Half the Blood of Brooklyn

I swing a leg over the seat.

– Yeah. That was a bunch of crazy Hebrews out in Brooklyn.

– Brooklyn? No shit?

– Yeah. Way I clock it, Solomon was selling them blood that wasn’t kosher. They found out.

– Serious?

– Yeah.

– What was with all the chopping?

– They like to cut people into twelve pieces. It’s a thing they do.

He shakes his head.

– Some fucking people, man.

– Yeah.

I kick the bike and trip it into gear and ride.

I ride Pike to Division and veer south into Chinatown. Wall turf. Not that there’s much left of the Wall. At Confucius Place I cut down to Pearl, and from there under the Brooklyn Bridge to Water and Slip.

The limo is there.

I pull up behind it and wait for a hail of bullets. It doesn’t come. I let the bike idle and climb off and put it up and limp over to the car and a tinted rear window zips down and Dexter Predo looks at me.

– You look worse for wear, Pitt.

– You look like a rat-faced shit fucker.

He nods.

– Well, now that we’ve exchanged secret passwords to assure each other of our real identities, we can converse freely.

He gets out of the car and the driver’s door opens and his giant squeezes out.

I light one of the Marlboros Christian gave me and blow smoke in his direction.

– Fuck you.

He flexes the muscles in his nostrils.

Predo points down Slip toward Front.

– Shall we?

– You gonna take my arm?

He rakes his fingers across his forehead, brushing aside the sweep of his bangs.

– It’s a busy evening, Pitt. One that promises no end of complications. Most, I have already gleaned, having to do with you. Well, that comes as no shock. But I am pressed. You offered information. Very well. I am intrigued. We can proceed, or Deveroix here can thrash you for bringing me out under false pretenses, and I will depart.

I look at the giant.

I look back at Predo.

– Yeah, sure, let’s talk. I’ve been beat on enough.

He raises an eyebrow.

– Well, you were bound to reach your limit sooner or later.

So we walk.

And I spill.

I give him the whole thing.

The Docks. The Freaks. The Chosen and the lost Tribe of Gibeah. Shooting Lydia. Daniel in the sun. My death sentence. Sela and her machine gun. Stabbing Terry.

I give him everything but Amanda and her plans.

And Evie. I don’t give him Evie.

And when I’m done he looks up at the underside of the bridge.

– A compelling tale. One I can’t help but feel has gaps. Sizable gaps.

He looks at me.

– Still, value given.

He nods and I follow him back to the car where he waves at Deveroix, who touches a button on his key chain and the trunk eases open, and Predo reaches inside and takes out a small leather case and flicks the clasps and shows me the contents.

– As agreed.

Several tight bundles of cash. Several pints of blood. And a loaded.38 Detective Special. All of it nestled in smoking dry ice.

– Value paid for value given, yes, Pitt?

I take the case.

– Yeah.

He closes the trunk lid and waves Deveroix down and the giant crams himself back into the car.

I take the revolver and tuck it in my belt and put the case in one of the saddlebags.

Predo comes over.

– And now?

– None of your fucking business.

He pinches his lower lip.

– But it could be.

I wait.

He cocks his head at the limo.

– Deveroix. I think you were right about him. And his ambitions.

– And?

– He’ll have to be replaced.

I get on the bike.

– I just quit a job.

– I know. It amused me to ask more than anything. And to imagine the look on Bird’s face if you had been smart enough to accept.

He turns and walks toward his long black car.

– But you’re not smart enough, Pitt. And that’s almost a pity.

– Predo.

He stops with the door open.

– Yes?

– Just wondering, when I came to see you and you let it slip that you knew exactly how many pints the Candy Man had in stock, was that on purpose? To test how smart I am?

He’s perfectly still, nothing moves, not an eyelash.

I move my mouth.

– Or was that a mistake? ’Cause you’d rather no one know you were supplying him?

He blinks.

I don’t.

– Where do you get all that blood, man? Where do you guys get all that fucking blood?

He touches the knot of his tie.

– Don’t overreach, Pitt.

He slides into the car.

– Good night.

The door closes and the engine starts and the lights come on.

I rumble the bike up alongside the driver’s window and knock on it.

The giant tightens his lips and rolls it down.

I shake my head.-Deveroix? You made that up, right? Come on, you can tell me. I mean, Joe’s not my real name.

He squints.