King Suckerman

Twenty-Two

Rasheed Adamson’s viewing was held on Saturday night at the Jarvis Funeral Home on U Street. Dimitri Karras put a blue blazer on over a white shirt and yellow slacks. His only tie was a wide flower-patterned job in fluorescent colors. He skipped the tie and wore the long collar points of his shirt outside the blazer’s lapels.

Upon entering, Karras stood in the back of the room, nodding to anyone who made eye contact with him but otherwise keeping to himself. Marcus Clay, Elaine Taylor, and Cheek walked in and went straight to a middle-aged woman wearing black who had been the center of attention since Karras had arrived. Marcus gave her a kiss, hugged her, and held her hand. Karras supposed that this was Rasheed’s mother.

When Marcus and his party had moved away, Karras finally went forward and gave his sympathies to Rasheed’s mother. She thanked him politely, though she seemed confused at his presence. He excused himself and stood by Rasheed’s closed casket, taking in the scent of the surrounding bouquets of orchids and other flowers. Karras said a short prayer, did his stavro, and kissed the casket.

He walked over to Marcus, who stood to the side talking to Rasheed’s brother, Al. Karras shook Marcus’s hand, then Al Adamson’s.

“Good of you to come, man,” said Adamson.

“My sympathies,” said Karras.

Adamson nodded. He wore a black suit with a black shirt and solid gray tie, a pearl-tipped tack holding the tie in place, and black alligator-skin shoes, shined to a high gloss. Adamson had a full beard and a shaved head. His shoulder muscles bunched to a thick neck. Karras could see the cut of Adamson’s arms and chest beneath the tailored suit.

“You get your mom out the city?” said Clay.

Karras nodded. A look passed between Adamson and Clay.

“Dimitri?” said Clay.

“Yeah?”

“You don’t mind, Al and me, we got a few things we need to discuss.”

“Okay.”

“Talk to you tomorrow, hear?”

Karras went to where Elaine stood, kissed her on the cheek. He left the funeral home and walked across U Street to his car.

“Saturday night,” said Eddie Marchetti. “Nothing on.”

“What’s that?” said Clarence Tate.

Tate stared out the window into the darkness. He could hear the faint thump of bass from the disco down the street.

“I was just sayin’ that Saturday is the worst night of the week for TV.” Marchetti looked sadly at the Sony across the room. On the screen, a toothy white guy in a blue uniform was smiling at something another toothy white guy had said. “Emergency. Christ.”

Tate walked across the room and turned off the set. He had a seat in front of Marchetti’s desk.

“Eddie, we need to talk.”

“About what?”

“About figuring out what to do about Wilton Cooper. About cutting our losses here. About getting rid of that inventory back there and closing up shop. I think it’s time to discuss it, don’t you?”

“Take care of it, Clarenze. That’s what I’m overpaying you for, right?” Marchetti smiled weakly.

Clarence Tate shook his head. It wouldn’t help to say anything else. Tate would have to figure everything out his own self. Eddie was just plain hopeless.

Marchetti stared at the Sony’s gray tube. “I wish it were Sunday, Clarenze. Kojak night.”

“Damn, Eddie—”

“What, you don’t like Kojak?”

“I like him all right.”

“Kojak knows how to dress.”

“Man’s got some bad vines,” admitted Tate. “I’ll give you that.”

“You got a favorite Kojak, Clarenze?”

“Not really.”

“I got a favorite.” Marchetti leaned forward.

Tate sighed. “Go ahead, Eddie.”

“Okay. There’s this Mafia guy, and he has a son, a real loser. For one reason or another the son puts a hit out on Kojak, kills someone else along the way. Now this Mafia guy, he and Kojak, they go way back, but because of the kid the don’s lost Kojak’s respect. The Mafia don, he tries to talk Kojak out of going after the kid. He makes the mistake of calling Kojak Theo — trying to hit a nerve, for old time’s sake and all that. The camera moves in on Savalas, who corrects the guy by saying, ‘It’s Lieutenant Kojak.’ Like, you don’t know me all that well anymore to be callin’ me Theo. Really powerful shit. Anyway, in the end Kojak guns the kid down in the street. Some lady comes by and says, ‘Who was that guy?’ meaning the kid. And Kojak says, ‘He was nobody, lady. Nobody at all.’ I’m tellin’ you, Clarenze, every time I see that one show, I get the chills.”

Marchetti’s eyes went somewhere else. He rubbed his jowls.

“You know, Clarenze, I never wanted no one to get hurt.”

“I know it, Eddie.”

“I only wanted to come down here and make a name for myself so I could go back up to Jersey with my head up. I was afraid that if I didn’t do something to show my family, I’d end up a nobody myself, y’know what I mean?”

Tate nodded, waited for Marchetti to go on. But Marchetti didn’t say anything else, and Tate stood out of his chair.

“Hey, where you goin’?”

“Home, to relieve my parents. Gonna put my little Denice to bed.”

“Clarenze—”

“Huh-uh, Eddie. I need to be there for her before she goes to sleep.”

Tate was halfway across town, driving east in his Monte Carlo, when a plan began to form in his head.