Shoedog by George P. Pelecanos

in his lap. Constantine settled into the chair where Jackson had been.
    Grimes moved the magnetic toy and field glasses from the center of his desk and tented his hands in their place. “You’re back,” he said.
    “Yes,” Polk said.
    “How long’s it been?”
    “I don’t know. A couple, three years.”
    “Get into anything interesting while you were out on the road?”
    “Some things,” Polk said, and cut it at that.
    Jackson had retrieved his file and was digging deeply into the cuticle of his thumb. No one spoke for a minute or so and then Constantine heard the Mexican sigh behind his back. Grimes cleared his throat to break the silence.
    “Valdez tells me you stopped by yesterday and inquired about the twenty thousand,” Grimes said. “I thought we had that settled the last time you were in town.”
    “You had your muscle throw me out,” Polk said. “That didn’t settle it.”
    “Well,” Grimes said, “I’m sorry you feel that way. Because you and me go back. But we’ve been going around on this thing for years now, and I think you know me well enough—”
    “And you know me.”
    Grimes bit down on the inside of his lip and lowered his voice. “Yes.”
    Polk smiled and made an easy wave with one hand. “So, the money, Grimes. Then you don’t see me again.”
    Grimes put a finger in the air and said, “Excuse me, one minute.” He turned his desk phone around, picked the receiver out of its cradle, and punched a three-digit extension into the grid. “Hi… bring me a coffee up to the office, will you? Thanks.” He replaced the receiver and looked back at Polk.
    Polk patted the inside of his knee. “Back to the money, Grimes.”
    “Right. Well, I’m going to be honest with you, Polk. This whole discussion—it’s all irrelevant now.”
    “Why’s that?”
    Grimes showed some teeth. “I just don’t have it, old buddy. I simply haven’t got it.”
    Polk laughed loudly, a short, cynical eruption. “You haven’t got it? That’s rich, Grimes. That’s really rich.”
    Grimes’s grin widened. “Listen, I won’t bullshit you. Of course I can get it. But the way I have my funds tied up, to maximize return, it would take a few days to get you the cash. So this is what I’m thinking: since you’re going to be hanging around for a couple of days, why not cut you in on something…
extra
we’ve got going on. Something big.”
    Constantine felt a tic, a weakness in the knees, and a brief rush of power. His thumb dented the leather arm of the chair.
    Polk leaned forward. “Like what?”
    Grimes shifted his gaze to Constantine and back to Polk. “We haven’t been introduced.”
    “His name’s Constantine.”
    “That doesn’t mean anything to me,” Grimes said.
    Polk said, “He’s a driver.”
    Constantine heard a grumble and some movement behind him—the unfolding of arms. Jackson looked up from his surgery and dropped the file into the side pocket of his slacks.
    “A driver?” Grimes said. “It happens that we could use a driver.”
    Polk said. “What’s the game?”
    Grimes moved the magnetic toy back in front of him on the desk and ran his fingers through the chips. “The briefing’s two-thirty this afternoon. All the details will be handled then, by Weiner.”
    “Condense it for us, Grimes. You can do that.”
    “Of course I can. But if you turn it down, how can I let you and your friend walk?”
    “Because you know me,” Polk said, making a head movement toward Constantine. “And I’m vouching for him.”
    “I don’t like it,” Valdez said, behind their backs.
    Polk and Grimes kept their eyes on each other, ignoring Valdez. It was as if the Mexican were not standing in the room.
    Grimes played with the magnetic chips, making a mound of them before he pushed the toy away. “All right,” he said. “In a nutshell: we’re talking about a knockover, this Friday. Two liquor stores, on opposite ends of Northwest.”
    “What’s the payoff?” Polk said.
    “Total