some quick change, givin’ up my name. That’s her, all the way.”

“Where’s Worldwide base his self?”

“Uh-uh.” Eve took a final drag off her cigarette and crushed it dead in the ashtray. “Look, I talked too much already. And I got to get myself back to work.”

“I need you, I can get up with you here, right?”

“Door’s open, long as you just wanna watch me dance. Far as this goes, though, we are done. You do come back, don’t be bringin’ your Caucasian friend with you, hear?”

“Boy’s got some anger management problems is what it is.”

“Needs to learn some manners, too.” Eve stood and straightened her outfit. “Listen, you do run into World-”

“I don’t know you no way. I never met you, and I don’t even know your name.”

Eve’s eyes softened. She looked younger then, and when she moved in and rested her hand on Strange’s shoulder, it felt good.

“Somethin’ else, too,” she said. “Don’t you even have a dream of fuckin’ with that man. This is not somethin’ you want to do.”

“I hear you, baby.”

Eve kissed him lightly on the cheek. “You smell kinda sweet for a man, y’know it?”

Strange said, “Take care of yourself, all right?”

She moved away and went through one of the doors behind the bar. Strange settled his tab and got his receipt. On his way out he stopped by the bouncer with the braided hair. He stood before him, looked him up and down, and smiled.

“Damn, boy,” said Strange, “you got some size on you, don’t you?”

“I go about two forty,” said the bouncer.

“Looks like most of it’s muscle, too. Can you move?”

“I’m quick for my size.”

“You a D.C. boy, right?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Played for who?”

“Came out of Ballou in ninety-two.”

“The Knights. No college?”

The bouncer spread his hands. “I ain’t had the grades.”

“Well, all that natural talent you got, you ought to be doin’ somethin’ ’stead of standing in this bar, breathing in all this smoke.”

“I heard that. But this here is what I got.”

“Listen,” said Strange, “thank you for handling that situation the way you did.”

“I don’t reach out for trouble. But I only give out one get-out-of-jail card per customer, see what I’m sayin’? You need to tell your boy, he comes back in here again, I will kick his motherfucking ass.”

Strange put a business card into the bouncer’s left hand, shook his right. “You ever need anything, the name’s Strange.”

Strange walked out, thinking on one of those golden rules his mother used to repeat, that one about the honey always gettin’ the flies. His mother, she was full of those corny old sayings. Him and his brother, when he was alive, used to joke about it with her all the time. She’d been gone awhile now, and more than anything, he missed hearing her voice. The longer he lived the more he realized, damn near everything she’d taught him, seemed like it was right.

QUINN showered at his apartment on Sligo Avenue, then walked up to town, passing the bookstore on Bonifant, stopping to check the lock on the front door before he went on his way. He drank two bottles of Bud at the Quarry House, seated next to a dwarfish regular who read paperback novels, spoke rarely, but was friendly when addressed. Quinn had gotten a taste at Rick’s and knew his evening would not be done without a couple more. These days, he almost always walked into bars by himself. He hadn’t had a girlfriend since things between him and Juana, a law student and waitress up at Rosita’s on Georgia Avenue, had fallen apart over a year ago. But he still frequented the local watering holes. He liked the atmosphere of bars, and he didn’t like to drink alone.

After his beers, Quinn walked up to Selim Avenue, trying but failing to not look in the window of Rosita’s, then crossed the pedestrian bridge spanning Georgia that led to the B &O train station alongside the Metro tracks. At this time of night the gate leading to the tunnel that ran beneath the tracks was locked, so he stayed on the east side. As he often did, he stood there on the platform, admiring the colored lights of the businesses and the pale yellow haloing the street lamps of downtown Silver Spring. A freight train approached, raising dust as it passed, and he closed his eyes to feel the stir of the wind. When the sound of the train faded he opened his eyes and went back in the direction of his place.

He came up here to the tracks nearly every night. The platform reminded him of a western set, and he liked the solitude, and the view. A construction crew had been working on the station, probably converting it into a museum or something, a thing to be looked at but not used, another change in the name of redevelopment and gentrification. Of course, he didn’t know for sure what they were doing to the station, but recent history convinced him that it was something he would not like. In the last year Quinn’s breakfast house, the Tastee Diner, had been moved to a location off Georgia, and he rarely ate there anymore as it was out of his foot range. Also, with its new faux-deco sign out front, it now looked liked the Disney version of a diner. He wondered when the small pleasure of his nightly walk would be taken from him, too.

