40 Porter Hayes

Porter picked up Deacon Malone at the Dixie Queen on Bellevue before heading to the United Warehouse where he'd parked and locked up the U-Haul. Malone left his ride and piled into Porter's Mercedes, the stereo playing "Woman Across the River" from the Who's Making Love Album. Malone had a half-finished cheeseburger in his hand, embarrassed that Porter had caught him out breaking his damn diet at ten o'clock at night. "We're going where and for who?"

"Mrs. McKellar decided to have a show-and-tell in the middle of the night."

"Why would she do a fool thing like that?"

"Says her new boyfriend understands antiques," Hayes said. "And might be able to help us figure shit out."

"You did your job, man," he said. "This some white people problems. Let them go on that Antiques Roadshow and make things happen. You sure you ain't hungry?"

"Got some Pirtle's on the way home," Hayes said. "I was soaking my bad ankle and watching this Michael Caine movie on TCM. Michael Caine is this spy who likes to cook and listen to classical music. But he used to be a thief, too, and his boss sends him in undercover to see who's kidnapping the best scientists in England."

"Don't sound like Truck Turner to me."

"I don't like Addison stepping out like this," Hayes said. "I already told her she didn't need to be staying over at the house of her husband's ex–business partner. Those two got some bad blood, and if this Dean McKellar busted loose, that'd be a place he might check. I don't trust any of those motherfuckers."

"What did she say?"

"Wouldn't listen to any of it," Hayes said. "Said she was sick and tired of men telling her what to do. And so I backed off. I told her to call me if she needed me."

"And so she called you to take a look at that shit you bought off Miss Ricky," Malone said. "Don't you know he used to shoot Ping-Pong balls under his tuck up at J. Wags? Heard he could make 'em fly twenty feet. Now that's some talent."

It was almost eleven and Hayes drove on toward the warehouse where he'd been storing a lot of his family stuff over the years. Still had some furniture of his momma's, lots of records of Genevieve's, even some of her masters, and several old file cabinets with billing and case files going back to 1971. His old friend Sawyer told him that one day he needed to write a damn book about all he'd been through, from Dr. King to Elvis to that time Cybill Shepherd got blackmailed.

"I thought y'all were going to turn over all this shit to the feds?" Malone said.

"Been thinking about it," Hayes said. "Problem is I don't trust them, either."

"So you just decided to hide it deep in that old warehouse."

"Not my call," Hayes said. "That's Mrs. McKellar's business."

"Might be time we stop calling her that."

"When she decided not to negotiate with the folks who took her husband, I thought we might start calling her Sam the Sham Jr."

"Now I like that," Malone said.

Hayes sped up the windshield wipers, the rain blowing sideways over Crump. They passed a few all-night gas stations and convenience stores, the new Budweiser distributor. Up ahead, beyond the tall twin warehouses, stood two billboards. One read GOD SO LOVED MEMPHIS John 3:16. Porter was not sure if the Lord had Memphis in mind when he sent down his son. The other was hustling Project Pat's latest album, Real Recognize Real. The rapper had on sunglasses and pointed two guns down into Crump Boulevard.

"Is that them?" Malone said, pointing to an old Jeep Wagoneer parked by the loading docks.

"Yeah," Hayes said. "But nobody in their right mind would keep that gate unlocked at night."

Hayes rolled past the twin warehouses and pulled into a vacant lot to the west. The undercarriage of his Mercedes hit the uneven busted concrete as he wheeled around and shone his headlights to the area out back of the warehouses. Two black SUVS were parked behind the fencing.

"Okay now," Malone said. "This is when we phone that shit in and circle back to the Dixie Queen. You ever had that fried fish plate? Comes with slaw and those sweet Hawaiian rolls. You let the white people deal with their white people shit, and it's on me."

Hayes made a U-turn, nose toward the street, and cut off the engine and lights. Johnnie Taylor was still playing on the stereo. "Hold on This Time"...He could hear Genevieve backing Taylor up on vocals, speaking to him from nineteen sixty-eight. Nobody, no one, not even Aretha, had a voice like that.

"Stay here," Hayes said.

"Don't you worry," Malone said. "I ain't going nowhere."

Hayes walked quick and with purpose, trying to not think about the ankle giving him trouble, as he headed past the twin warehouses. He had his hands in his jacket, head down as he darted into the shadows by the open fence. The rain was coming down harder now, pinging the puddles in the lot, not a soul around. As he headed up the slanted entry at the loading dock, he heard folks talking and walked up to the first floor to see the U-Haul truck parked in the big open space where he'd left it. Locked up tight. Or so he thought while he'd been resting his damn foot and enjoying a movie.

From where he stood, he spotted Addison and that man Alec Dawson. And then there were four, maybe five other white men. And then someone who looked a hell of a lot like Dean McKellar. Son of a damn bitch.

