A Firing Offense

TWENTY-EIGHT




MALONE SAID, “Pull on over, man.”

We were in the southbound lane of North Capitol, near the Florida Avenue intersection. I pulled over and cut the engine. Malone rolled the window down, leaned his arm on its edge, and put fire to a Newport.

On the east side of the street was a casket company, a beauty parlor, and a sign that read, “FISH, UBS.” Hand-painted on the door, in dripping, wide red brushstrokes, was, “Closed for Good.” To our right stood a Plexiglas bus shelter on a triangle of dirt that the city called a park. A man in a brown plaid overcoat slept in front of the shelter’s bench, where another graybeard sat and drank from a bagged bottle. Further down the street, near P, a Moorish carryout and a “Hi-Tech” shoeshine parlor graced the block.

The sidewalks were teeming with activity. Those not seated on stoops paced within the confines of their block. A woman in a two-piece, turquoise jogging suit stood with her hands on her hips and yelled gibberish at the unconcerned people walking past. Her flat buttocks sagged much like her sloping shoulders. Straight ahead, less than two miles down the strip, rose the Capitol dome.

“Look at it,” Malone said. “This is our city, man. Just look at it. Right in the shadow of the motherf*ckin’ Capitol. And they be throwin’ eighty million dollar inauguration parties.”

“You came from a neighborhood just like this,” I said, “and you made it out. It’s no different than it was twenty years ago.”

He chuckled cynically and blew out some smoke. “Don’t tell me it’s no different, man. On these streets they kill you now for a ten dollar rock. And the media, all they be talkin’ about: ‘The Mayor Snorts Coke.’ But nobody really cares about these people, because it ain’t goin’ down in Ward Three. It’s just niggers killin’ niggers. Meanwhile, you read the Washington Post—they supposed to be ‘the liberal watchdog of the community,’ right?—well, check it out. Some white woman gets raped in the suburbs, it makes page one. Now go to the back of the Metro section, where they got a special spot reserved for the niggers. They call it ‘Around the Area,’ some shit like that. And it’s always the same little boldfaced type: ‘Southeast Man Slain, Northeast Man Fatally Shot.’” He tossed his butt out the window. “One little paragraph, buried in the back of the paper, for the niggers.”

“You and me have talked about this a hundred times, Andre. What’s it got to do with today?”

He looked out the window and squinted, then ran a finger along the top of his thick mustache. “I remember my first day of work at Nathan’s. I got dressed that morning, real sharp. When I walked out of my place that day, I knew I was serious, I was so hooked up, I was proud.”

“I remember,” I said, and smiled at the thought of it. But I wondered where he was going with it.

“Anyway, I was all fired up, like anyone on their first day of the job. After a year, I had me enough to rent my place on Harvard, out of the old neighborhood. But then I started to notice some shit. The company was always sending other guys to seminars, putting other guys in management training. When the big dogs came into the store, I got no recognition, man, nary a nod. I doubt they even knew my name. And then they started cutting our commissions, changing payplans every six months. I woke up one day, I saw I was sliding back to where I came from.”

“What are you telling me?”

He waved his hand the width of the block. “I don’t want to come back to these streets, man. I won’t come back to these streets, understand?” He lit another smoke and pitched the match out the window. “When I was listening to you earlier, I started to think. We both got a problem we need to work out. How could we take that situation they got down in that warehouse and turn it around to our advantage?”

“And?”

“I ain’t got it all nailed down yet, see what I’m sayin’? But it would involve other people.”

“Not McGinnes,” I said quickly. “There’s something wrong with him. I mean he’s not well.”

“Yeah, I think he’s getting ready to bottom on out. Besides, all the man wants is to sell televisions.”

“And what do you want?”

“I’m still thinkin’ on it,” he said. “Hold up a minute while I make a call.”

He left the car and walked to a payphone at the gas station on the intersection. I had a Camel while he talked on the phone. By the time I finished it, he was back on the seat at my side.

“We got an appointment to see some fellas,” he said.

“Who?”

“Just younguns, that’s all. They all right.”

“This is getting too complicated,” I said.

“Not complicated. Simple. Look here.” He slid closer to me on the seat. “You want the boy, that’s as plain as the light. But you got nothin’ to deal with. When that last shipment of goods leaves the warehouse tomorrow night, and they tighten up the loose ends, they gonna do that boy just like they done the one down in Carolina.”

“I could go to the cops,” I said, “like I should have done from the beginning.”

“Too late for that. You might get the boy killed, and take a fall yourself. No, man, there’s a better way.”

“Talk about it.”

“Twenty-five percent of the man’s goods,” he said. “That’s a big bargaining chip to sit down with at the table.”

I thought about that. “You mean, steal the rest of the cocaine.”

“That’s right, Country. Then trade it back to Rosen for the boy.”

I lit another cigarette and tossed the match, taking a deep lungful of the deathly smog. Then I watched my exhale stream out the window and disappear as it met the wind.

“What’s your angle?” I said.

“My angle? A way out. All the way out. The way you tell, there’s gonna be some money changin’ hands tomorrow night. The money will be mine. A hundred-thirty for me, twenty for the boys I just called.”