BACK at his apartment, Quinn checked his messages and returned a call from Strange, who had phoned from Janine’s place. Strange told him what he had learned from Eve.

“Sounds like you ought to go back to that girl Stella,” said Strange.

“I will,” said Quinn. “Thanks.”

Quinn was a little jealous that Strange had been able to get what he could not, but he was cognizant of his own limitations, and grateful that Strange had made the extra effort on his behalf.

After hanging up with Strange, he sat on his couch, rubbing his hands together, looking around at the spartan decor of his apartment, which was no decor at all. He was high from the beers and a little reckless from the high, and he felt as if his night was not done. He dragged his knapsack over to the couch, found Stella’s phone number, and then saw Worldwide Wilson’s number on Jennifer Marshall’s sheet. He reached for his phone and dialed the number Jennifer had scribbled down.

It was a pager number, as he knew it would be. Quinn left his home phone number, waited for the tone that told him the number had been received, and cut the line.

He stared at the phone in his hand, looked around the room, stared at the phone some more, then dialed Stella’s cell. She answered on the third ring.

“Hellooo. Officer Quinn?”

“You psychic or something?”

“Caller ID, duh.”

“I ought to get one of those ‘number unknown’ things.”

“Bet you’re too cheap to pay for the service, Quinn.”

“It always comes back to money for you.”

“Well, yeah.”

“Why’d you do it, Stella?”

“You musta talked to Eve.”

“I had the pleasure.”

“She bugged on you, huh?”

“I guess I ought to ask you another way. Why’d you send me to her? You could’ve put me onto somebody who didn’t know anything at all.”

“That’s true. But I wanted you to come back to me. I wanted to see how bad you wanted Jennifer, baby doll. And I can see that you do. I mean, you didn’t come looking to kick my ass or nothin’ like that. You’re callin’ me like a gentleman and you don’t sound angry. Are you angry at me, Quinn?”

“No,” he said, but it was a lie. “Can you deliver Jennifer?”

“I’d deliver my mother for a price. Shit, I’d give you my mother for free, everything she done to me.”

“What’s the price?”

“Five hundred will get you your girl.”

“How you gonna do that, Stella?”

“I got somethin’ of hers. Somethin’ I know she wants.”

“You stole from her?”

“Oh, my bad.”

“You’re a piece of work.”

“Always good to have a little somethin’ someone wants, information or merchandise, you know what I’m sayin’? Like I told you, it’s rough out here.”

“What about Worldwide?”

Quinn heard the snap of a match and the burn of a cigarette.

“What about him?” said Stella.

“You’re working for him. I don’t think he’d take too kindly to you setting up one of his girls to get taken off the street.”

“Course not. Worldwide is a bad motherfucker, for real. But he ain’t never gonna know, green eyes, ’less you thinkin’ on tellin’ him. You don’t have to worry about me, ’cause I have done this before. Made some large money on it, too. Parents pay more than ex-cops, but I take whatever’s there.”

“Always playing the middle.”

“When I can.”

“I won’t worry about you, Stella. But I do want this girl. So I’ll get you the money, with one condition. That you’ll be right there with me when I make the snatch. Because I don’t trust you, understand? I won’t get burned by you again.”

“Fair enough.”

“When can we set it up?”

“Soon as you want, lover.”

“I need to get my hands on the money and a van. How’s tomorrow night sound?”

“Sounds good.”

“I’ll call you tomorrow, hear?”

Quinn hit “end.” He phoned Sue Tracy and got her on her cell.

“Sue, it’s Terry.” He cleared his throat. “Quinn.”

“Hey, Terry.” There was a rasp to her voice, and he heard a long exhale before she said, “What’s up?”

“Listen, I got a strong line on Jennifer Marshall. But I’m gonna need a half a yard to buy the last piece of the puzzle.”

“I can get it.”

“Good. I think I might be able to make a grab tomorrow night.”

“We can do that.”

“We?”

“Well, one person generally can’t do this right, Terry. I’ll bring the van.”

“Okay, then. Okay.”

