Dimitri Karras entered the Spot a little after two the day after Stefanos called him and had a seat two stools down from a gray-complected guy in a baby-shit brown sport jacket. Karras rested his forearms on the bar, waited for the tender to finish marking one of several bar tab checks wedged between the bottles on the call rack. The bartender turned around and dropped a cocktail napkin in front of Karras.
He made eye contact with Karras and said, “Dimitri?”
“Nick.”
They shook hands.
Karras saw a guy who kept late nights. A scar ran down one of his cheeks. There was silver flecked in the temples of his close-cropped cut. He remembered the boy with the curly shoulder-length hair, the skinny kid wearing the jeans and Sears work boots, standing in the warehouse of Nutty Nathan’s, thumb-flicking the ash off a cigarette. Cocky, with everything in front of him. That boy was gone.
Stefanos saw a guy with gray hair and tired, dying eyes. He looked to be in shape, but the shell was hard and empty. No trace of the handsome, brown-haired ladies’ man with the desperado mustache. Karras was only halfway through the race, but there was nothing left.
“You look good,” said Stefanos.
“You too,” said Karras.
“Yeah?” said Stefanos. “How about this? How about we say that’s the last time the two of us will ever lie to each other?”
Karras chuckled. “Sounds good to me.”
“Can I get you something?”
“No, I’m all right.”
Stefanos leaned on the bar. “How long’s it been, man?”
“Oh, I don’t know. I was trying to think this morning. The last time I saw you was in eighty-six.”
“The morning Lenny Bias died.”
“Yeah. Every Washingtonian remembers what they were doing that morning, right?”
Stefanos nodded. “And before that, back around the Bicentennial weekend. My grandfather had sent you over to give me a talking to.”
“I wasn’t one to be giving you any lectures. But, hey, I tried.”
“I didn’t listen.”
“You weren’t supposed to listen. Hell, you were, what, nineteen years old? Which puts you at -”
“Forty. You?”
“Forty-eight.”
The prelimineries were done. Stefanos struck a match, kept his eyes on Karras’s as he lit a cigarette. “I heard about your son. My sympathies.”
Karras nodded.
Stefanos exhaled a stream of smoke. Karras said nothing, and Stefanos took another slow drag.
Stefanos said, “So you got my message.”
“Yes.”
“You workin’ now?”
“No.”
“You interested?”
Karras had a look around the bar. Posters of John Riggins, Larry Brown, Phil Chenier, and Earl Monroe. A neon Globe poster advertising a concert by the Back Yard Band. A signed Chuck Brown glossy. An old Captain Beefheart, The Spotlight Kid, playing on the stereo. Some quiet patrons, a couple who looked like cops, none who looked like lawyers. No green plants.
Karras said, “Maybe.”
A young Asian waitress with nice wheels bellied up to the service bar and said, “Ordering.”
“Excuse me a second,” said Stefanos. He went down to her, retrieved some bottles from the cooler, and set them on a bar tray.
When he returned, Karras said, “Elaine tells me you’re a private investigator.”
“Well, not exactly private. I do work for the public defender’s office down there. I work for Elaine exclusively.”
“Nothing else, huh?”
“Not anymore.” Stefanos crushed out his cigarette. “You wanna meet the folks in the kitchen?”
“Sure.” Karras slid off his stool and walked along the bar. “Who’s the guy in the brown suit?” he asked, jerking his thumb over his shoulder.
“His name’s Happy.”
“He doesn’t look too happy to me.”
“He’s pacing himself,” said Stefanos.
Maria Juarez and James Posten were dancing to the salsa music coming from the boom box when Karras and Stefanos entered the kitchen. Maria had the flat of her palm on her stomach and was moving two steps forward, two steps back, smiling at James, who was counting out his steps, twirling, holding a spatula up at head level.
“Cha-cha-cha, senorita, ” said James. “We havin’ us one of those carnival’s now.”
“Watch my feet, Jame,” said Maria.
Darnell stood over the sink, the hose in his hand, his back to the door, one foot tapping time to the beat.
