Authors: George Pelecanos
Tags: #Reconciliation, #Minorities - Crimes against, #Mystery & Detective, #Crime and race, #Political, #Family Life, #Hard-Boiled, #Fiction, #FIC022010, #Crimes Against, #Crime, #Washington (D.C.), #Minorities, #General, #Domestic Fiction, #Race discrimination
The Turnaround (32 page)
“I’m going to send you to classes,” said Alex. “You need to quit Gavin’s and start preparing yourself. I’m transitioning myself out of the coffee shop, so there’s going to be six months, a year maybe, before we can open up. I’ll put you on a salary right away.”
“What kinda salary?”
“We’re gonna work it out,” said Alex. “Whatever the going rate is for mechanics. And, oh yeah, music. I plan to bring in satellite radio. There’s this station you’re gonna like, it’s called Soul Street. They play the good stuff you can’t hear on the regular radio anymore. Bobby Bennett’s the host.”
“The Mighty Burner?” said James, his eyebrows raised.
“Him,” said Alex.
“You don’t mind my asking,” said Raymond, “where is all the money coming from?”
“Don’t worry, I have it,” said Alex. “When my father died, he left me and my brother insurance money off a policy he had bought from a guy named Nick Kambanis. I put it in blue chips, like my dad would have done, and left it alone. My intention was to pass it on to my sons. Well, Gus was killed, and I just handed Johnny the business. So I’m going to draw from it for this.”
“You said before
we
can open up,” said Raymond. “What’s your role gonna be in all this?”
“I don’t know anything about cars,” said Alex. “But I know how to market and run a small business. That’s my specialty. I’m going to bring people through the front door, keep them coming back, and have them tell their friends, because of your good work, James, and because we’ll be providing good service. I’ll do flyers in the neighborhoods around here, place ads in the local papers to get us started, that kind of thing. My wife, Vicki, will be our accountant.”
“But what’s the arrangement going to be?” said Raymond. “Forgive me for looking the gift horse straight in the mouth, but I’m thinking about the welfare of my brother.”
“We’re gonna be partners,” said Alex. “You and me, James. I own the real estate; that’s always going to belong to me and my family. But after your salary, any profits will be split even, fifty-fifty. The equity in the business will be shared the same way.”
“You’re comin off thirty-some-odd years in that diner,” said Raymond.
“Why would you want to jump right back into something like this?” said James, completing his brother’s thought.
“Because that was never mine,” said Alex. “It was my father’s, and I never had his passion for it. It was only a vehicle to provide for my family. I’m ready to take control of this and make it happen.”
“Man does have fire,” said Raymond to James.
“Come outside with me,” said Alex.
Raymond and James exchanged a look before following Alex out into the lot lit by floodlamps in front of the building.
“We can stage cars out here,” said Alex. “The guy who had this space before enlarged this for customer parking. And I was thinking we’ll mount a basketball hoop up there. I always wanted one at my place of business.”
“Do I look like I can ball with this hip?” said James.
“You could if you did your exercises like I told you,” said Raymond.
“It’s way past that and you know it,” said James.
“You’re gonna have health insurance now,” said Alex. “Up the road, we get this thing going, maybe you can have that operation they do, to correct it.”
“Ain’t nobody gonna cut into my hip with a chain saw,” said James.
“A surgeon does that procedure,” said Raymond. “Not a landscape crew.”
“And look,” said Alex, hyped now, pointing to the space above the open bay door. “That’s where we’re going to mount the sign. I was thinking about the name of the business. You ready?
Monroe the Mechanic
.”
“Does have a ring to it,” said Raymond.
“That’s’cause it’s got the double
M
’s,” said James. “That’s why it sings. It’s called alliteration, Ray.”
“I knew that,” said Raymond. “Why you always have to school me?”
“’Cause you’re stupid.”
“So what do you think?” said Alex.
James looked at the wall where the sign would be. He looked into the space through the bay door.
“I suppose you want a hug or something,” said James.
The lines around his scar deepened as Alex grinned.
“Me and James need to talk a little,” said Raymond, thanking Alex with a nod.
“Go right ahead,” said Alex.
He watched them walk back into the building. They stood in the fluorescent light, bantering, arguing, touching each other on the shoulders and arms as they made their points.
“Man’s got his head in the clouds,” said James with a smile.
He’s talking about me,
thought Alex. John Pappas’s son.
The dreamer.
Many thanks to Gail Moore of the Army Wounded Warrior Program (AW2) and the staff and patients of Walter Reed Army Medical Center. Sushant Sagar, Mark Tavlarides, and Henry Allen added to my memories of the Stones at RFK. In addition, thanks go out to Reagan Arthur, Michael Pietsch, Marlena Bittner, Betsy Uhrig, Sophie Cottrell, Heather Rizzo, Karen Torres, Tracy Williams, and all my other friends at Little, Brown; Jon Wood, Gaby Young, and the rest of the staff at Orion in the UK; Sloan Harris and Alicia Gordon; and my parents, Pete and Ruby Pelecanos. As always, love to Emily and my crew.
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