The Double

Twenty-Five

Billy King wore a faded red polo shirt, frayed khaki shorts, and Sperry topsiders with no socks. His sunglasses hung on a leash over his broad chest. He was seated at a two-top across from Lucas, in a new Ethiopian-owned coffee shop on Georgia Avenue, in Petworth, located on the second floor of a house.

Lucas had arrived a half hour early and found a seat with its back to a wall. When King had walked in, moving with a jaunty strut, he made an impression. Close up, he was even larger than Lucas had remembered. Below the waist, he was an animal. Freakishly flanked, a full-on beast. He’d be hard to take down.

The morning rush was over, but there were still several patrons seated at tables and on couches, killing time, working on their laptops, using the free Wi-Fi. Others stood by the go-counter, picking up stirring sticks and napkins, glancing at their phones before hurriedly leaving the shop.

“Suckers,” said King, pointing his chin in the direction of two young go-getters who were heading out the door. “Where they going that’s so important?”

“I imagine they’ve got jobs.”

“I work. So do you. But you and me, we don’t have to be anywhere at a certain time. We don’t walk fast unless we want to.” King brushed blond hair off his forehead. “So you’re an independent contractor?”

“Something like that.”

“Like one of those Blackwater guys.”

“No, not like them.”

“You find things.”

“Sometimes.”

“I’m curious. How’d Grace Kinkaid pay you? A flat fee or a commission?”

“Aren’t you gonna ask me how she’s doing?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“She’s going to recover,” said Lucas. “I’m not sure if that bothers you or makes you happy.”

“Oh, has she been ill?” King furrowed his brow in a comic manifestation of concern.

“Cut the bullshit. You didn’t have to do that to her. This was between you and me.”

“She hired you, didn’t she?”

“Yes.”

“Then she brought this on herself.”

“You’re a coward, Billy.”

“Careful.” King smiled pleasantly, showing Lucas his white teeth.

“Your man gave you your money’s worth. He almost cut off one of her breasts.”

“That’s a damn shame. Grace had nice tits. A little smaller than I normally like, but nice. And she had a real tight pussy, Lucas. For her age, I mean. Fit me like a glove.”

“Fucking degenerate.”

“I’m supposed to be ashamed? Of what? I got a big pipe and I like to use it. I make women come. I don’t buy ’em flowers or expensive dinners or any of that bullshit, because that’s all smoke and a waste of time. I take them straight to the bedroom and I give them what they want. It’s as simple as that. You know damn well what I’m talking about. You’re a healthy young man. You’re the same way.”

Lucas thought of Charlotte, naked beneath him, her mouth open, her face contorted in climax.

Lucas said, “No.”

“Sure you are. You ever fuck a woman against her will, Lucas?”

“Never.”

“Not even in high school, in the backseat of a car? Girl says no, but you keep trying, right? You talk her into it, or she gets tired of fighting and lets you in. Your cock’s so hard a cat can’t scratch it, and all you can think of is you. You’re not concerned with that girl’s feelings anymore. You just need to bust. Isn’t that right?”

Lucas said nothing.

“Don’t be so high and mighty,” said King. “It’s the same for you as it is for me. Once you get inside that box, your conscience goes out the window.”

“How would you know?” said Lucas.

“What’s that?”

“I hear you can’t get there unless you put it in a woman’s mouth.”

King sat back. For the first time Lucas saw the infinite nothing in his blue eyes.

“Let’s get to it,” said King.

“Fine.”

“What are we doing here?”

“You’re all alone now. Your crew is gone. Think about that.”

“I have. But I don’t need ’em, see? I’m stronger when I go solo.”

“Then go elsewhere,” said Lucas.

“You’re in no position to threaten me.”

“You paid someone to put a woman in the ER. You’re as guilty as the man who used the knife.”

“And you’re a murderer. You can’t go to the police.”

“I don’t plan to,” said Lucas.

They looked at each other across the table.

“I’ll leave,” said King. “But not without the money Grace paid you. How much was that?”

“Eighty thousand dollars,” said Lucas.

“That’ll get me started in another town. That’ll be just fine.”

“What if I say no?”

“If I have to stick around and wait for my money, there’s no telling what could happen to your friend Grace when she gets out of the hospital. That would be awful, seeing as how she’s so traumatized. You know what I mean?”

“I think so.”

“You do have the money, right?”

“I can get it,” said Lucas, without hesitation.

“Well, then. You know what to do. But don’t even think about bringing a newspaper in a backpack, like you did to Serge. I won’t like that.”

“I’ll bring what you need,” said Lucas.

King’s eyes assessed Lucas. “Serge said you lectured him about impersonating a marine. Is that what you are?”

Lucas did not reply.

“Tough guy,” said King.

“Just a guy,” said Lucas. “I’ll be in touch.”

King got up and walked from the coffee shop, a spring in his step.

Lucas spent the rest of the day planning his next move. He took a long bike ride. He phoned Winston Dupree and explained himself, apologized for not calling sooner, and assured him that he would be paid for the time he’d put in on the job. He made a similar call to Marquis.

