Soul Circus (38 page)

“I heard the news about Oliver on the radio,” he said. “I guess it’s why I thought of you and took a shot at stopping by.”

“They’ll give him the needle now, up in Indiana.”

“Not just yet. There’s plenty of appeal time left. Anyway, you did what you could.”

“That’s what everyone tells me,” said Strange. “So you were just driving around, huh?”

“Yeah, my girlfriend, woman named Alicia, she’s out with friends. I got itchy hanging around my crib.”

“Smells like you made a few pit stops on your way here,” said Strange. “Thought you were staying away from drinking.”

“I said I was tryin’ to stay out of bars. It’s not the same thing.”

“You fall off that wagon much?”

Stefanos shrugged. They stood there for a while without speaking. Stefanos lit a Marlboro and tossed the match onto the street.

“You sure did stir up the bees down in Southeast,” said Stefanos.

“I guess I did.”

“After Horace McKinley was found in that alley, it started the ball rolling, didn’t it? The ATF got involved and put together a case against that gun dealer, lived over the line in Maryland.”

“Ulysses Foreman. But it wasn’t McKinley’s death that triggered all the activity. It was Durham’s boy Bernard Walker gettin’ arrested for an unrelated murder a month later. The Feds flipped him on Durham and got him to detail the Foreman operation — what he knew about it, anyway. Apparently it was Foreman who blew up McKinley’s shit. They even indicted Foreman’s girlfriend as a coconspirator in the gun trafficking charge. Getting defendants to flip beats good police work every time.”

“I guess I ought to thank you for the job.”

“What job?”

“The Dewayne Durham thing, the whole Six Hundred Crew operation, it’s gonna be a RICO trial now. Elaine Clay was the PD assigned to the case. I’m doing the investigative work for the defense.”

“Congratulations,” said Strange.

“It’s work,” said Stefanos. He reached into the open window of his car, pulled free a pint bottle from under the front seat. “What ever happened with that little problem you had with the authorities?”

“Nothing. No more burglaries, no more threats. Never heard another word after McKinley got chilled.”

“No reason to go after you anymore. They got their verdict.”

“I guess.”

Strange watched him unscrew the top and tip the bottle to his lips. He watched the bubbles rise in the whiskey as Stefanos closed his eyes. The Greek wiped his mouth with the back of his hand when he was done.

“Here you go,” said Stefanos, offering Strange the bottle. “Shake hands with my old granddad.”

“Crazy motherfucker,” said Strange, waving the bottle off.

“Suit yourself,” said Stefanos. He dragged deeply on his cigarette and blew smoke at his feet.

Strange looked him over. “Feel like going for a ride?”

Stefanos said, “What’d you have in mind?”

Strange told him.

“Guess you caught me in the right frame of mind,” said Stefanos.

“You want to take a pee, wash your face or somethin’, before we go? It’s a long drive.”

“No. But let’s pick up a six-pack. I need something cold to go with this bourbon. We can take my ride, you want to.”

“I’ll drive,” said Strange. “You’re half blind.”

THEY drove out of the city via New York Avenue, took the tunnel to 395, and were soon into Virginia and on Route 1. They spoke very little. Strange listened to his tapes, and Stefanos drank and smoked. He seemed to enjoy the wind in his face.

The road became more barren as they drove south.

Forty minutes later, they passed the Marine Corps base at Quantico and continued on.

“Won’t be long now,” said Strange.

“What’s the plan?”

“No plan. Get in quick, burn the motherfucker down, try to get out without getting nailed.”

“Viva la revolution,” said Stefanos.

“I need you as a lookout.”

“But I’m half blind.”

“Funny.”

“I got the matches. Don’t I get to play?”

“Yeah, okay.”

“We gonna wear gloves or something?”

“And ski masks, too. Shit, we get caught, we’re gonna get caught on the site. I ain’t gonna worry about fingerprints or nothin’ else but haulin’ ass out of there. Let’s just do this thing, all right?”

Deep forest lined both sides of the highway. Strange took his foot off the gas pedal and let a car pass on his left. Soon he slowed the Caprice down and swerved off onto the berm, then he made a right onto a gravel drive where Stefanos had seen a cut in the trees. What looked like a house stood alone back off the road. A sign reading “Commonwealth Guns” was strung along a porch holding barred windows. A light in a glass globe mounted beside the door illuminated the porch.

