MICHAEL HUDSON returned home from his day shift at the District Line and let Brandy out into the backyard to do her business. Back in the empty lot, where the east–west portion of the alley came to a T, the man named Woods sat on a crate. Woods had lost a foot in Iraq after an IED detonated under his Humvee. For that, he received seven hundred dollars a month in compensation. Woods had yet to find work in D.C.
“Hudson,” said Woods, giving Michael a two-fingered salute.
“Woods,” said Michael with a nod.
After Brandy defecated, she dragged her butt across the weedy yard and then came to the back steps and whined. Michael picked her up in his arms and carried her upstairs. Brandy slept at the foot of Michael’s bed while he finished Northline. He had been waiting for some quiet time alone to finish the novel.
In the story, Allison Johnson has sought out the disfigured young man Dan Mahony who disappeared from her life for weeks and is holed up, hermit-like, in his small house. He lets her in, and, after some gentle prodding on her part, he reveals the details of his troubled past and the source of his depression. While he showers, she cleans his house thoroughly in an act of kindness and suggests that Dan and his dog walk her to the restaurant where she works. She’s trying to draw Dan Mahony back out into the world. At the same time, Allison, cautious around men after a lifetime of abuse, is letting down her guard.
“I’d like that,” he said and stood up. He walked to a closet and got his coat. The girl put on her coat, hat, and gloves and they walked out into the yard. It was dark as they went down Seventh Street towards the casinos and the downtown lights. Dan Mahony couldn’t take control of her, she thought to herself, he could barely take control of himself. So as she walked, she felt all right with him there. Her hand fell next to his and she took it in hers and held it.
Michael put down the book for a moment, then read that last sentence again. Then he read on. In the penultimate chapter, Allison, Dan Mahony, and his dog go to Nevada’s Black Rock Desert, camp out, and sleep under the stars in the bed of Dan’s old pickup. In the end, two damaged people have found refuge, healing, and hope in each other’s arms.
Michael rubbed at the cover of the book, then placed it spine-out on the shelf next to his Elmore Leonard novels, Hombre and Valdez Is Coming. His library had begun to grow.
He took a shower, dressed in fresh clothes, and had an early dinner with his mother. Then he walked northeast, out of Columbia Heights, into Park View.
MICHAEL WAS standing near the entrance to the rec center on Warder Street, hoping that Anna Byrne would appear. He didn’t want to lurk too close to her house. It was a long shot, but he knew she rode her bike in the evenings. Sure enough, soon she was pedaling toward him on her machine. Upon seeing him, she slowed to a roll and braked with one foot. She was surprised, but the look on her face was not displeased.
“Michael…”
“I was in the neighborhood.”
“Okay.”
“Actually, I walked to your neighborhood. I was hoping to get up with you.”
“Is something wrong?”
“No. I just wanted to see you.”
She stared at him and he didn’t look away.
“I’m about to go for a ride,” she said.
“I get it.”
“No, listen. Give me an hour. We can meet up when I come back. If you don’t mind me being sweaty.”
“I don’t mind. Where?”
“You remember that beer garden on Georgia?”
“Next to that bookstore. At Morton.”
“One hour,” said Anna. “I’ll see you there.”
Michael clocked her as she headed downtown. When she left his sight, he walked through the rec center gates and had a seat on the bleachers by the field. Watched some dudes playing a soccer game; looked like they were serious. He could tell they were El Salvadoran by their features. Since he’d been on the job, he’d learned to distinguish the countries of origin of the folks in the kitchen. It was cool to know who your neighbors were and where they’d come from. They were D.C. too.
PHIL ORNAZIAN stood outside a four-car garage in an alley behind Taylor Street, near Kansas Avenue. He counted out cash and handed it over to Berhanu, the man with the tight curls who dealt in hacks.
“That do it?” said Ornazian.
“I’ll have the SS ready for you,” said Berhanu. “You put a little wear on the front end last time.”
“That’s what the extra is for. We had to go off-road, unfortunately. I hope it wasn’t bad.”
Berhanu gave a short wave of his hand. “Minor undercarriage work. You covered it.”
Donnie, the alcoholic mechanic, came out of the garage and lit a cigarette. He made brief eye contact with Ornazian but their interaction went no further.
“Mr. Personality,” said Ornazian.
Berhanu shrugged. “He’s good with a wrench.”
“I’ll need that Impala soon.”
