Shoedog by George P. Pelecanos Page B

shut, Valdez pushed off from the wall.
    “Mr. Grimes—”
    “Save it,” Grimes said, his palm up. “Just save it. I know what I’m doing, understand? You and Gorman, take a walk. And be back for the meeting.”
    Valdez and Gorman split. Jackson watched them walk—raggedy-ass motherfuckers, out of the old school—until the door closed behind them. He looked at Grimes.
    “You want me gone too, Mr. Grimes?”
    “No.” Grimes pulled a white envelope heavy with hundreds from his top drawer and pushed the envelope to the edge of the desk. “Come on over here and have a seat, Jackson,” he said. “I’ve got a little extra something I want done on this one.”
    Jackson crossed the room, picked up the envelope. “This have somethin’ to do with the old man?”
    “Yes,” Grimes said. “I’ll let you handle it, any way you see fit.”
    “So, just get it done, right?”
    “That’s right.” Grimes nodded, lowered his eyes to the blotter on the desk. “I think you’ll like it.”
    Jackson ran his fingers through the deck of green. He smiled and said, “I think so too.”

Chapter

6
    P OLK and Constantine took the marble stairs to the foyer, Polk holding the banister for support. Valdez and Gorman had come out behind them. Valdez stood on the landing, his eyes following Constantine, his mouth moving gutturally, his face contorted. Gorman stared over the balcony, his hands dug rigidly into his pockets.
    At the bottom of the stairs, by the open doors that led into a library, Polk pulled Constantine aside. Delia sat in an armchair on the opposite end of the foyer, one leg crossed over the other. She looked anxiously at Polk, as if she wanted to speak. Polk caught it, but first turned to Constantine.
    “What do you think?” Polk said, keeping his voice low.
    “About the woman?”
    He frowned and shook his head. “I know what you think about the woman. I’m talking about the job.”
    Constantine shrugged. “I’ll listen to what they’ve got to say.”
    “All right.” Polk watched Delia get out of the chair and cross the room. “Good.”
    Constantine studied Delia’s walk, admired it as she came to a stop in front of them.
    “Mr. Polk,” she said, “if you’re on the way out, I’d like you to drop me at the stable. If it’s not an inconvenience.”
    Polk smiled. “I’d love to, sweetheart. But I think I’m going to stick around, catch up with the boys upstairs.” He pulled the notepaper and car keys from his windbreaker and handed them both to Constantine. “You don’t mind taking Delia down to the stables, do you Connie? After that, take care of this errand. And meet me back here, two-thirty.”
    Constantine pocketed the note and palmed the keys. “I’ll see you then.”
    He began to walk for the front door, and Delia followed. Valdez looked down from above and ran his tongue across thick lips. His eyes trailed them to the door.
    Out in the yard, Constantine stepped quickly across the driveway toward Polk’s car. Delia trotted a few steps to catch up.
    “You in a hurry?” she said.
    “I walk fast,” he said, keeping his stride. Constantine noticed, walking next to her, that the woman was nearly his height.
    “I’ve got to get something out of my car.”
    Constantine said, “I’ll meet you at the Dodge.”
    He dropped into the driver’s side of the bench, moved the seat back, and cooked the ignition. Through the windshield he watched Delia reach into the Mercedes and pull a gadget from the visor. She walked to the Super Bee and slid in on the passenger side.
    “Nice car,” she said dryly.
    “You could take yours.” He motioned towards the Mercedes. “It is yours, isn’t it?”
    “Yes. But I don’t want to take it. When I finish my ride, I always walk back to the house, through the woods. It’s my routine.”
    “Some routine. Like working, I guess, only different” Constantine swung the Dodge around and headed down the driveway toward the gate. He looked at the beeper-sized