Down by the River Where the Dead Men Go (34 page)
Read Down by the River Where the Dead Men Go Online
Authors: George P. Pelecanos
Tags: #Fiction, #General, #Nick Sefanos
“How will I find you?”
“I’ll be around,” he said.
He turned and walked into the alley. The darkness took him, and he was gone.
I stood there thinking about Jack LaDuke. I looked into the black maw of the alley and blinked my eyes. LaDuke would be deep in that alley now, dabbing at his face with the damp gray handkerchief, in the dark but not afraid of it, because for him there was nothing left to fear. Or maybe he was out on the
street, staring straight ahead as he walked down the sidewalk, avoiding his reflection in the glass of the storefronts and bars. Wherever he was, I knew he was alone. Like Lyla was alone, and like me. All of us alone, in our own brand of night.
Leaves blew past my feet and clicked at the bars of the riot gate. I slipped the envelope inside my coat and moved out of the light.
I walked to the corner, crossed the street, and headed for my Dodge. I touched my key to the lock, but did not fit it. I stepped away and walked back to the Spot.
Inside, the room was silent, bathed in blue neon. I went behind the bar. I poured myself a bourbon and pulled a bottle of beer from the ice.
I lit a cigarette. I had my drink.
This one started at the Spot.
DOWN BY THE
RIVER WHERE
THE DEAD
MEN GO
A novel by
GEORGE PELECANOS
from his readers
What do you find to be the hardest and easiest things about writing when you are working on a project?
Well, the hardest thing is starting the book because I don’t outline my books beforehand. I have to find the story, and the way I find the story is through the development of my characters. And every time I begin a book, I’m not sure if I’m going to be able to succeed. The easiest part is when you hit that point about a quarter of the way through, where your characters actually begin to write the book for you. And then it’s just a matter of sitting down every day and doing the work.
Do you think a mystery writer can read other mysteries and enjoy them, rather than being a critic or reviewer?
Sure. I read less mysteries or crime novels than I used to, but the ones that I really like just make me more stoked to do a better job myself. People like Dennis Lehane, Michael Connelly, James Sallis, Craig Holden, and Jack O’Connell make me think that this is the golden age of crime writing.
Have you ever ventured outside the mystery/crime field in your writing?
I don’t really feel like I’ve written mysteries since finishing the Nick Stefanos books. Increasingly, my books are novels about
working-class people in the modern city that have crime elements to them. And I don’t think I’ll ever leave those crime elements behind because I like conflict in a book. I like storytelling. And in addition to my belief that books should be about something, I think also that within these books things should happen.
What would it take for you to make a big change in the direction your writing has gone so far?
It would just be my desire to do something different. What it would take would be for me to feel like I’ve already covered all the territory, and that I’ve exhausted these characters and these stories. And that would probably push me to try something else. But at this point, I’m pretty sure that my life’s work is going to be writing about the people of the neighborhoods in Washington, D.C., in the form of the crime novel.
Whom would you envision playing Nick in a film?
Well, I always liked Nick Cage. I think he could do it. It’s got to be somebody you can empathize with even as he’s going all the way down. Too bad Steve McQueen isn’t around, because that would be my guy.
Your novels always have such a colorful cast of characters. Do you draw them from people you really know or once knew?
I take elements of a lot of different people I’ve known over the years to draw these characters. I worked sales force, selling shoes, electronics, and appliances for many years, and you can imagine all the colorful characters I came across. What I’m trying to do in a lot of ways is put a face on people of a certain working class that many folks simply ignore in their day-to-day lives.
It’s been said your settings are superb—language, music, locales. How do you “build” the world that your characters inhabit?
This is going to sound like smoke, but it’s really all there in my head. I’ve created this parallel, fictional world of Washington, D.C., that is alive to me all the time. I’ve always been a daydreamer. Even when I was a kid delivering food for my dad in downtown D.C., I was making up movies in my head all day long while I walked the streets. And I’m still doing it today.
Do you have any tips for an aspiring author? How hard is it? What do I need to know or do?
Well, I think you’ve got to get out and live. I think many writers try and start their careers too early, before they’ve done anything or seen anything. I was fortunate to write my first book when I was thirty-one years old. And at that point I already had a lifetime of material just from the living I had done. It’s a long life and you shouldn’t rush it as a writer.
