Hell To Pay

“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.

chapter 12

ON Wednesday morning, Garfield Potter had Carlton Little and Charles White drop him at the Union Station parking garage, where he spotted a car he liked, a police-package, white-over-blue ’89 Plymouth Grand Fury with a 318 engine and a four-barrel carb. Potter used a bar to break into the vehicle and a long-handled flat-head to pop out the ignition. He hot-wired the Plymouth and rolled down to the exit. Potter wore a skully and shades so that the booth camera could record very little of his face. As he didn’t have a ticket, he paid the full- penalty parking fee and drove out of the garage.

Potter followed Little and White out to Prince George’s County, pulling up behind them on a gravel shoulder running alongside a football field in Largo. He waited for his boys to wipe the prints out of the interior and off the exterior handles of the beige Caprice, as he had instructed them to do, and when they joined him inside the Fury he turned the car back toward D.C.

Potter and Little both had priors: possession, intent to distribute, and aggravated-assault beefs. Also, there had