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:
“Same idea.”
Ornazian and Ward searched the room and found no Tiffany bracelet. There was no jewelry at all and no cash.
“Nothing,” said Ornazian.
“You think they already offed it?”
“I don’t know.”
“Let’s get out of here, man.”
Out in the living room, Ornazian said, “Hold up.”
He ripped the posters off the walls and violently overturned the cable-spool table. He grabbed a chair and threw it into the wall-mounted television set, cracking its screen. Then he unbuttoned his fly, pulled out his pecker, and urinated on the couch.
“You finished?” said Ward. “Or you about to take a shit in their beds too?”
“That was for my kids.”
Driving back through the town of Hillville, Ward turned to Ornazian.
“Guess we’ll have to come back and do it the tried-and-true way.”
“I guess we will.”
“They’ll be on alert now. Seein as how you trashed the shit outta their spot.”
“You’re the one who broke their doorframe.”
“I ain’t piss on it, though.”
“True.”
“We can come back,” said Ward, “but not with my car.”
“I’ll score the SS.”
“Where’d that Impala come from?”
“Man named Berhanu, deals in hacks. Has a little garage in an alley off Taylor, near Kansas Avenue, in Petworth.”
“You trust him?”
“He’s straight.”
“Can you get Hudson?”
“I’ll get him.”
“He didn’t seem too happy about being with us the last time.”
“He wasn’t,” said Ornazian. “But he’ll come around.”
Twenty-Three
Michael Hudson returned home from his day shift at the District Line and let Brandy out into the backyard to do her business. Back in the empty lot, where the east — west portion of the alley came to a T, the man named Woods sat on a crate. Woods had lost a foot in Iraq after an IED detonated under his Humvee. For that, he received seven hundred dollars a month in compensation. Woods had yet to find work in D.C.
“Hudson,” said Woods, giving Michael a two-fingered salute.
“Woods,” said Michael with a nod.
After Brandy defecated, she dragged her butt across the weedy yard and then came to the back steps and whined. Michael picked her up in his arms and carried her upstairs. Brandy slept at the foot of Michael’s bed while he finished Northline. He had been waiting for some quiet time alone to finish the novel.
In the story, Allison Johnson has sought out the disfigured young man Dan Mahony who disappeared from her life for weeks and is holed up, hermit-like, in his small house. He lets her in, and, after some gentle prodding on her part, he reveals the details of his troubled past and the source of his depression. While he showers, she cleans his house thoroughly in an act of kindness and suggests that Dan and his dog walk her to the restaurant where she works. She’s trying to draw Dan Mahony back out into the world. At the same time, Allison, cautious around men after a lifetime of abuse, is letting down her guard.
“I’d like that,” he said and stood up. He walked to a closet and got his coat. The girl put on her coat, hat, and gloves and they walked out into the yard. It was dark as they went down Seventh Street towards the casinos and the downtown lights. Dan Mahony couldn’t take control of her, she thought to herself, he could barely take control of himself. So as she walked, she felt all right with him there. Her hand fell next to his and she took it in hers and held it.
Michael put down the book for a moment, then read that last sentence again. Then he read on. In the penultimate chapter, Allison, Dan Mahony, and his dog go to Nevada’s Black Rock Desert, camp out, and sleep under the stars in the bed of Dan’s old pickup. In the end, two damaged people have found refuge, healing, and hope in each other’s arms.
Michael rubbed at the cover of the book, then placed it spine-out on the shelf next to his Elmore Leonard novels, Hombre and Valdez Is Coming. His library had begun to grow.
He took a shower, dressed in fresh clothes, and had an early dinner with his mother. Then he walked northeast, out of Columbia Heights, into Park View.
Michael was standing near the entrance to the rec center on Warder Street, hoping that Anna Byrne would appear. He didn’t want to lurk too close to her house. It was a long shot, but he knew she rode her bike in the evenings. Sure enough, soon she was pedaling toward him on her machine. Upon seeing him, she slowed to a roll and braked with one foot. She was surprised, but the look on her face was not displeased.
“Michael...”
“I was in the neighborhood.”
“Okay.”
“Actually, I walked to your neighborhood. I was hoping to get up with you.”
“Is something wrong?”
“No. I just wanted to see you.”
She stared at him and he didn’t look away.
“I’m about to go for a ride,” she said.
“I get it.”
“No, listen. Give me an hour. We can meet up when I come back. If you don’t mind me being sweaty.”
“I don’t mind. Where?”
“You remember that beer garden on Georgia?”
“Next to that bookstore. At Morton.”
“One hour,” said Anna. “I’ll see you there.”
Michael clocked her as she headed downtown. When she left his sight, he walked through the rec center gates and had a seat on the bleachers by the field. Watched some dudes playing a soccer game; looked like they were serious. He could tell they were El Salvadoran by their features. Since he’d been on the job, he’d learned to distinguish the countries of origin of the folks in the kitchen. It was cool to know who your neighbors were and where they’d come from. They were D.C. too.
Phil Ornazian stood outside a four-car garage in an alley behind Taylor Street, near Kansas Avenue. He counted out cash and handed it over to Berhanu, the man with the tight curls who dealt in hacks.
“That do it?” said Ornazian.
“I’ll have the SS ready for you,” said Berhanu. “You put a little wear on the front end last time.”
“That’s what the extra is for. We had to go off-road, unfortunately. I hope it wasn’t bad.”
Berhanu gave a short wave of his hand. “Minor undercarriage work. You covered it.”
Donnie, the alcoholic mechanic, came out of the garage and lit a cigarette. He made brief eye contact with Ornazian but their interaction went no further.
“Mr. Personality,” said Ornazian.
Berhanu shrugged. “He’s good with a wrench.”
“I’ll need that Impala soon.”
“Fine, but I won’t be reachable at night. It’s Holy Week.”
“Understood.”
“Are you planning on going to church?”
“Sure.” It was a soft lie. With everything he’d been managing, Ornazian had nearly forgotten about Orthodox Easter. He was too ashamed to admit this to Berhanu.
“Ciao, Phil.”
“Ciao. I’ll hit you up.”
They shook hands. Ornazian walked to his Ford amid the harsh barking of alley dogs.
Michael sat across from Anna at a picnic table on the patio of the Midlands. She had washed up in the bathroom and let her hair down. She wore a locally designed Rapteez T-shirt over bike leggings. Her Cannondale leaned against the bar’s chain-link fence. She was having a lager and Michael was drinking a ginger ale. Several dogs roamed the area, their owners hanging with friends. An employee was barbecuing ribs as a Sturgill Simpson song came through the house speakers, the man singing in a rich baritone about a promise he’d made.