“Hardboiled” crime fiction has been described as fiction that is “tough and violent” and can be said to include the traditions of adventure novels and westerns. Discuss why Pelecanos is so frequently praised for his hardboiled roots. In which ways does he adapt not only the classic qualities of crime fiction, but also those of adventures and westerns?
Nick observes: “The thirst for knowledge is like a piece of ass you know you shouldn’t chase; in the end, you chase it just the same.” Is there anything else that drives Nick in his work as an investigator?
Critics have praised Pelecanos for his use of Washington, D.C., as the backdrop for his novels; it’s even been described as a character in its own right. Do you agree, and are there examples in this novel you could cite?
Nick is not perfect; discuss ways in which his habits and methods set him apart from many thriller protagonists. Do his flaws make him more or less sympathetic to you? Do you think someone can be a good person without also being a “nice” person?
Discuss the ways Pelecanos uses details about food and alcohol to help set his scenes and define his characters.
“I noticed an old man in a physical-plant uniform sitting atop a small tractor in the cemetery, and for a moment our eyes met. Then he looked away, and we both went back to what we had been doing: trying to find a kernel of spirituality before returning to the cold reality of our day” (pages 47–48). How does this moment affect your impression of Nick?
Discuss the aspects of family in the novel. What does family mean to Nick, and would you consider him a “family man” in the traditional sense of the term?
In an interview, when asked how he, as a Greek American, feels comfortable writing about black characters, Pelecanos responded, “If you are going to do it, first of all, you should do it right. Show people respect and make sure you get the voices right—if you are even attempting it. It’s apparent when you are reading something if the writer hasn’t bothered to listen to people or go into the neighborhoods and talk to people, and that sort of thing.” Discuss the idea of “respect” as it relates to this novel, and the role of a novelist in exploring identities beyond his or her own.
Nick Stefanos returns in
Shame the Devil
. Following is a brief excerpt from the novel’s opening pages.
T
HE CAR WAS
a boxy late-model Ford sedan, white over black, innocuous bordering on invisible, and very fast. It had been a sheriff’s vehicle originally, bought at auction in Tennessee, and further modified for speed.
The car rolled north on Wisconsin beneath a blazing white sun. The men inside wore long-sleeved shirts, tails out. Their shirtfronts were spotted with sweat and their backs were slick with it. The black vinyl on which they sat was hot to the touch. From the passenger seat, Frank Farrow studied the street. The sidewalks were empty. Foreign-made automobiles moved along quietly, their occupants cool and cocooned. Heat mirage shimmered up off asphalt. The city was narcotized—it was that kind of summer day.
“Quebec,” said Richard Farrow, his gloved hands clutching the wheel. He pushed his aviator shades back up over the bridge
of his nose, and as they neared the next cross street he said, “Upton.”
“You’ve got Thirty-ninth up ahead,” said Frank. “You want to take that shoot-off, just past Van Ness.”
“I know it,” said Richard. “You don’t have to tell me again because I know.”
“Take it easy, Richard.”
“All right.”
In the backseat, Roman Otis softly sang the first verse to “One in a Million You,” raising his voice just a little to put the full Larry Graham inflection into the chorus. He had heard the single on WHUR earlier that morning, and the tune would not leave his head.
The Ford passed through the intersection at Upton.
Otis looked down at his lap, where the weight of his shotgun had begun to etch a deep wrinkle in his linen slacks. Well, he should have known it. All you had to do was
look
at linen to make it wrinkle, that was a plain fact. Still, a man needed to have a certain kind of style to him when he left the house for work. Otis placed the sawed-off on the floor, resting its stock across the toes of his lizard-skin monk straps. He glanced at the street-bought Rolex strapped to his left wrist: five minutes past ten
A.M
.
Richard cut the Ford up 39th.
“There,” said Frank. “That Chevy’s pulling out.”
“I see it,” said Richard.
They waited for the Chevy. Then Frank said, “Put it in.”
Richard swung the Ford into the space and killed the engine. They were at the back of a low-rise commercial strip that fronted Wisconsin Avenue. The door leading to the kitchen of the pizza parlor, May’s, was situated in the center of the block. Frank wiped moisture from his brush mustache and ran a hand through his closely cropped gray hair.
“There’s the Caddy,” said Otis, noticing the black DeVille parked three spaces ahead.
