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Authors: George P. Pelecanos
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off.”
“It feels sturdy enough.”
“Okay… okay.”
Stephanie arched her back as he walked her ribcage with his fingers. She took his hands and put them on her breasts. He buried
himself inside her until there seemed no more of her. Then she adjusted her hips and he slid farther into her gloved warmth.
“There we go,” she said.
“
Opa,
” said Karras.
Karras washed himself, phoned his apartment, came back into the bedroom, and had a seat on the edge of the mattress.
Stephanie got up on one elbow. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing. I just got a message from a guy, called my place. I haven’t seen him in years. Greek guy named Nick Stefanos. My
old man used to work for his grandfather a long time ago.”
“What’d he want?”
“He wants to give me a part-time job in a bar he works in, down in Southeast. Kitchen help.” Karras rubbed his cheek. “Things
do come around.”
“Why’s he calling you now?”
“My friend Marcus’s wife, Elaine? She hooked it up. Elaine uses Stefanos as an investigator on some of her cases.”
“Are you going to talk to him?”
“I don’t know.”
“It would do you good to get out in the world a few hours a day.”
“I know it.”
“I’m serious.”
“Stephanie, I know.”
She pulled him down on the bed, her hair falling and touching his face. She smiled, looking into his eyes. “You were really
ornery tonight, Dimitri.”
“Sometimes I don’t feel like talking.”
“You still come to the meetings, though.”
“I like being with you guys,” he said. “Aside from the pleasure of that, it doesn’t do much good. Look, don’t try to make
me your project, Stephanie.”
“You’re not. We need each other, though. All of us, I mean. Can’t you see it?”
He kissed her cool lips and pushed back her hair.
“I need
this,
” he said.
“Make no mistake,” said Stephanie. “So do I.”
Bernie Walters cracked open a can of Bud and took it downstairs to the rec room of his three-bedroom house in Wheaton, off
Randolph Road. He had a seat in a leather recliner and hit the remote, which he had Velcroed to the chair.
When Vance was a teenager he was always misplacing the television’s remote. After carrying mailbags all day through Bethesda’s
business district, Walters would come home with no more ambition than to put his feet up and watch a little tube. The remote
always seemed to be missing when he got downstairs, and that drove him nuts.
“What’s the big deal with the remote, Dad?”
“I been on my dogs all day. The big deal is, once I get settled in my chair at night, I don’t want to get back up.”
Both Vance and Bernie got tired of that exchange. Bernie rigged up a kind of sheath for the remote and Velcroed it to the
right arm of the chair.
Vance’s friends got a big charge out of it.Vance’s dad, the Vietnam vet and mail carrier — with that combo, he had to be some
kind of wack job, right? — had gone and rigged a permanent remote control to his chair. Remote on the right arm, ashtray on
the left. He even heard one of those friends call the recliner “the captain’s chair,” then hum a few bars of the
Star Trek
theme when he thought Walters wasn’t listening.
Yeah, Vance’s friends got a big laugh out of Bernie Walters. The captain’s chair, the ten-point buck’s head mounted on the
wall of the rec room, the glass-doored gun case with the beautiful oiled shotguns aligned in a row, the bumper sticker on
his truck that read, “Know Jesus, Know Peace; No Jesus, No Peace,” the prayers and psalms framed and hung throughout the house.
It was okay by Walters for those kids to think whatever they wanted. And for the members of the group as well. He knew it
made them uncomfortable to hear him talk about the Lord at the meetings. Well, they had their own way of getting through this
and he had his. Because they had become his closest friends, he felt he owed it to them to talk about God’s
“It feels sturdy enough.”
“Okay… okay.”
Stephanie arched her back as he walked her ribcage with his fingers. She took his hands and put them on her breasts. He buried
himself inside her until there seemed no more of her. Then she adjusted her hips and he slid farther into her gloved warmth.
“There we go,” she said.
“
Opa,
” said Karras.
Karras washed himself, phoned his apartment, came back into the bedroom, and had a seat on the edge of the mattress.
Stephanie got up on one elbow. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing. I just got a message from a guy, called my place. I haven’t seen him in years. Greek guy named Nick Stefanos. My
old man used to work for his grandfather a long time ago.”
“What’d he want?”
“He wants to give me a part-time job in a bar he works in, down in Southeast. Kitchen help.” Karras rubbed his cheek. “Things
do come around.”
“Why’s he calling you now?”
“My friend Marcus’s wife, Elaine? She hooked it up. Elaine uses Stefanos as an investigator on some of her cases.”
“Are you going to talk to him?”
“I don’t know.”
“It would do you good to get out in the world a few hours a day.”
“I know it.”
“I’m serious.”
“Stephanie, I know.”
She pulled him down on the bed, her hair falling and touching his face. She smiled, looking into his eyes. “You were really
ornery tonight, Dimitri.”
“Sometimes I don’t feel like talking.”
“You still come to the meetings, though.”
“I like being with you guys,” he said. “Aside from the pleasure of that, it doesn’t do much good. Look, don’t try to make
me your project, Stephanie.”
“You’re not. We need each other, though. All of us, I mean. Can’t you see it?”
He kissed her cool lips and pushed back her hair.
“I need
this,
” he said.
“Make no mistake,” said Stephanie. “So do I.”
Bernie Walters cracked open a can of Bud and took it downstairs to the rec room of his three-bedroom house in Wheaton, off
Randolph Road. He had a seat in a leather recliner and hit the remote, which he had Velcroed to the chair.
When Vance was a teenager he was always misplacing the television’s remote. After carrying mailbags all day through Bethesda’s
business district, Walters would come home with no more ambition than to put his feet up and watch a little tube. The remote
always seemed to be missing when he got downstairs, and that drove him nuts.
“What’s the big deal with the remote, Dad?”
“I been on my dogs all day. The big deal is, once I get settled in my chair at night, I don’t want to get back up.”
Both Vance and Bernie got tired of that exchange. Bernie rigged up a kind of sheath for the remote and Velcroed it to the
right arm of the chair.
Vance’s friends got a big charge out of it.Vance’s dad, the Vietnam vet and mail carrier — with that combo, he had to be some
kind of wack job, right? — had gone and rigged a permanent remote control to his chair. Remote on the right arm, ashtray on
the left. He even heard one of those friends call the recliner “the captain’s chair,” then hum a few bars of the
Star Trek
theme when he thought Walters wasn’t listening.
Yeah, Vance’s friends got a big laugh out of Bernie Walters. The captain’s chair, the ten-point buck’s head mounted on the
wall of the rec room, the glass-doored gun case with the beautiful oiled shotguns aligned in a row, the bumper sticker on
his truck that read, “Know Jesus, Know Peace; No Jesus, No Peace,” the prayers and psalms framed and hung throughout the house.
It was okay by Walters for those kids to think whatever they wanted. And for the members of the group as well. He knew it
made them uncomfortable to hear him talk about the Lord at the meetings. Well, they had their own way of getting through this
and he had his. Because they had become his closest friends, he felt he owed it to them to talk about God’s
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