The Man Who Came Uptown
- Автор: Пелеканос Джордж
- Год: 2018
- Язык: английский
- Год: Mulholland Books / Little, Brown and Company
- ISBN: 978-0-316-47982-0
- Жанр: Криминальные детективы
Электронная книга - «The Man Who Came Uptown». Краткое содержание книги:
“He comes to collect the money?”
“He comes to do whatever he wants. Sometimes he comes to pay others.”
“What others?”
“For protection. The MS-Thirteen.”
“They’re in the brothel all the time?”
“Only to pick up their money. Twice a week.”
“Is there a lot of money coming in and going out?”
Marisol shrugged. “I don’t see the money. But I think so.”
“What do you mean, you don’t see the money?”
“I don’t touch it. Some of the other girls keep half of what they make, after they’ve paid the house for condoms and wipes. I’m working off my entry to this country. I keep nothing. Sometimes I get tips.”
“Where does the money go?”
“Gustavo and Cesar take the money out in a leather briefcase at the end of every night. On the weekends there are two briefcases.”
“Take it out where?”
“I don’t know.” Marisol reached into a small handbag and produced a slip of paper. “But here is where Gustavo lives.”
Ornazian took the paper and scanned a Hyattsville, Maryland, address. “You’ve been here?”
“For his parties.”
“Why did you write his address down?”
“Because I hoped this day would come.”
“What do you want?” said Ornazian.
“Money,” said Marisol. “For me and my baby girl. I have a brother in Houston. He works the construction. I will go to him.”
Ornazian thought it over. “It would be good for me to get a look inside that brothel.”
She shook her head. “You cannot come in. No gringos.”
“What if I send a Hispanic man in?”
“Only El Salvadorans. If a Mexican or a Nicaraguan comes in, they know it is some kind of police.”
“So where do the customers come from?”
“They find them at bus stops. Or the spots where the men wait for work. Home Depot. Seven-Eleven. They bring them to the house in vans. Even a man who is out of work can find thirty dollars if he is lonely for a woman.”
“You speak good English.”
“I lived near the embassy in Guatemala City from when I was young. I cleaned apartments. There were many Americans.” Marisol looked around once again and leaned in close to Ornazian. “No one can ever know we spoke.”
“You can trust me.”
“I’m afraid.” She bit her lip. Shyly she said, “What will I get?”
“A thousand dollars. Clear the message you texted me along with your photo. Clear out my contact information from your phone. From here on in, I’ll reach out to you if I need you.”
“So you will help me.”
Ornazian said, “I need to think it over.”
But in his head he said Yes.
Thirteen
Anna and Rick Byrne had wanted to get some dinner out and maybe a drink after their meal, so they walked over to the strip on Eleventh Street, where there were choices. Rick was in the mood for one of those wood-oven pizzas they made at the District Line, and Anna, who liked the food there, was fine with that. The plan was dinner at the DL, then maybe a beer afterward at Wonderland or Meridian Pint. They had done this very same thing many times before.
At the restaurant, they sat at the bar, their preference. The ginger-haired tender set them up with silverware and they ordered two personal-size pizzas and a couple of D.C. Brau pale ales. Anna had her hair down and was wearing mostly black and a pair of distressed short Frye boots. Rick was wearing his gear: track pants, a white pullover sporting the Callaway logo, and gray New Balance 990s. To strangers, they appeared to be a couple going in two different directions, and that assumption was not incorrect. Rick’s trajectory was toward a retirement golf community in Florida, where the people looked like him, had five-thirty cocktails and early-bird specials. Anna preferred to live out her life in a city where there was diversity and culture. But this was undiscussed because it was so far away.
The place was busy, but no one was in the weeds. The bartender was playing a long jam over the house stereo. It sounded like African music, and Rick said, “Who is this, Paul Simon?” and the bartender said, “Fela Kuti.”
“Paul Simon,” said Anna, and chuckled.
“What?” said Rick.
He talked to her about a corporate case he was involved with. Something to do with insider trading. He might have to travel down to Atlanta soon to take a deposition. She kept the conversation going politely. She was interested in what he was up to, but her mind had wandered to her book club, which was coming up in the chapel that week. She had chosen a literary novel for the men, and she wondered if she had erred, as the book was very well written but light on plot. Also, she was second-guessing the mostly nonfiction books she had staged that afternoon for the GED unit and that she was set to deliver the next morning.
She was staring off, thinking on her job, when Michael Hudson appeared at the service end of the bar, a rack of glassware in his arms. He was wearing a watch cap and an apron over a T-shirt, and his face was sheened with sweat. He placed the glassware rack on the bar and looked out into the dining room. He saw Anna and smiled. She felt herself smile back with spontaneous affection. So Michael was out in the world, working. He hadn’t transitioned to a federal prison.
Michael grabbed what looked like a clean bar rag, wiped his face dry, and walked down to where Anna and her companion were seated.
“Michael,” she said, taking his hand and shaking it firmly.
“Miss Anna.”
“Just Anna, please.”
“Okay. Anna.”
“This is my husband, Rick.”
Rick, a gentleman and a fan of ritual, got off his stool to shake Michael’s hand. They were both tall men.
“Nice to meet you,” said Rick, and then he looked to Anna for an explanation.
“Michael was one of my clients.”
“Anna turned me on to books,” said Michael.
“Cool,” said Rick, and he sat back down.
“So, you’re working here,” said Anna lamely.
“Yeah, I’m down in the kitchen. Been here since I got out.”
“I didn’t know what happened to you.”
“My charges got dropped,” said Michael. “I’m not on parole. Just, you know, done. So it’s all good, you know?”
“I’ll say. Congratulations.”
“I been reading. Got a library card and everything. Bought a couple of those books you turned me on to so I can start my own collection. I’m staying at my mother’s house over on Sherman.”
“We don’t live far from here either. We’re in Park View.”
Anna could feel Rick’s eyes on her and she decided to say no more. She was just making conversation but she knew her husband would find it odd that she’d give out such information to an offender. She barely knew Michael but she trusted him.
They all felt the silence.
“I better get back to it,” said Michael, adjusting the watch cap he wore jauntily cocked on his head. “The dishes are backin up. You got any recommendations for me?”
“We’re reading The Beautiful Things That Heaven Bears in the book club. It’s by a young Ethiopian writer, set in D.C. I think you might like it.”
“Beautiful Things That Heaven Bears,” said Michael, repeating the title like he used to do when Anna would give him verbal tips in lockup. “I’ll check it out. Thanks, Anna.”
“You’re very welcome,” said Anna.
“Nice to meet you,” said Michael to Rick, and once more he shook his hand.
“You too,” said Rick.
Michael went back toward the hallway. He glanced over his shoulder and met Anna’s gaze one more time, then entered the hall and descended the staircase. When she’d looked into his eyes, Anna felt something stir inside her, and it confused her. Rick’s voice nearly startled her.