Shame the Devil by George P. Pelecanos

off the rubber mats and coming out into the bar area, his full
     apron wet from the sink. “You know what it’s about?”
    “He’s gonna get you some help for lunch, I think,” said Stefanos.
    “I told him I didn’t need no dishwasher.”
    “It’s for the expediter’s position.”
    “Oh. Y’all don’t think I can handle it, is that it?”
    “We can all use help from time to time, Darnell.”
    “Uh-huh. Well, I’ll listen to what the man has to say,” said Darnell. “He
is
the boss.”
    Stefanos looked at Mai. “You about ready to jump in here?”
    “Let me just finish the rest of this chicken. It’s really tender.”
    “Nick’s gonna take some home with him tonight, on account of it’s so tender.” Anna grinned as she stubbed out her smoke. “Just
     in case he doesn’t hook up with Alicia.”
    Stefanos left a little rubber on the street as he gave the Coronet 500 gas on the green.
    From the shotgun bucket, Anna Wang side-glanced Stefanos. “Nick, don’t you think this car is a little noisy?”
    “I put custom pipes on it. You know, dual exhaust. It runs more efficiently now, and it’s faster.”
    “And noisier.”
    “I didn’t notice.”
    “Everybody at that stoplight did.”
    “They were just checking out the boss lines on the car. You know what they used to call the shape of this model? ‘Coke bottle,’
     on account of the way the metal cuts in on the rear quarter panels.”
    “You remind me of why I never dated Chinese guys. Those dudes, all they want to talk about is their cars and the next car
     they’re going to buy. They’re all gearheads, like you.”
    “I’m no gearhead.”
    “Yes, you are.”
    “You know, good thing you’re cute. You remind me of this really pretty four-barrel carb I saw the other day.”
    “You think I’m cute?”
    “Sure. If I wasn’t —”
    “Fifteen years older than me?”
    “I was gonna say ‘attached.’ ”
    “You’re attached, all right. But thanks for the compliment, Nick.”
    Stefanos pulled over on 7th Street, just south of the Mount Vernon Square Metro stop. Anna’s apartment building, a beat-to-shit
     white building with white columns and forest green doors, was across the street. A guy wearing an army jacket and socks without
     shoes stood outside the door, insulting people who were walking by. A young man a half block south was leaning into an open
     car window, selling crack in the middle of the day.
    “Now, go straight inside,” said Stefanos.
    “I thought I’d ask that guy up for a drink first.”
    “There’s an idea. And then he could, I don’t know, hack you up into little pieces while he cries for his mommy?”
    “Thanks for the ride, Nick.”
    “My pleasure.”
    Stefanos watched Anna cross the street, one hand gripping the strap of her backpack. She lived on the subway line, but he
     drove her home whenever he was able. Anna was his friend, and he couldn’t stand to think of anyone hurting her. It wasn’t
     just Anna; lately, he couldn’t stand to think of anyone getting hurt at all.
    Lou Reed was singing “Perfect Day” from the juke as Nick Stefanos navigated the crowd at Rio Loco’s on U at 16th. He found
     Alicia Weisman at the bar and kissed her on her mouth.
    “How’s it goin’, sweetheart?”
    “It’s going good. How about for you?”
    “Great, now.”
    Stefanos smiled. She had small, light brown eyes, great blossoming laugh lines, and a crooked nose. Her lipstick always overshot
     her lips. Her hair was in some kind of irregular-length cut, and the color of it changed every few weeks. No one would ever
     mistake her for double-take pretty on the street, but she was pretty to Stefanos, and looking at her made him smile.
    “Mind if I sit down?” said Stefanos.
    “I was saving the stool for you.”
    “I bet it wasn’t easy.”
    “You don’t know the half of it. I’ve been beating them off.”
    “That must have made them happy.”
    “Not like that, silly.”
    Stefanos had a seat, lit a