raincoat against his chest with both hands. I backed up a step. The Spot was quiet and suddenly very small.
I looked at Goloria. “I’m not in it for the reward money. So I’m saying that I’m not in your way. That solve our problem?”
“I don’t know a Joey DiGeordano,” Goloria said.
“I thought maybe you did,” I said, watching Wallace knead something inside her handbag.
“What else you think?” Goloria said.
“I thought for a second, maybe you were just a little bit Greek.” My eyes narrowed as I felt the warmth of the Grand-Dad. “You know. Dirty.”
“He told you to shut up,” Wallace said unemotionally.
“Sorry,” I said. “Detective Gloria?”
“It’s Go-loria,” he said, taking a step toward me.
“Right. Anyway, I apologize. But you two have just got me a little confused. Being with you here, see, I just can’t figure out”-I scratched my forehead-“I just can’t figure out which one of you two’s got the swingin’ dick.”
“I do,” Wa“ jusllace said, and there was a metallic flash as her brass-knuckled fist swung and connected across my jaw. On the slow trip down I felt a dull ache and after that a jolt of pain. I landed on my elbows as cold beer emptied out across my chest, and I looked up. The two of them stood there, silhouetted against the light of the conical lamp. Their figures glided across a backdrop of smoke and white stars. I rubbed my jaw and squinted up in their direction. A small puddle of blood washed around in my mouth. I swallowed it and coughed.
“Now I think you get it, right, Stefanos?” It was Goloria’s calm voice. I kept my mouth shut. He waited and spoke again. “Well, here it is anyway, for the record: I don’t want you playing detective anymore in my district. You got nothing to do with the Goodrich girl anymore. You got nothing to do with anything in my district anymore, understand?”
Wallace chuckled and kicked my foot. “He understands. Sure, he does.”
Goloria made a head movement toward the door. “Let’s go, Wallace.” They began to turn.
I stopped them with my voice. “Hey,” I said weakly. “You forgot to pay for your drinks.”
Goloria withdrew a wallet from the seat of his polyester slacks and balled up a few one-dollar bills. Then he walked back and stood over me and dropped them on my chest. They bounced off and fell beside me to the floor.
“Merry Christmas,” he said.
I stayed on the wooden floor and listened to their shuffling footsteps and to the opening and closing of the front door. I remained there in that position for another ten minutes of silence. When I stopped feeling dizzy I got up on one knee and jiggled my jaw and wiped nausea-sweat from my forehead.
Five minutes later I was in Darnell’s kitchen with my head in the washbasin, a steady stream of water running down my face. I stared into the blackness of the drain and thought things over for a long while.
Afterward I dried off with a towel and walked back to the service bar. I poured a shot of whiskey and threw it back, then picked up the telephone and got Mai’s number from information. I dialed that number and Mai picked up on the fourth ring.
“Hallo.”
“Mai, it’s Nick.”
“Nick, that you? It doesn’t sound like you. You drunk?”
“Drunk? Yeah, just a little.” I coughed and cleared my throat. “Listen, Mai, I need you to do me a favor.”
“A favor. Shit, Nicky, don’t ask me to take your shift tomorrow. It’s Christmas Eve.” Mai whispered into the phone. “I promised my soldier boy we’d spend all day together. He’s here right now.”
“This is the last time, Mai, I promise. I’ve got to go out of town for the day. Believe me, it can’t wait.”
“You don’t sound so good, Nicky, honest to God.” She thought things over. “If it’s really important-”
“It is. Listen, I owe you.”
“You’re damn right you do,” she said rapidly, but the edge was out of her voice. “Anyway, maybe if I come in tomorrow, Phil will remember to hand me my Christmas bonus. Fat chance, huh?” She laughed broadly. “By the way, where you going, back down to the country?”
“Southern Maryland.” I dabbed blood off the side of my mouth with a bar rag.
“Got a girl down there?” she said demurely.
“A girl?” I said, lighting a cigarette. “I’ll find out. Tomorrow.”
NINETEEN
The next morning I packed my nine-millimeter Browning and a full clip into the trunk of my Dart and drove south on 301 in the direction of Cobb Island. The temperature was in the teens, but there was no wind and my Dart cruised effortlessly down the highway beneath a steel sheet of clouds. At Waldorf I cracked a window and huffed a Camel, and in La Plata I stopped for a burger and a Coke. A half hour later I was on the Island and sitting on a brown Leatherette stool in a nearly empty Formica-floored room that doubled as the dining area and bar of Polanski’s.
The bartender’s name was Andy. Andy had a brush cut and wore a green V-necked sweater over a white T- shirt that was exposed both at the neck and at the base of his great belly. His double-knit pants were chocolate brown and cinched with a wide black belt. Black work boots covered his long feet.
Andy shook my hand and said, “Now we’ve been introduced. What can I get you?”
“A draught beer,” I said.
Andy plunged his thick knotted hand into the cooler and withdrew two glass mugs. He gripped the handles of both with one hand as he tapped out the beer and put a head on it without wasting more than a few drops. I looked at the two beers and then around the empty Polanski’s. Andy placed both beers in front of me.
“There you go.” He leaned a scabbed elbow on the bar and studied the crescent-shaped bruise on my jaw.
“Maybe I have that look,” I said with a crooked smile. “But one beer’ll do it for me today. Thanks.”
Andy frowned and looked a bit hurt. “It’s Tuesday, man!” He pointed behind him to a glitter-drawn sign that itemized the daily specials. “Two-for-one beers every Tuesday-best damn day of the week around here, ’cept for the weekends.”
“Just one for me today, Andy, thanks.” I pushed one of the mugs and slid it in front of his arm. “You have it.”
He shook his head. “Too early for me, pardner.” Andy took the mug by the handle and poured it out into the last of three sinks behind the bar. He walked down to the service end and began building a pyramid of shot glasses that he stacked as hk the mug on a piece of green bar netting.
I nursed the draught through a cigarette and stared into the bar mirror. Andy played a Tammy Wynette Christmas tape and stayed on his end of the bar. When my mug was empty I walked across the room to a pay phone near the men’s room. In a worn directory I found the number to the Pony Point. I dropped a quarter in the slot and punched in the number and when Wanda picked up I asked to speak to Russel. She put the receiver down. I listened to Tammy Wynette on my end and Randy Travis on theirs until Russel picked up.
“Yeah,” he said.
“Russel, it’s Nick Stefanos.” There was a silence. “The detective from D.C., looking for April Goodrich.”
“I remember you,” he said. “What you want?”
“You know how to get in touch with Hendricks?”
“Sure,” he said. “Same way you would-dial nine-one-one.”
“Come on, man,” I said impatiently. “You know how to get him direct, don’t you?”
Russel said, “What’s up with you, man? You don’t sound too cool.”
“I’m fine,” I said. “Listen, Russel. Cal l Hendricks-this isn’t for me, it’s for April-and tell him to get over to Tommy Crane’s place”-I looked at my watch-“in about a half hour.”
“I can get him,” Russel said carefully.
“You going to do it?”
Russel paused. “Sure, Stefanos. I’ll do it.”
