Soul Circus(95)
“All’s we was doin’ was havin’ some ice cream.”
“That again? Shit. Fine as you are, I don’t believe you even eat ice cream.” McKinley smiled again, showing her his teeth. The girls liked that, too. “Look here, I’m sorry for touchin’ you rough yesterday. That don’t mean we can’t be friends today.”
“Motherfucker,” said Devra, feeling her eyes get teary and trying to hold it in. “Why can’t you just… just leave me alone.”
“Damn, girl, you don’t have to get all upset.” McKinley rolled his shoulders. “Just sit your ass there, then. Don’t say nothin’, you can’t say nothin’ nice.”
McKinley walked away, wondering why the women did him like that. The only girls he’d had lately he’d had to pay for. Didn’t make any difference to him. Pussy was pussy. One way or another, it cost you money.
A half hour later, the pizza delivery boy arrived. McKinley undid the chain, flipped the dead bolt, and opened up the door. Boy was wearin’ some stupid-ass-striped shirt, looked like a barber pole. He put the pizzas and the sodas inside the door while McKinley counted out some money. He gave him two quarters on top of the bill. Boy didn’t even say thank you or nothin’. He had been staring kind of wide-eyed into the house the whole time he was standing out there on the stoop. Prob’ly looking at the girl, like any girl could go for him. Looked like a scared animal or something. Sucker with a minimum-wage job, out here armed with nothin’ but pizza, risking his neck at night with everything going on. Maybe he was seeing his future, why his eyes were wide. Boy was right to be scared.
McKinley closed the door and picked up the boxes that had been laid at his feet.
“Sure you don’t want none of this? It’s better when it’s hot.”
The girl didn’t answer, hugging herself against the wall.
McKinley said, “Suit your own damn self.”
STRANGE and Quinn were in the Caprice on Yuma, a half block down from the McKinley house, parked behind Quinn’s Chevelle. They watched the pizza boy deliver a load to the house and they watched him go back to his car, a rusted-out Hyundai.
As he pulled away, Strange ignitioned the Caprice and followed the delivery boy down to 9th. The Hyundai cut right on Wahler and headed toward Wheeler Road. At the stop sign at Wheeler, as the delivery boy slowed down, Strange goosed the gas and pulled up alongside the Hyundai on its left side. Strange honked his horn to get the driver’s attention. Quinn was already leaning out, his license case flipped open, holding it face out so the driver could see.
“Investigators,” said Quinn, “D.C.”
“What I do?” said the driver.
Strange’s Caprice looked like a police vehicle, down to the heavy chrome side mirrors. He slanted it in front of the Hyundai, as a cop would do, and kept it running. He and Quinn got out and went to the Hyundai. Quinn took the passenger side and Strange stood before the open driver’s-side window. Strange flashed his license.
“That house you just delivered to,” said Strange. “Tell me who you saw.”
“Some fat dude paid me.”
“Anyone else?”
“Girl was sittin’ in there on the floor, too.”
“Describe her, please.”
The delivery boy did, his hands tight on the wheel.
“The fat man, he have a bunch of locks on that front door?”
“Heard him turn somethin’ and slide a chain, is all.”
“You don’t need to be talkin’ to anyone about this, hear?”
“I won’t.” The delivery boy looked up at Strange. “You lookin’ at that fat boy for somethin’?”
“Nothing to concern yourself with.”
“I ain’t concerned. I hope you get him if he’s wrong, though.” The driver wiped his face. “Wearin’ all that ice, and all he could see to give me was fifty cents.”
“You have a good one,” said Strange. “And thank you for your time.”
AFTER getting out to move some debris blocking the entrance, Strange and Quinn cruised slowly down the alley between Atlantic and Yuma. Strange had killed his headlights and was navigating by his parking lights. There didn’t seem to be anyone out, not even kids. On the Atlantic side of the alley he saw houses, some bright, some dark, one lit dimly by the flicker of flames, all partitioned by chain-link fences in various states of disrepair.
“There it is,” said Quinn, looking at the back of a house on the Yuma side. “I counted back from the corner. That’s the one, with the lights. I don’t see anyone, though.”