Part 13 (2/2)
”You too,” said Karras.
”Yeah?” said Stefanos. ”How about this? How about we say that's the last time the two of us will ever lie to each other?”
Karras chuckled. ”Sounds good to me.”
”Can I get you something?”
”No, I'm all right.”
Stefanos leaned on the bar. ”How long's it been, man?”
”Oh, I don't know. I was trying to think this morning. The last time I saw you was in eighty-six.”
”The morning Lenny Bias died.”
”Yeah. Every Was.h.i.+ngtonian remembers what they were doing that morning, right?”
Stefanos nodded. ”And before that, back around the Bicentennial weekend. My grandfather had sent you over to give me a talking to.”
”I wasn't one to be giving you any lectures. But, hey, I tried.”
”I didn't listen.”
”You weren't supposed to listen. h.e.l.l, you were, what, nineteen years old? Which puts you at -”
”Forty. You?”
”Forty-eight.”
The prelimineries were done. Stefanos struck a match, kept his eyes on Karras's as he lit a cigarette. ”I heard about your son. My sympathies.”
Karras nodded.
Stefanos exhaled a stream of smoke. Karras said nothing, and Stefanos took another slow drag.
Stefanos said, ”So you got my message.”
”Yes.”
”You workin' now?”
”No.”
”You interested?”
Karras had a look around the bar. Posters of John Riggins, Larry Brown, Phil Chenier, and Earl Monroe. A neon Globe poster advertising a concert by the Back Yard Band. A signed Chuck Brown glossy. An old Captain Beefheart, The Spotlight Kid, The Spotlight Kid, playing on the stereo. Some quiet patrons, a couple who looked like cops, none who looked like lawyers. No green plants. playing on the stereo. Some quiet patrons, a couple who looked like cops, none who looked like lawyers. No green plants.
Karras said, ”Maybe.”
A young Asian waitress with nice wheels bellied up to the service bar and said, ”Ordering.”
”Excuse me a second,” said Stefanos. He went down to her, retrieved some bottles from the cooler, and set them on a bar tray.
When he returned, Karras said, ”Elaine tells me you're a private investigator.”
”Well, not exactly private. I do work for the public defender's office down there. I work for Elaine exclusively.”
”Nothing else, huh?”
”Not anymore.” Stefanos crushed out his cigarette. ”You wanna meet the folks in the kitchen?”
”Sure.” Karras slid off his stool and walked along the bar. ”Who's the guy in the brown suit?” he asked, jerking his thumb over his shoulder.
”His name's Happy.”
”He doesn't look too happy to me.”
”He's pacing himself,” said Stefanos.
Maria Juarez and James Posten were dancing to the salsa music coming from the boom box when Karras and Stefanos entered the kitchen. Maria had the flat of her palm on her stomach and was moving two steps forward, two steps back, smiling at James, who was counting out his steps, twirling, holding a spatula up at head level.
”Cha-cha-cha, senorita, senorita,” said James. ”We havin' us one of those carnival's now.”
”Watch my feet, Jame,” said Maria.
Darnell stood over the sink, the hose in his hand, his back to the door, one foot tapping time to the beat.
”Hey, everybody,” said Stefanos as the song ended. ”Meet Dimitri Karras, the guy I was telling you about.”
Stefanos had briefed them earlier, told them that Karras might be dropping by. Darnell turned and appraised him; Maria did the same.
James turned the volume down on the box, crossed the room, and shook Karras's hand. ”How you doin', man? James.”
”Dimitri. Good to meet you.”
”James is the grill man,” said Stefanos. ”And this is Maria - colds and salads.”
”My pleasure, Mitri.”
”My hands are kinda wet,” said Darnell. ”So you'll understand if I don't come on over there.”
”It's all right,” said Karras, but Darnell had already turned back to the sink.
Ramon came in, deliberately b.u.mped Stefanos as he pa.s.sed.
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