“Hold on a second.”

Quinn heard a rustling sound and waited for Tracy to get back on the line.

“Tell me where and when,” she said.

“You all right?”

“I’m in bed, Terry.”

“Oh.”

“I had to find paper and pen. Go ahead.”

“I don’t know yet. What I mean is, I’ll let you know.”

“You been out tonight?”

“Well, yeah.”

“You sound like you been drinking a little.”

“Just a little.”

“I bet you drink alone.”

“I don’t like to,” said Quinn.

“Tell you what. We get this girl tomorrow, I’m gonna buy you a beer. You don’t mind sitting next to a woman when you drink, do you?”

Quinn swallowed. “No.”

“Good work, Quinn.”

Quinn sat there for a while thinking of the velvet sandpaper in Sue Tracy’s voice, the sound of her long exhale, the way his stomach had kind of flipped when she’d said “I’m in bed.” How “Good work, Quinn” had sounded like “Fuck me, Terry” to him. Well, he was just a man, as stupid as any other. He looked down, saw his hand resting on the crotch of his jeans, and had to grin. He was too tired to jerk off, so he went to bed.

STRANGE sat on the edge of the bed, Janine’s strong thighs over his. She moved slowly up and down on his manhood, gyrating on the upstroke, that thing she did that made him feel twenty-one all over again. One of his hands grasped her ass and the other was flat on the sheets, and he pushed off, burying himself all the way inside her.

“You going for my backbone, sugar?”

“A man can try.”

She gave him her hips. “Shit, yeah.”

“C’mon, baby.”

“I am on the way.”

She kissed him deep, her eyes wide and alive. She kept them open when they kissed. He liked that.

Strange licked and sucked at one of her dark nipples, and Janine laughed low. Quiet Storm was coming from the clock radio by the bed, playing Dorothy Moore. Strange had turned it up before undressing her, so that Lionel, in the next room over, could not hear them making love.

He shot off and kept himself in motion. She was almost soundless when she came, just a short gasp. Strange liked that, too.

Later, he stood in his briefs by the bedroom window, looking through the blinds down to the street. Greco had nosed his way through the door and was sleeping on a throw rug, his muzzle resting between his paws.

“Come to bed, Derek.”

He turned around and admired Janine, her form all woman beneath the blanket on the bed.

“I’m just wondering what’s goin’ on out there. All those kids, still walking around.”

“You’re done working for today. Come to bed.”

He slid under the sheets and rested his thigh against hers.

“You better go to sleep,” said Janine. “You know how you get cranky when you don’t get enough.”

“Oh, I got enough.”

“Stop it.”

“Look, it’s just, at the end of the day, all these things go racing through my mind.”

“Like?”

“Thinkin’ on you, you want the truth. How I don’t tell you enough what a good job you do. And what you mean to me.”

Janine ran her fingers through the short wiry hairs on Strange’s chest. “Thank you, Derek.”

“I mean it.”

“Go ahead.”

“What?”

“Usually, when you start going that way with me, it means you need to unload something off your mind. So what is it?”

“Ain’t nothin’ like that,” said Strange.

“Is it Terry?”

“Well, he’s still a little rough around the edges. But he’s all right.”

“Is it the job you’re doing for George Hastings?”

“Uh-uh. I’m nearly done with that.”

“I’m almost done on my end with it, too,” said Janine. “Got one more thing to check up on. You didn’t find anything, did you?”

“No,” said Strange, and reached over to the nightstand and turned off the lamp.

He wasn’t sure why he had lied to her. So Calhoun Tucker was a player, so what? But something about snitching on a guy about that to a woman didn’t sit right with most men. It was a kind of betrayal, in an odd way. One betrayal too many in the day for Strange.

QUINN was disoriented from sleep when the phone rang by his bed. He reached over and picked up the receiver.

“Hello?”

“You called?” The voice was smooth and baritone. There was music playing in the background against the sound of a car’s engine.

“Who is this?”

“Who’s this? You called me. But you, uh, declined to leave your name.”

Quinn got up on one elbow. “I’m looking for a girl.”

“You done called the right number then, slick. How’d you get it, by the way?”

“I’m looking for one girl in particular,” said Quinn. “Girl named Jennifer, I think.”

