First Daughter

THIRTY — FIVE

FEW PEOPLE know where Gus and Jack live; even fewer come to visit. So when Detective Stanz shows up one evening at the Maryland end of Westmoreland Avenue, Jack has cause for a certain degree of alarm. For a time, Stanz and Gus stand out on the porch, jawing away. Stanz lights a Camel, and smoke comes out his nostrils. He looks like a bull in one of those Warner Bros. cartoons, except there's nothing fu

Jack, lurking inside, hears the words "McMillan Reservoir," so he's reasonably certain that after the Marmoset's murder, whoever Gus put on the double murders hasn't come up with enough to satisfy Stanz. But apparently he's come up with something, because Jack hears Stanz say, "I say let's go now. There're questions I want to ask him."

Gus nods. He walks into the house, uses the phone out of Jack's hearing. He returns to tell Jack that he's going off with Stanz, that he'll be back in a couple of hours. As he watches the two men step off the porch, Jack hurries to the desk where Gus keeps an extra set of car keys. Slipping out of the house, he just has time enough to start the white Lincoln Continental, put it in gear as he's seen Gus do, roll out after Stanz's dark-colored Chevy. Jack deliberately keeps the headlights off until there's enough traffic so that neither man will pick up the Continental. He's only ever driven around the near-deserted streets of the house, with Gus beside him talking softly, correcting his errors or overcompensations. The sweat rolls into his eyes, pours from his armpits. His mouth is dry. If a cop stopped him right this moment, he wouldn't be able to say a word.

With a desperate effort, he finds his equilibrium. Thankfully, he only has to concentrate on the Chevy and the colors of the traffic lights. If he needed to read street signs, he'd be completely lost. He pushes a button on the dashboard, and James Brown starts shouting "It's a Man's Man's Man's World." Singing along, he thinks fleetingly of how far he's come since "California Dreamin' " sent ugly shivers up his spine.

He notices that the Chevy is heading more or less toward the reservoir area and wonders who it is that Gus recruited to take the Marmoset's place. It's an unenviable position, one that almost certainly requires a higher degree of compensation than Gus is used to paying. But then, that expense will no doubt be borne by Stanz and the Metro Police.

They are traveling north on Georgia Avenue NW, overshooting the reservoir. When Stanz's Chevy turns right on Rock Creek Church Road, Jack switches off his lights, feeling he knows where the rendezvous with Gus's snitch is going to take place. His hunch is confirmed when he follows the Chevy onto Marshall, and then Pershing Drive. They are now skirting the west side of the flat black expanse of the U.S. Soldiers' & Airmen's Golf Course. Bare trees loom up in groups that no doubt vexed the duffers making their slow rounds during daylight hours. Now, however, the trees have the course to themselves.

After flicking its headlights twice, the Chevy rolls to a stop on a section of road hemmed in on both sides by trees. Immediately, Jack sees Stanz and Gus emerge from the Chevy. Stanz has kept the headlights on, and the two men follow the twin beams that cut through eerie shadows, straight down the road. Pale moths flutter, spending themselves in the glare.

Cautiously, Jack emerges from the Continental, making sure the door swings shut noiselessly but doesn't latch. Keeping to the side of the road, he creeps from tree to tree, stepping from shadow to shadow to make sure he won't be seen.

He's close enough now to see that Stanz and Gus have been joined by a male figure. He stands just outside the beams of light, and Jack moves forward to try to get a look at his face. He still isn't sure why he felt compelled to follow Gus. He knows he's worried. Someone murdered the Marmoset because he got too close to whoever killed those two men at the McMillan Reservoir. Jack read the news story, was mildly surprised to find that there was no information about who the victims were. The article said that the identities were being withheld pending notification of the respective next of kin. But in the increasingly smaller follow-ups, no mention was ever made of the victims' names.

As he inches closer, Jack can see that the three men are in animated discussion. Stanz's hands are hewing the air like axes. His mouth is going a mile a minute.

"— you mean, you can't get a name? I need a goddamned name!"

"I haven't got one," Gus's snitch replies.

"Then I'll damn well find someone who-"

"I guarantee you'll never get the name of the murderer," the snitch says, "either from me or anyone else."

Jack starts as he sees Stanz pull his service revolver. If it isn't for Gus's intervention, Jack feels certain Stanz would have shot the snitch. As it is, Stanz leaps at him, gets in a roundhouse right before Gus grabs him around the waist, holds him bodily in check.

"Get outta here," Gus growls. "Go on now!"

"That's right," Stanz howls in fury, "run away with your tail between your legs, you good-for-nothing nigger!"

Gus hurls Stanz to the ground, stands over him with the detective's gun in his huge hand. "I'll take alotta shit from you, but not this." He empties Stanz's service revolver, throws away the bullets. Then he drops the gun. "Don't come round my place no more, heah?"

As he stalks away, Stanz yells, "Don't expect to be paid for this!" And then as Gus squeezes behind the wheel of the Chevy and drives off, "Hey, are you leaving me here? What the fuck!"

GUS IS waiting for Jack in the side yard under the shadows of the big oak. Jack, rolling in with the lights off, doesn't see him until he steps out. Jack brakes and Gus looms up to the driver's window, which Jack rolls down.

"Since you got yo'self used t'drivin' the boat, you can follow me t' the precinct so I can drop off this piece-o'-shit Chevy."

Gus lets Jack drive on the way home, as well. He says, "Whut you 'spect t'do, out there o

His voice isn't pissed off; it isn't even querulous. If Jack didn't know better, he'd think there was a note of tenderness.

"I was worried."

"Huh, 'bout me?" Gus pulls out his Magnum.357.

Jack says nothing, concentrates on making it home without getting lost. He supposes this to be a lesson, what's behind Gus's decision to let him stay behind the wheel.

"You bring a weapon, kid?"

Jack is startled out of his thoughts. "Uh, no."

"Why the hell not?" Gus puts away the enormous gun. "Whut you think you could do out there if things got ugly?"

"They almost did," Jack says, happy now to speak up.

"Huh, don' take no chances like that again, heah?"

Jack nods.

"They's a key behin' the kitchen door."

"I've seen it."

"Bottom right-hand drawer of my desk. They's a snub-nosed.38. Jus' right for a young feller like you. It's loaded, but there's a coupla boxes of ammo i

"I don't like guns," Jack says.

"Huh, who the fuck does?" Gus shifts in his seat. "But sometimes there jes' ain't no substitute."

JACK WANTS to stay awake. In fact, with all the excitement, he's certain he will. But Gus turns on the stereo. Music, familiar, earthy, shuffling, comes from his room, wraps Jack in a cocoon of melancholy history, and soon he's in a deep sleep.

He opens his eyes to see a bird on the branch of the oak outside his window. It's perched near the empty nest. Its head swivels as it looks in, peers around. It's morning. A thin, milky light stretches across the bare plank floor. Jack throws the covers off, stumbles to the bathroom to empty his bladder and splash cold water on his face.