“Gotdamn,” one of the watchers said loudly. Johnny looked up. Lindell had been standing with his back to him the whole time, but now he stepped into the light wash from the overhead bulb, peeling money from a roll. He wore a black pinstriped suit, his hair straightened and pomaded back, goatee neatly trimmed. He counted off bills, handed them to a fat young man in a black sweatshirt and camouflage pants who took the money with no expression. He counted it as he moved away, then handed it to Cowboy Hat, who folded the bills, nodded at Lindell, tucked them into a vest pocket.

  The pit was still holding on, though the rott wasn’t moving. Cowboy Hat took a wooden breaker stick, forced it into the pit’s mouth like a shoehorn, levered up until it let go. Then he caught the pit and pulled it back to the edge of the ring.

  Lindell turned, saw Johnny for the first time. He replaced his roll, started toward him. Johnny finished his cigarette, stepped on it.

  In the ring, the rott’s handler picked it up almost gently, the dog dead weight in his arms, carried it away.

  “Johnny Too Bad,” Lindell said. He showed flawless white teeth in his smile. He put his hand out and Johnny caught it in the soul shake. They embraced quickly, slapped each other on the back.

  “Lindell. Looking slick as always.”

  “Did you see that? That was some sorry shit. Cost me five bills.”

  The rott’s handler had carried the dog into the anteroom. Now he came back out to stand in the doorway, his T-shirt stained with blood.

  “Lindell,” he said.

  “Excuse me,” Lindell said. Johnny followed him.

  The rott had been laid out on an army blanket, the material already darkening with blood. It lay on its right side with its eyes open, breath whistling through its cracked muzzle, wheezing as its chest rose and fell. The pit had crushed its throat.

  “He’s alive, Lindell,” the kid said. “I told you he was tough, that he was dead game.” There was water in the kid’s eyes.

  Lindell crouched beside the dog, far enough away to keep blood off his suit.

  “Yeah, he was game, all right. Not game enough, though. And he may still be alive, that little motherfucker, but he never gonna fight again.”

  “We gotta get him to the vet right away, Lindell. Get him fixed up and shit. We gotta get him there now.”

  Lindell shook his head.

  “Not this time. Not worth it. Give him the shot.”

  “But he’s trying to get up, can’t you see?”

  “He’s done, boy. Give him the shot. Get it over with.”

  Lindell stood, looked at the kid. He was still kneeling on the concrete, a leather case open beside him. Inside were a syringe, three dark brown ampules. One of them would be penicillin, Johnny knew. The other B12 or another vitamin booster to prime the dog on fight day. And the third an anesthetic to put it down.

  “What are you waiting for?” Lindell said.

  “There ain’t none left.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “The bottle’s empty. I was going to get more from Rakim this week. But I didn’t think there was any way T-Boy could lose tonight. Not like that.”

  The dog gave a hitch, its legs working for a moment in slow motion. Johnny watched it, could see its system shutting down piece by piece.

  “Yeah, well, he lost, all right. And cost me five hundred dollars. Step out the way.”

  Lindell reached under his jacket, came out with a silver automatic. He pointed it at the floor, worked the slide. The kid stepped back. When Lindell crouched again, the dog rolled one rheumy eye up to watch him. The nub of its tail moved slowly from side to side.

  “Don’t look at me like that, you stupid-ass lame motherfucker.” He caught the edge of the blanket, pulled it over the top half of the dog’s body.

  “Which side is the heart?”

  “I don’t know,” the kid said.

  Lindell put his left hand on the blanket. It rose and fell under his palm.

  “I feel it,” he said. He took his hand away, held the muzzle of the gun four inches away from the spot he’d touched.

  “Lindell …” the kid said.

  He fired twice, the shots loud in the concrete room. Casings hit the floor. The dog spasmed beneath the tarp, one leg kicking slowly, then was still. Urine pooled between its legs, the ammonia smell of it filling the room. The holes in the blanket smoked, the tang of cordite drifting in the air.

  The men in the other room had turned at the shots. Handlers had brought in two new dogs, were holding them at the outside of the ring, waiting. Lindell stood, put the safety on the automatic, made it disappear under his jacket again.

  “Go on,” he said to the kid. “Get him out of here before he stinks up the place any more.”

  The kid looked down at the dog, didn’t move.

  Lindell turned to Johnny.

  “Come on,” he said. “Let’s go where we can talk.”

  The kid knelt, began to fold the edges of the blanket over the dog, bundling it to be carried. Johnny followed Lindell back into the big room.

  “My nephew,” Lindell said. “Trying to school him, but he ain’t getting it yet. It ain’t no motherfucking game.”

  Johnny felt the eyes of the men on him as they walked past, wondering what this white boy was doing in their midst. Lindell gestured to a stairwell in the far wall. Johnny followed him. Behind him, he heard the referee call and then the snarling and snapping as dogs met in the ring.

  They went up a short flight of stairs into an office with a window that looked out on the floor. There was an old refrigerator along one wall, a filing cabinet next to it, drawers bent and half open. On top of the cabinet was a color TV, DVD player beside it. On the screen, a blonde woman was performing oral sex on a muscular, tattooed black man. The sound was turned off.