“So you think we can just walk in and grab it—all of it, the money and the shake—from these guys? You said yourself, these people don’t play.”

“Then neither will we.”

“You’d have to leave town. You’d never work or live in D.C. again. Have you thought about that?”

“This shit goes down in the street every day. As for work, well, a hundred and thirty grand is quite a start. For me, some things I’ve wanted for my mom. Yeah, I’ve thought about it.”

“It’s too f*cking crazy, Andre.” I dismissed the idea with a motion of my hand. But even as I did so, I was picturing in my mind the layout of the warehouse.

Andre pointed to the key in the ignition. “Kick this bitch over,” he said. “I want you to meet my boys.”


WE VEERED OFF OF Florida and climbed sharply up Thirteenth Street. On our right was Cardoza High School; to our left were the Clifton Terrace apartments. At the crest of the hill, just past Thirteenth and Clifton, I made a “U” in the middle of the street and pulled the car over to the curb at Andre’s command.

Children kicked a ball around the glass-covered courtyard of the apartments. Boys walked from the high school, hunched and slower than old men. The downtown skyline rose below us majestically.

“Top of the motherf*ckin’ town,” Malone said without emotion. He pointed left to the Highview Apartments. “They’ll be coming out of there.”

“You grew up right around here, didn’t you?”

“Yeah.”

We sat there for about ten minutes without speaking. Then Malone tapped me on the shoulder and I looked left. Two young men were crossing the street.

They were still in their teens. The taller of the two was lanky and wore a red sweatsuit with high-tops, and walked with an exaggerated downstep. There was a fixed scowl on his face. The other one was short and slender at the waist, with a boxer’s upper body. He wore Lee jeans and a T-shirt. Both of their heads were shaved close to the scalp, with off-center parts like scars. They climbed into the backseat of my car.

“All right, Home,” the short one said to Malone, and they touched knuckles.

“Tony,” Malone said to the short one. “Who’s your friend?”

“His name’s Wayne,” Tony said. “He in my crew.”

“This is Nick,” Malone said. Tony nodded slightly. Wayne did nothing. We stared at each other in my rearview. “Where’s your big brother at, Tony?”

“You mean Charles?” Tony said and tilted his head.

“Yeah.”

“Chillin’ in Lorton.”

“What happened?” Malone asked.

Tony said, “Charles always be tellin’ me, ‘Don’t be shakin’, messin’ with guns and shit.’ One day this nigger dissed his ass in the street. Charles steals the motherf*cker in the jaw. The nigger gets up for more. Charles double-steals the motherf*cker. Nigger hits his head on the street. Dead. Charles doin’ six to twelve, second degree.”

Wayne said to Malone, “What’d you call us for, Home?”

“A job,” Malone said slowly. “Tomorrow night.”

“What kind of job?” Tony asked.

“Robbin’ a cocaine deal.”

“Where?”

“A warehouse, just over the line.”

“Talk about the pay,” Wayne said.

“If it goes down right, twenty thousand for the two of you,” Malone said. In the rearview I saw Wayne grin and tap Tony’s hand with his own.

“How many guns?” Tony asked.

Malone said, “We lookin’ at maybe six.” If this impressed them, they didn’t show it.

“What about the ’caine,” Wayne asked.

“The cocaine goes to Nick.”

“Who?” Wayne said and smiled.

Malone glared at him. “You heard me. And he’s in charge.” Wayne and Tony stared back but didn’t speak. Malone continued. “We’re going to need guns, and a van.”

“We got guns,” Tony said. “We can get a van.”

I cleared my throat and spoke for the first time. “The guns are for show, understand? They’re not to be used.” My voice sounded awkward and lily-white.

Tony said to Malone, “You better tell your boy what time it is. If a man holdin’ a gun on you, and he willin’ to use it, you got to fire down on his ass.”

“He knows that,” Malone said unconvincingly.

“That’s all for now,” I said abruptly, and turned over the ignition. I could feel their stares. “We’ll let you know tomorrow if it’s going to happen. We’ll let you know.”

Tony and Wayne slid out of the car. Tony leaned in the passenger window.

Malone said, “How the pay sound?”

Tony said, “Pay sound good, Home.”

“I’ll call you tomorrow,” Malone said, “first thing.”

I yanked the column shift down into drive and pulled away from the curb. Fifteen minutes later I dropped Malone at the door of the Avenue.


THAT EVENING I DREW a diagram of the warehouse and studied it. After that I phoned Malone.

“Andre, it’s Nick.”

“Nick. What’s up?”

“It’s on for tomorrow night.”

“Good.”

“Call Wayne and Tony. Tell them to meet us, with the van, on top of the Silver Spring parking garage, the one next to and on the same side of the street as the Metro station. All the way up, at seven-thirty sharp. You got that?”

“That it?”

“You want out, I mean up to the last minute?”

“I’m in, Nick.”

I hung up and smoked a couple of cigarettes at the kitchen table. The cat sat on the radiator and watched me smoke. When I was finished, I washed up, locked the front door, and went to bed. I fell asleep quickly and did not dream.