“Hey, everybody,” said Stefanos as the song ended. “Meet Dimitri Karras, the guy I was telling you about.”
Stefanos had briefed them earlier, told them that Karras might be dropping by. Darnell turned and appraised him; Maria did the same.
James turned the volume down on the box, crossed the room, and shook Karras’s hand. “How you doin’, man? James.”
“Dimitri. Good to meet you.”
“James is the grill man,” said Stefanos. “And this is Maria – colds and salads.”
“My pleasure, Mitri.”
“My hands are kinda wet,” said Darnell. “So you’ll understand if I don’t come on over there.”
“It’s all right,” said Karras, but Darnell had already turned back to the sink.
Ramon came in, deliberately bumped Stefanos as he passed.
“Ramon’s our busboy,” said Stefanos. “And the bar-back. And the all-purpose resupplier. Anything that’s stored down in the basement, you let Ramon get it.”
“We got some serious rats in that basement,” said James. “You wouldn’t catch me down in that motherfucker on a bet. Excuse me, Maria.”
“Is okay.”
“Ramon brings in the lunch tickets along with the bus trays,” said Stefanos.
“’Cause we don’t want no waitresses comin’ around here,” said James, “pressuring us to get their food out.”
“The waitress always in a horry,” said Maria.
“A beeg horry,” said James. “You got that right, senorita.”
“Ramon will set the ticket down in front of you. You’ll slip the ticket in the lip of the top shelf, right here, in the order it came in. Then you call out the order. The time on specials varies. Salads are premade, so they’re always ready to go. Burgers take longer to cook, obviously, so you’ll want to call those out first, then call out the cold sandwiches from the same ticket later on.”
“Don’t want to have my burger up there, gettin’ cold,” said James, “while you’re waiting on Maria to put up a chicken salad on toast.”
“Right,” said Stefanos. “It can get complicated sometimes. The object is to have the hots and the colds from the same ticket come to you at the same time. Maria and James talk to you, let you know where they are in the process. You check the order against the ticket, garnish it, put it out on the reach-through when it’s ready to go.”
“Ain’t all that big a deal, Dimitri,” said James, who went to the box and scanned off the Spanish AM station, finding an R amp;B/disco station on the FM dial.
“My music time up already?” said Maria.
“Yeah,” said James. “We back to my joint now.”
James closed his eyes and began to sing soulfully to the Seal cut coming from the box, Karras noticing the purple eye shadow on his lids. Past James, Darnell had his arms raised above his head. Ramon was punching Darnell in the stomach with short, alternating jabs.
Darnell smiled. “C’mon with it, little buddy. That all you got?”
“Any questions?” said Stefanos to Karras.
“I guess not. Not right now.” Karras said to the others, “Nice meeting you all.”
“Nice to meet you, man,” said James, and Maria gave him a smile.
Stefanos and Karras left the kitchen and stood by the service bar.
“I got the impression Darnell wasn’t too happy to see me,” said Karras.
“Darnell’s a man,” said Stefanos. “You’re taking away some of his responsibilities. He’s a little hurt, maybe, but he’ll get over it. And we do need the help. Think you can handle it?”
“Yeah, but -”
“The pay’s twenty dollars a shift, cash. That’s a hundred a week. Including a lunch and a beer, if you want it. It isn’t much, I know. Walking-around money, basically.”
“I don’t have a problem with the money -”
“Good.” Stefanos handed Karras a paper menu. “Here. Have a look at this tonight. Course, you won’t learn a thing until you jump in. But familiarize yourself with it anyway. Be here about eleven-thirty tomorrow. Okay?”
Karras said, “Okay.”
“See you then.” Stefanos lifted the hinged gate and stepped behind the bar.
Karras neared the Asian waitress as he headed for the door.
“Dimitri Karras,” he said, stopping in front of her and extending his hand.
“Hey,” she said, shaking it. “Anna Wang.”
Karras was out on the sidewalk, buttoning his coat, when he realized he had taken a job.