  Lindell opened the refrigerator, took out two Michelobs, nodded at a wooden chair near the window. There was a single desk in the room. Atop it were a half dozen DVD cases, the women on them in various states of undress.

  He opened the beers, handed one to Johnny, then sat behind the desk. Johnny pulled the other chair closer, sat down. He nodded at the cases.

  “What are those?”

  “DVDs, man. Get that shit free. One of the perks of the job.”

  He moved a newspaper aside, found the remote.

  “Video was better, though. This digital technology is no good for porn, man. Lets you see all the lines in these bitches’ faces, pimples on their ass. It’s depressing.” The screen went gray, then black.

  “I wouldn’t know.”

  “Yeah, I guess you wouldn’t, being away all this time. I should have thought of that.”

  Lindell put the remote down, sat back.

  “You talk to the man yet?” he said.

  Johnny shook his head.

  “Figured I’d talk to you first, see what the situation was.”

  Lindell nodded. “Smart.”

  “Funny, though. Last time I was around here, ‘the man’ meant someone else.”

  “The times has changed. That man is retired. And those times ain’t never coming back, I’m happy to say.” He took a sip from the beer. “No shit, Johnny. Things are good and gonna get better. Joey been waiting for you to get out, help him get busy.”

  “I called the store. They danced me around. Then they gave me a number for you. No one answered. I was starting to feel like people were avoiding me.”

  “Everything’s mobile these days, dawg. I ain’t never in one place for too long. Got your message and got back to you soon as I could, though, didn’t I? I knew you’d be ready, hungry to get down to it. And as far as the store, man … Joey don’t hardly go there no more. He still got the office upstairs and all, but mostly does his business elsewhere. Couple different places. Keep a jump on the suckers, you know? But here, I got something else you gonna like.”

  He reached into a pocket, came out with a small vial of cocaine, waved it once in the air, put it on the desk. The vial was sealed with a metal screw cap, a tiny spoon inside.

  “Take a blast of that,” Lindell said. “Shit will open your eyes but good.”

  Johnny shook his head.

  “No.”

  “What? You used to love that shit, dawg. Suck it up like an Oreck.”

  “No more.”

  “I hear you.” He slipped the vial back in his pocket.

  Johnny took a sip from his beer.

  “You looking lean and mean, man,” Lindell said. “They make you cut your hair inside?”

  “Did it myself.”

  “Got yourself an early release too. How that happen?”

  “My lawyer pulled some strings. Made it work. Walked out of there with nothing but my kick-out money, though. Spent most of it getting up here.”

  “I hear that.” He stroked his goatee.

  “I could use a little of what’s owed me.”

  Lindell shrugged.

  “Hey, that’s up to Joey, man. I mean, the man’s business is his business. I don’t question how he runs it. But if you asking me, ‘Lindell, do you think he owes me money?’ then I gotta say yes. But it ain’t up to me to give it to you.”

  Johnny said nothing.

  “Now, some things have changed since you been away, that’s true. Most of those old fucks, they long gone. Ain’t no OGs left among the spaghetti benders, man. They in the pen or they headed for the pen or they in the ground. What we got now is a wide-open market. No more bullshit, no more hogging the tit. These days everybody get paid.”

  “That’s good to hear.”

  “No doubt. And you gonna get your share too. Ain’t nobody gonna keep it away from Johnny Too Bad. If they do, he just gonna go take it anyway, right?”

  “I only want what’s mine.”

  “Like everybody. And Joey gonna get it to you too, man. He don’t forget nothing.”

  “Good.”

  “So what you need? Some snaps to walk around with? Get your swerve on? ’Cause I can help you out with that.”

  He got up, went over to the filing cabinet, pulled out a drawer. There was a metal strongbox inside.

  “We keep some petty cash in here, cover the betting money,” he said. “Not too much, though.”

  He opened the box, took out two bound bundles of cash, held them up, looked at Johnny.

  “’Bout six hundred here I can spare,” he said. “That do it?”

  Johnny looked at him.

  “Six hundred?”

  Lindell didn’t answer.

  “You know where I been the last seven years? And why?”

  Lindell lowered the money, shook his head, put it back in the box.

  “Like I said, man. It’s all I got right now. If you don’t want it—”

  “Give it here.”

  Lindell smiled, took out the bundles again. Johnny caught the first in midair, let the second fall into his lap.

  “Joey want to see you,” Lindell said. “He gave me the word. We gonna set it up for tomorrow. Tuesday at the latest. He happy you out. And I think he gonna have some good news for you.” He closed the box, pushed the drawer shut.

  Johnny thumbed through the money.

  “Let’s hope.” He put a bundle in each jacket pocket.

  “Get yourself some pussy yet?”

  “Why?”

  “You want some, I hook you up. Fine sistas. Work your jimmy like to make your head spin.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind.”

  He got up.

  “Listen, Johnny.”

  He stopped halfway to the door, looked back at Lindell.

  “I know you’re mad. About what happened and all down there. But Joey gonna make it up to you, man. I guarantee.”

  “Give me a number where I can reach you without getting jerked around.”