Strange killed the headlights as he drove the car onto the grass and parked alongside the house. The motorcycle was not on the porch.

“Let’s go,” he said.

They got out and went to the trunk. Strange opened it and took out the two cans of gas. A car approached on the highway and he closed the trunk lid, extinguishing its light.

“There’s gonna be cars from time to time goin’ by,” said Strange. “Just keep working fast.”

“You got a rag in there?”

“Yeah.”

“Give it to me. I’ll find a stick to tie it around while you do your thing. After I take care of that porch light. Leave some gas for the torch.”

“Okay, man. Let’s go.”

Stefanos waited for the rag, wrapped it around one hand, then went up to the porch and unscrewed the hot lightbulb inside its shield. Then he moved to the treeline in the nearly total darkness and hand-searched the ground until he found a small branch. He wrapped the rag around the top of the branch and tied it tightly so that it would not slip off.

Strange doused the porch with gasoline and continued around the house, flinging the liquid against its walls. When he was done with one can he went back for the other and continued his circular path. Cars sped by on the highway, but none stopped.

Strange met Stefanos at the trunk of the car.

“We all set?” said Stefanos.

“Yeah. It’s an all-wood house, should go up good.”

“Here,” said Stefanos, holding out the branch. Strange poured gasoline onto the rag, careful not to get any near the car.

“That’s good. Drive the car up to the road. I’ll be right with you, hear?”

Stefanos smiled. “Set ’em off, Jefferson: one, two, three, four.”

“You are something. Gimme your matches.”

“Here you go, Dad.”

Strange felt the book pressed into his hand.

Stefanos took the car up to the road, let it idle on the berm. He looked south and in the rearview took in the northern view. There were no cars coming in either direction. He flipped the headlights on and then off.

Strange lit the rag atop the branch. The light from it was startling and he swung the branch and released it, pinwheeling it onto the porch of the gun store. The porch caught fire immediately and then the rest of the house seemed to explode into a ring of flame. Strange stepped back, feeling the heat of the fire, watching it engulf the house. He heard the sound of his own car’s horn but stayed where he was. He admired the power of the fire and the color dancing against the trees. He heard his horn again and he turned and jogged to his car. Stefanos was in the passenger seat, sweat shotgunned on his forehead. Strange got under the wheel and pulled down on the tree. He fishtailed off the berm, pinning the accelerator as he hit the asphalt.

Stefanos unscrewed the top from his pint bottle and had a drink. He handed it to Strange, who tipped it to his lips. The two of them laughed.

Strange handed the bottle back. “Thanks, buddy.”

“You feel better now?”

“Yeah, I feel good.” He thought of the cleansing warmth of the fire and the beauty of the flames.

“It’s a long jolt, we get popped for this. We ruined a man’s livelihood. He was running a legal business there.”

“He has insurance, I expect,” said Strange. “The way I look at it, we just saved a bunch of lives.”

Stefanos lit a cigarette. He looked at the white divider lines on the highway, rushing under the car. “I’m sorry about your friend.”

“They found that girl he was looking for,” said Strange, smiling some, thinking of Quinn. “He had written down her location on the back of a flyer. It was sitting there right next to him on the seat.”

Stefanos looked across the bench at Strange. “Not many of us left out here.”

“No.”

“I guess I’m in it for life.”

“I guess I am, too.”

“Seems like a long game, doesn’t it?”

“Long but simple,” said Strange. “Only got one rule.”

“Just one?” said Stefanos.

Strange nodded. “Last man standing wins.”

Thanks to Joe Aronstamn, Russell Ewart, Father George Clements, ATF Special Agent John D’Angelo, ATF Special Agent Harold Scott Jr., ATF Division Director Jeffrey Roehm, Sloan Harris, and Alicia Gordon, for their assistance and guidance in the writing of this book. As always, much love to Emily, Nick, Pete, and Rosa, for their patience and support.

George P. Pelecanos is a screenwriter, independent film producer, award-winning journalist, and the author of a bestselling series of novels set in and around Washington, D.C., where he lives with his wife and children.

Also by George P. Pelecanos

Hell to Pay

Right As Rain

The Sweet Forever

Shame the Devil

King Suckerman

The Big Blowdown

Down By the River Where the Dead Men Go

Shoedog

Nick’s Trip

A Firing Offense