In the evening he drove out to Silver Spring, stopped at the Safeway for flowers, and handed the bouquet to his mother as she greeted him at the door of the bungalow. She’d made macaronia with burnt butter, and a country salad of cucumbers, onions, and tomatoes from the backyard. They sat together in candlelight on the screened porch. Eleni Lucas sipped from a large glass of Chardonnay. Spero nursed a Stella. He’d just taken his last bite.

“Work going okay, honey?”

“It’s good, Ma.”

“Any thought of going back to school?”

“No.”

“Your father would have wanted you to get your degree.”

“I know,” said Spero. “But that’s not how things worked out.”

“The government will pay your tuition.”

“They’d pay for some of it. That’s not the issue.”

“What is?”

“I’m not going to college.”

Eleni stood up. “Would you like anything from the kitchen?”

“Nothing for me,” said Spero.

She returned with a full glass of white and a photograph in a frame. Eleni set the photo on the table before him.

He’d seen it before. His mother had taken it the day Spero had been brought home from the adoption agency. In the photograph, Spero sat on the floor of their family room, strapped in a car seat. Leo sat beside him, his arm around his new kid brother. Apart from them sat Irene, their oldest and sole biological child, and Dimetrius, the Lucases’ first adopted son. In the middle of this group kneeled Van Lucas, curly haired and black of beard, smiling broadly, looking somewhat shocked but happy. Shilo, one of their dogs, sniffed at Spero’s feet.

“I always liked this one,” said Spero.

“It was a tradition for us,” said Eleni. “Soon as we brought each of you kids home we’d take a family photo. The day Leonidas came home with us? It snowed like crazy. Your baba had sandbags in the back of the Silverado to weigh it down. We almost didn’t make it up our hill, but we were giggling all the way. We were just so excited. Dad had snow in his hair and beard when he carried Leo inside. He was holding him like a football.”

“I’ve heard that story,” said Spero. In fact, he’d heard it many times.

“You know, Leonidas was supposed to be adopted by another couple, but when they saw the most recent baby photo of him, they turned him down. They thought he was too dark.”

“They wanted a white black baby,” said Spero. “I know.”

“And then you. The couple that was in line to get you said they weren’t quite ready when you became available. They needed to paint the nursery or something first. Can you believe it?”

“Our gain,” said Spero. “Leo and I scored.”

“No, honey. It was your father and me who scored.” Eleni picked up the photograph and held it out to Spero. “This is why I brought this out. Look at the family room window, right there.”

Spero examined it. Through the window, in the gray winter sky, was a wink of light.

“What is that? It looks like a star.”

“Your father said it was the reflection from the camera flash. But I always believed it was something else. Like an eye, looking after us.”

“That’s nice,” said Spero, because he didn’t know what else to say.

“After he passed, Dad became that light. He’s the eye. Do you see what I’m saying?”

“I do.”

“You’re skeptical.”

“Just trying to get my head around it.”

“Your father’s here, right now, and he’s thinking of us. Thinking of you.”

“Okay.”

“You’ve always been on his mind, Spero. When you went overseas, he was troubled. Not just about your safety. We were all concerned about that. He was worried about what the experience was going to do to you, mentally, moving forward into your life. How you were going to react to everything you’d seen and done after you returned.”

“I make do,” said Spero.

“Because of the mess in Vietnam, our generation distrusted the military. In the seventies, to go into the service was just about the most uncool thing a young guy could do. Your dad never even considered it. And then, when you enlisted...”

“What?”

“He was proud of you, of course. Among other things, Nine-Eleven made many people look at military service in a positive way again. He understood why you felt you had to go and do your part. But he was still angry that we’d gone to war. He didn’t support the decision. He wasn’t fond of politicians who send young men and women to fight and die for an ideological experiment.”

“I fought for my brothers.”

“Even so. Your dad wondered how a man like you could be trained and ordered to kill, and then be expected to simply turn that switch off when you came home. He said it was like telling a lion to become a vegetarian.”

“Most of the guys I served with manage to deal with it.”

“How about you?”

“I’m fine.”

“Are you?”

“Is this about college again? ’Cause I’m still not going.”

His mother’s gaze was unyielding, but there was a hint of a smile on her face. “You always were stubborn.”

“Family trait.”

“Change the subject?”

“Please.”

“How’d you like the fayito tonight?”

“The food was great, Ma. Thank you.”

“How ’bout a little ice cream or something, for dessert?”

“I’ve got a big day tomorrow,” said Spero. “I better go.”

Eleni’s eyes softened. “Se agapo, agori mou.”

“I love you, too.”

At his apartment, late that night, Lucas phoned Billy King.

“Yeah.”

“It’s Spero Lucas.”

“Lucas.”

“Are you still at the house in Croom?”

“Yes, I’m here.”

“And tomorrow?”

“I’ll be here all day.”

“I was thinking I’d stop by tomorrow night.”

“You’re coming with what we discussed?”

“I’m gonna bring it,” said Lucas.

“Now you’re talking,” said King.

“Say, just after sundown.”

“I’ll be waiting.”

Lucas ended the call and set his phone alarm. He stripped to his briefs and got into bed. Staring at the ceiling, he thought of the coming day.

You hit us, we hit you.