“Fine, but I won’t be reachable at night. It’s Holy Week.”
“Understood.”
“Are you planning on going to church?”
“Sure.” It was a soft lie. With everything he’d been managing, Ornazian had nearly forgotten about Orthodox Easter. He was too ashamed to admit this to Berhanu.
“Ciao, Phil.”
“Ciao. I’ll hit you up.”
They shook hands. Ornazian walked to his Ford amid the harsh barking of alley dogs.
MICHAEL SAT across from Anna at a picnic table on the patio of the Midlands. She had washed up in the bathroom and let her hair down. She wore a locally designed Rapteez T-shirt over bike leggings. Her Cannondale leaned against the bar’s chain-link fence. She was having a lager and Michael was drinking a ginger ale. Several dogs roamed the area, their owners hanging with friends. An employee was barbecuing ribs as a Sturgill Simpson song came through the house speakers, the man singing in a rich baritone about a promise he’d made.
“Never thought I’d hear a country song playing in this neighborhood,” said Michael.
“Country’s just one of the things this guy is,” said Anna. “Anyway, they’ll probably play GoldLink or something like that next. All kinds of people patronize this place. You’ve got to serve your clientele.”
“I reckon.”
“You don’t like it?”
“I don’t stress on things I can’t change.” Michael sipped his drink. “All this new stuff happened quick, though. I wasn’t locked up for all that long.”
“Everything happens quickly now. The hands on the clock are spinning faster. Don’t you feel it?”
“Yes. What’s that mean, though? That you should slow yourself down and enjoy it? Or pack in as much as you can ’cause time is short?”
“I don’t know what it means,” said Anna. “I go to work every day and try to do something positive. I don’t have grand ambitions. Make a living, make a little impact on someone’s life, if I can. That’s the most anyone can hope for, I think.”
“Small kindnesses. Like in the book.”
“Which book?”
“The one you gave me. Northline. Every time something horrible happened to that girl, over and over again, when it seemed like she was too far gone to ever come back, someone did something nice for her. Wasn’t anything major. But it made a difference. She learned. Eventually, she ended up helping that dude with the scars the same way.”
“What did that tell you?”
“The bad in the world, it can keep coming at you. But one small act of kindness can overpower the dark.”
“I loved that book.”
“So did I. Thank you for giving it to me. And for everything you did when I was in the jail. You changed my life.”
Their eyes locked. Anna blushed.
“What?” said Michael.
“Nothing. It was my pleasure.”
Michael held her gaze. “How is it for you?” he said.
“How’s what?”
“Are you happy?”
She hesitated, because how she answered would have implications for them both. Her heart wanted many different things. But she knew what was right.
“I don’t think I’m all that different from anybody else,” she said. “I definitely have a lot to be thankful for. So I’m pretty happy, I guess. Most of the time I am.”
“With your man, I mean.”
“I know what you were asking. Yes.”
Michael nodded. He needed to know.
On impulse, Anna reached across the table and laid her hand over Michael’s. The feeling was electric. She kept it there, looking into his eyes. Then she slowly withdrew it.
They sat there as Anna finished her beer, comfortable with each other in the gathering dark.
SHE WALKED her bike up the hill toward Warder and he walked beside her. They said good-bye a block from her house. She watched him as he turned the corner at Princeton and headed west.
Michael took his time walking home. He had received a text and answered it. Now he needed to think.
The black Edge was parked on Sherman, right in front of his mother’s house. Michael opened the door and got into the passenger bucket.
“Michael.”
“Told you I’d meet you up the street.”
“This was the only spot available.”
“Say what you came here for.”
“I’ve got another job for you,” said Ornazian.
“What makes you think I’d do it?”
“Me and Thaddeus are about to do a home invasion out in the country. These guys stole some valuable jewelry from a house party. Raped the teenage girl who lived there. They’re white supremacists. Bad people all the way around.”
“Don’t play me, Phil.”
“I need you. You drove the shit out of that Impala when it counted. I don’t know anybody who can do what you do.”
“Always on the hustle. What you gonna do now, threaten to send me back to jail?”
“I don’t think I have to.”
Michael stared ahead. “When?”
“Soon.”
“Don’t come near my mother’s house again. Hear?”
Michael got out of the Ford. Ornazian pulled off the curb and drove toward Petworth. He wanted to see his sons before they went to sleep.