I ROSE EARLY the next morning and got permission from a high school friend to visit his property out around Thurmont, north of Frederick. An hour and a half later I was parked in front of a padlocked barn. I walked across a plowed field and into the woods.

I found the clearing where my friend kept his personal garden of vegetables and marijuana. Both had been harvested by now. I pulled a few rusty beer cans from a steel drum on the edge of the clearing and set most of them upright on stumps. I hung the remainder on the low branches of trees.

I walked to the middle of the garden, removed the Browning from my knapsack, loaded it, and undid the safety. I took my time firing at the beer cans. Eventually I emptied a full clip. When I was done, I had a reasonable approximation of the sight, and a good feel for the kick.

I replaced the gun in my knapsack and walked back into the woods. I came across a deer blind and climbed up into it, using the wooden blocks that had been hammered to the tree trunk.

For the next hour I sat in the blind smoking cigarettes and listening to the silence. There were not many birds this time of day. A rabbit bolted across some dry leaves, then down the bluff of a nearby creek.

I climbed off the tree and walked through the woods and across the field to my car, then drove back to D.C.

In my apartment I cleared out the center of my bedroom, turned my stereo up, and began to jump rope. Twenty minutes later I removed wet clothing and had a hot shower.

I shaved and dressed in jeans, a black sweatshirt, and running shoes. I had a sandwich, a cup of coffee, and, with that, a smoke. I put some dry food in the cat’s dish. I loaded the Browning and placed it in my knapsack. Then I left the apartment to pick up Malone.


WE DROVE ONTO THE roof of the parking garage at about seven-twenty. A thin, purple line of sunset ran between a thick mass of clouds on the western horizon.

“That would be them,” Malone said, pointing to a green, windowless Ford van parked in the far corner.

“Is it stolen?” I asked, and drove towards it.

“That’s a bet,” he said. I pulled up next to them.

We got out of my car and locked it. Malone walked around to the driver’s side. They were up front in the buckets, both wearing jeans and blue, zip-up windbreakers.

“Give me the keys and move in the back,” Malone said. They did it, but slowly. Malone got behind the wheel, and I took the passenger seat. There were no seats in back. Tony and Wayne sat with their backs against the interior walls, a blanket-covered mound between them at their feet.

“All right,” I said, pulling the diagram from my knapsack and crawling back with them. “Andre and I have already gone over this, so listen up.” They moved in close and looked at the drawing. “I have a key to the office, and I know the alarm code. But the code to the warehouse is different. We’ll have to wait until they come to make the transaction before we can enter the warehouse.”

“Where they gonna be?” Tony asked.

I pointed to the diagram. “The goods are in the rear left corner. Here. Wayne, you’re going to go down the center aisle and cut left at the break in the row. You just move in and cover them from the side. Andre and me are going to walk right in on them, straight up the aisle they’re in. That way they’ll be covered on two sides. The other two sides are walls.” Wayne nodded and concentrated on the diagram.

“Where am I?” Tony asked.

“You enter the warehouse from the loft. Here. Then you climb over the railing and drop down to the top of the stock in the center aisle. Crawl along the top of it until you get to where the deal is happening, in the back. You cover us all from above.”

“What you gonna do,” Wayne said, “ask ’em, ‘Please, can I have the ’caine?’” I didn’t answer.

Malone said, “What about the guns?”

“Right here, Home.” Tony pulled back the blanket and tossed it to the side. He reached in the pile and handed Malone a blue steel pistol. “Three-eighty Beretta, holds eight rounds. Bad little gun, too.”

Malone felt the weight of the piece and checked the action. I watched Wayne slide a nine-millimeter Colt into his jacket. Tony held up some sort of semiautomatic assault pistol.

Malone said, “What you plan on doin’ with that, Tony?”

“Spray the motherf*cker,” Tony said, “if I have to. MAC ten. Thirty-two rounds in the clip. Can’t nobody f*ck with it.” The short barrel passed in front of me as he moved the gun to his other hand. I grabbed the barrel and glared at Tony.

“Remember what I told you,” I said.

“Sure, chief,” Tony said, and Wayne chuckled joylessly.

Malone turned the key in the ignition, and the van came alive.


WE PARKED IN THE body shop lot across the street from the Nutty Nathan’s headquarters. The trucks near the warehouse were closed and locked. The showroom doors stood open. A couple of employee cars sat parked near the entrance. The office windows above the showroom remained dark.

“How long?” Tony said.

“They’ll be leaving any time now,” I said. “Then we go.”

Night came quickly. The air was heavy with the smell of rain. A salesman left the showroom and drove away. Moments later the lights went out and the store manager emerged. He locked the glass doors, walked to his car, and was gone.

“Okay,” I said, exhaling a nervous breath. “I’ll go in through the employee entrance. When I signal, the three of you follow. Move quick and low, and keep the guns in your jackets.”

Malone tried to smile, then shook my hand.

Wayne said to Tony, “You ready, man?”

“Yeah,” Tony said, and they tapped fists. “Let’s get paid.”