A long time ago, back in the boonies with his unit, they came across two American soldiers held by the Vietcong. The VC had a big fire going, washing clothes or making some soup or something, sixteen, twenty Charlie walking that perimeter. Hayes's unit was only eight men strong, but they came up with something that evened out the goddamn odds. Only took one man stepping up and ducking in and his Zippo lighter did all the rest. Poof went that grass hut and sent Charlie scattering in every direction.

What they needed was a damn distraction.

Malone got behind the wheel of the Mercedes with Porter beside him as he loaded both his guns. Hayes had his trusty old .38 and brand-new seventeen-shot Glock he kept for special occasions. Malone headed east on Crump and then made a big U-turn, driving back to the warehouse, turning off the lights and moving slow through the chain-link gates, parking beside the Jeep Wagoneer.

Hayes got out and grabbed a concrete block to set down beside the driver's door. Malone had the window down, rain pinging the arm of his jacket as he studied the block. "That's your plan?" he said. "Come on now. I'm tight with Jesus. But not that tight."

"Be ready."

"You gonna give me a signal or something?" he said. "Make the sound of a sparrow?"

"Don't worry about that, man," Hayes said. "You'll know."

Hayes reached into his pocket for a small flashlight and used it to find his way to a side loading ramp where the two SUVs had parked. That door was open, and he walked up the steps and inside, hearing a lot of yelling and what sure sounded like Russian. He'd been expecting Russian, but of course he didn't know Russian from Ukrainian or Polish. Maybe they were Czechs. Whoever or whatever they were, they had Addison and her male friend and were about to take all that shit Hayes had gotten off Miss Ricky back to Moscow.

Hayes pulled out the new Glock from his jacket and got ready. One of the Russians turned his head, maybe hearing Deacon driving up into the opposite loading dock. He turned to another Russian and whispered into his ear. Addison was yelling now. She was mad as hell and Alec Dawson raised his hands as a white man in a cowboy hat came up into his face. Then the black-hatted Russian shot Dawson's head off, spraying blood all over Addison.

She screamed and screamed.

Two of the Russians ran toward the front loading dock just as Porter's beautiful black Mercedes sedan with leather seats, a sunroof, and Blaupunkt stereo shot through the center of the building, scattering everyone the hell out of the way until it almost T-boned the U-Haul, but instead ran flat ass into a big brick wall. The crash was something horrible, even worse than the gunshot into that man's head, and there was cracking glass and the acrid sweet smell of burning oil and antifreeze.

Malone, who had set the concrete block on the accelerator and let it rip, started firing from the front dock. Hayes started firing from the rear dock to pinch them in. Dean McKellar jumped up into the U-Haul with the man in the cowboy hat jumping into the passenger side, started the truck, and drove off. Hayes ran into the side of the building to Addison, trying to pull her up onto her feet as the last of the Russians ran out to their SUVs behind the warehouse. The U-Haul rambled down the front dock and disappeared.

"He was going to kill me."

"He sure was."

"They killed Alec," she said. "Oh my god. Oh my god. His brains are all over me."

Addison was white-faced and in shock as Deacon Malone wandered around the warehouse, shotgun up and ready as he checked the big space. His feet sounded like big patting drumbeats until he got up close to where the Mercedes had done battle with the brick wall. He inspected what was left of Porter Hayes's ride.

"Hope you up on your insurance."

"We need to get her the hell out of here."

Malone nodded. He headed on over to the open metal door at the rear of the building. He turned back and nodded to Hayes and Addison. She was shaking but let go of him and walked to the Mercedes, set her hand on the trunk, and threw up onto the concrete floor.

"It may not play your Johnnie Taylor tape," Malone said, walking back into the warehouse. "But one of those boys left a truck for us."

"Keys in it?"

"What's that got to do with nothing?" Malone said, as he walked outside into the rain.

Hayes walked over to help Addison. His car was a mess, antifreeze and oil spilling out everywhere. Alec Dawson looked even worse, lying crooked on the floor, half his goddamn head gone. Addison pushed herself away from the Mercedes and walked toward the dead man.

Hayes wanted to pull her back and help her out. She didn't need to be studying on such a god-awful mess.

An engine started outside. Malone honked the horn.

"Come on," Hayes said. "We need to get you out of here. I'll call the cops after we're gone to clean up all this shit. I'm real sorry about your friend."

Addison's face was completely blank as she walked up on Alec Dawson, turned back for a moment to Porter, and then surprised him by kicking the hell out of the dead man.

"I let them take it," she said.

"They can have it."

"I am so fucking stupid," Addison said. "Jesus God, Mr. Hayes."

"Porter," he said, pulling her toward the back entrance. "Just Porter is fine, Miss Hassan."

"What was all that stuff?"

"Don't know," Hayes said. "But I promise you one damn thing. That's all on them now. And that karma can be a bitch."