“You think?”

“It’s Jennifer.”

“Asked you how you got my number.”

“Why is that important?”

“Let’s just say I like to know if my marketing dollars are well spent. You know, like, do I re-up with the Yellow Pages or do I go back heavy on those full-page ads in the Washington Post?”

The man on the other end of the line laughed then. It was a cut-you-in-the-alley kind of laugh, and the sound of it made Quinn’s blood tick. His hand tightened on the receiver. He looked down at some CDs stacked carelessly on the floor. An old Steve Earle was atop the stack.

“A friend of mine, guy named Steve, recommended I call you. Said you could hook me up.”

“Oh, I can hook you up, all right. Your name is?”

“Earle.”

“Okay, Earle. But I’m a little curious; it’s in my nature, if you don’t mind. White boy like you, usually when I get a request from one, it’s for some black pussy, understand what I’m sayin’? And Jennifer, it’s the same girl we both thinkin’ of, she’s white all the way.”

“That’s what I want. She’s young, too, isn’t she?”

“Oh, Jennifer’s young, all right. They call her Schoolgirl, matter of fact. She’ll be good to you, too. But I guess your boy Steve told you that.”

“He did.”

“Sure he did. Satisfied customer’s the very best form of advertising. Steve, he mention specifics?”

“Just that he had a good time. That she’ll do things.”

“Any goddamn thing you want. You can bring your friends and roll some videos, too. Have your own private record of the occasion. Fuck her mouth or her pussy. Ass-fuck her, you got a mind to. Course, you gonna pay for all that.”

“Look, I’m talkin’ about a private party. You deliver her and you name the price. I got money.”

“You’re gonna need it, Earle. ’Cause this is some fresh turnout here. And I can’t be givin’ pussy this new away.”

Quinn kicked off his top sheet, swung his legs over the bed, and sat up. He reached for the pencil and pad he kept on the nightstand. Maybe he could make this happen without Stella. He didn’t need her now that he had gotten through to Wilson.

“How do I hook it up?” said Quinn.

“Well, let’s see. Where’d your boy Steve have his party?”

“He didn’t say.”

“Oh, come on, Earle, you can tell me. See, I need to know, to satisfy that curiosity I was tellin’ you about. Steve must have bragged on it. Man don’t tell another man ass stories without goin’ into the details.”

“It was out on New York Avenue,” said Quinn, feeling the sweat break upon his forehead. “I think it was one of those motels they got out there on the way out of town.”

“You think?”

“It was.”

The man on the other end of the line laughed heartily. It ended with a chuckle, long and low.

“What’s so funny?” said Quinn.

“Just that, you know, you done gone and fucked up right there. You talked too much, see? ’Cause I don’t use those trick pads over on New York Avenue. Never have.”

“What difference does it make? I said I thought it was there-”

“You said it was. And I did like the way you said it, Earle. It was. So sure of yourself. So tough. So much like the rough and tough man you must be. Bet you got your little chest all puffed up, right about now. Got your fists balled up, too? So easy to be tough when you’re speaking on the phone. Isn’t it? Earle.”

His voice was singsong and mocking. Quinn unclenched his jaw and spoke through barely parted lips.

“My name’s Terry Quinn.”

“Oh, I got your phone number now, so it would have been easy to get your name right quick. But thanks for providin’ it for me; I’ll remember it for sure. What’re you, Vice, sumshit like that? You must be new, ’cause I got the patrol boys on my strip taken care of.”

“I’m not a cop.”

“Don’t matter to me what you are, anyway. You don’t mean nothin’ more to me than some dog shit on my shoe. Look here, I better be goin’. I’d put your girl on the line, but she’s suckin’ a dick right now, makin’ me some money.”

“Wilson-”

“So long, white boy. Maybe we’ll meet someday.”

“We will,” said Quinn. But the line was already dead as the words came from his mouth.

So now Wilson had his name and number. It would be easy for him to get Quinn’s address. In his mind, Quinn shrugged. When he was a cop, the threat that he’d be tracked down to his place of residence had been made many times. He’d lost count of those threats long ago.

Quinn turned off the nightstand lamp. He stood and went to the bedroom window. His hands were shaking at his sides. It wasn’t fear.

Tomorrow night the girl would be his.