The Big Blowdown

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I would like to thank the following individuals who were of help in the writing of this book: the staff of the Washingtoniana Room of the Martin Luther King Memorial Library in Washington, DC, Jim and Ted Pedas; James Boukas; Gordon Van Gelder; Sloan Harris; and Emily. A special thanks to my parents, Pete and Ruby Pelecanos.

Peter Karras dreamed. He dreamed of his Murphy bed, and a plate of his mother’s beans me selina. He could smell the richness of the food, see the brown around the black-eyed peas and stewed tomatoes and the pale-green celery as if he were sitting at the old table at 5th and H. He dreamed of sirens and Jimmy Boyle, Boyle in his blue uniform, looking down on him with concern. He watched the white moon, saw lights color it and swirl across the sky. He dreamed he had raised his head and looked at his leg. He dreamed the foot at the end of it was flattened, without shape, smashed into a swollen mound on the stones, twisted in a funny kind of way. In between the dreams came blackness, in the blackness came naked screams.

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