  Lindell took a business card from his jacket pocket.

  “My cell, man,” he said. “Now you got the access.”

  Johnny took the card. It was blank except for a handwritten number.

  “I’ll call you tomorrow afternoon,” he said.

  “You got it, bro. I have some word for you then.”

  Johnny turned and went back down the stairs. There was a lull in the fighting and the bettors watched him as he walked past. At the doorway to the anteroom, he turned and saw Lindell standing at the office window, looking down at him.

  Topcoat and the tall man were still outside. They watched as he walked to the Firebird.

  He was at the driver’s-side door, key in hand, when he saw movement in the jeep next to him. He turned, saw the rottweiler’s body laid out in the back, the blanket open, the kid sitting Indian fashion with the dog’s bloody head in his lap. The kid looked at him and Johnny saw tear lines running down his smooth face. Johnny held his glance for a moment, then turned away and got in the car.

  Back at the motel, he sat on the edge of the narrow bed, pulled the phone into his lap. A sticker on the front of it said it belonged to a Best Western in Myrtle Beach, South Carolina.

  He dialed the beeper. At the tone, he punched in the motel number, the pound sign and then the room number. He hung up, set the phone beside him on the bed, lay back. The ceiling was spotted with water stains, but there was no sound from the floors above or below. Besides the Korean man at the front desk, he had seen only two other people since he’d been here, both welfare residents. As far as he knew, he was the only person on the floor. At night, he heard only the wind.

  The phone rang less than five minutes later. He put the receiver to his ear.

  “Yeah?”

  “About time,” Connor said. “I was worried you hadn’t made it. This where you’re going to be staying?”

  “For now.”

  “You had contact?”

  “With Johnson. In Newark. I just came from there.”

  “What about Joey?”

  “Tomorrow. Lindell’s setting it up.”

  “He’s screening you.”

  “Maybe.”

  “Where’s the meeting?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe the place on Twenty-Two.”

  “The porn shop? He hasn’t been there in weeks.”

  “That’s what Johnson told me. Said Joey’s been keeping a low profile.”

  “That’s a laugh. Low profile? It isn’t in his personality.”

  “I’ll call you afterward.”

  “Be careful,” Connor said. “You can’t trust either of them. Keep your eyes open. Look and listen. How you doing on cash?”

  “I could use some more. A grand doesn’t go very far.”

  “I’ll see what I can do. Might take a few days.”

  “What about that other thing?”

  “I’m working on it. I told you.”

  “I’m worried you’re not properly motivated.”

  “You start showing me results, John, and I’ll get motivated.”

  “That wasn’t the deal. I told you I wanted one thing out of this. That hasn’t changed.”

  A pause on the line.

  “I’m expecting some news soon. It’s tough. Records are sealed, there’s privacy issues involved.”

  “But you can do it?”

  “I can do it.”

  “Good, because if you can’t, if you’re jerking me around, then the whole thing’s off. I vanish and you’re on your own.”

  “Don’t talk foolish, John. You already owe me. You want to go back to Glades?”

  “You know the deal. You know what we agreed.”

  “I told you. I’m on it.”

  “Then make it happen. When I call you tomorrow, I’ll more than likely have something for you. You should have something for me.”

  He hung up.

  10

  “NFW,” Harry said. “No fucking way.”

  They were in Ray’s office, bright sun pouring through the window.

  “You’re the one went chasing after her,” Ray said.

  “I learn from my mistakes.”

  “She called me again. She has a valid situation there. You said so yourself. And we might be able to help her.”

  “Send Errol.”

  “She wants you.”

  “Why?”

  “She says she liked the way you handled yourself.”

  “Bullshit.”

  “No.” Ray raised a hand. “God’s honest. That’s what she said.”

  “Then that makes no goddamn sense at all. Did she tell you she pulled a gun on me? That I had to take it away from her?”

  “She alluded to that, yes.”

  Harry got up from the chair, went to the window, looked out.

  “Explain this,” he said.

  “What’s there to explain? She wants to contract with us. She wants you to be the point man. Client’s request. You won’t be solo on this, but she insists you stay in the picture.”

  Harry looked at him.

  “What’s going on behind the scenes here? What hasn’t she told us? And what am I supposed to do for her anyway?”

  Ray shrugged.

  “As far as what she isn’t telling us, I don’t know. Maybe nothing. But I’ve been giving quite a bit of thought to what we can do for her. And the first thing is to go down to that agency, talk to some people there. Let them know the situation.”

  “She couldn’t do that herself?”

  “She could, but it’ll bring more weight to bear if we’re there with her. They’ll be more inclined to listen, get a sense of the gravity of the situation.”

  “Which I’m still not convinced of myself.”

  “The woman’s worried. That part’s real, regardless of whatever else may be going on. Even if we just look into it a little, convince her there’s no reason to be worried, then that’s a service too. She buys herself a little peace of mind. And there’s nothing wrong with that.”

  “She’s already on board, isn’t she? You already signed her. Regardless of what I might say.”

  “If she’s not happy with our efforts, she can terminate the contract. But I wasn’t going to jerk her around another week before giving her an answer.”