Hell To Pay

chapter 20

ON Saturday morning, the Petworth Panthers defeated a Lamond-Riggs team on the field of LaSalle Elementary by a score of twenty to seven. Joe Wilder had not been mentioned by name in the pregame talk, but Dennis Arrington had led a prayer for their “fallen brother.” The boys went to one knee and bowed their heads without the usual chatter and horseplay. From the first whistle, their play on the field was relentless. The parents and guardians in attendance stood unusually quiet on the sidelines during the game.

Afterward, as they were gathering up the equipment, Quinn put his hand on Strange’s shoulder.

“Hey.”

“Hey, Terry.”

“You feel like gettin’ a beer later this afternoon?”

“I gotta drop these kids off.”

“And I’ve got to work a few hours up at the store. Why don’t you meet me up at Renzo’s, say, four o’clock? You know where that is, right?”

“Used to be Tradesman’s Tavern, up on Sligo Avenue, right?”

“I’ll see you there.”

Lamar Williams, Prince, and Lionel Baker were waiting by Strange’s Cadillac, parked on Nicholson. Lydell Blue’s Park Avenue was curbed behind it. Strange told the boys to get in his Brougham as he saw Blue, holding a manila folder, approaching him from behind.

“Derek,” said Blue, holding out the folder. “Thought you might want this Migdets roster back for your master file.”

Strange took it and opened his trunk. He started to slip the folder into his file box as Blue began to walk away. Strange saw some notation written in pencil on the Pee Wees folder. He pulled it and studied his own writing, the description of a car and a series of letters and numbers, on the outside of the folder. He thought back to the evening he had written the information down.

“Lydell!” he said.

Blue walked back to Strange, still standing by his open trunk. Strange took the papers out of the Pee Wee folder and handed the folder to Blue, pointing at the notation.

“Probably nothin’,” said Strange, “but you ought to run this plate here through the system.”

Blue eyed the folder. “Why?”

“Not too far back, a week or so, I noticed some hard-looking boys up in the Roosevelt lot one night when we had practice. Thinking back on it, it was a night that Lorenze Wilder was down on the field, waitin’ on Joe. I wrote down the plate number and car description out of habit. The car was a Caprice. I guessed on the year, but I do know it was close to the model year of the one I own. I put down it was beige, too.”

Strange flashed on the image of the boys. One of them wore his hair in close cornrows, like those on one of the shooters the ice-cream employee had described. But that meant nothing in itself, like noting he wore Timberlands or loose-fitting jeans; a whole lot of young boys around town kept their hair the same way.

“A beige Caprice. Why you got ‘beige-brown’ on here, then?”

“Had one of those vinyl roofs, a shade darker than the body color.”

“Okay. I’ll get it into the system right away.”

“Like I say, probably nothin’. But let me know it if turns up aces.”

“I will.”

Strange watched Blue go back to his car. He took the papers from the Pee Wee folder and decided to put them together with the Midget papers in the folder Blue had just given him. He opened the folder. Inside was a mimeographed list of Lorenze Wilder’s friends and acquaintances, along with notations describing interview details, taken from the official investigation.

Strange turned his head. Blue had ignitioned his Buick and was pulling off the curb. Strange nodded in his direction, but Blue would not look his way. Strange put the papers together, slipped the folder into his file box, and closed the lid of his trunk.

STRANGE drove Lionel to his mother’s house on Quintana. As Lionel was getting out of the car, he asked Strange if he was coming over for dinner that night. Strange replied that he didn’t think so, but to tell his mother he’d “get up with her later on.” Lionel looked back once at Strange as he went up the walk to his house. Strange drove away.

Prince was the next to be dropped. He had been quiet during the game and had not spoken at all on the ride. The boys who were always cracking on him were on their usual corner, across from his house. Prince asked Strange if he would mind walking along with him to his door. At the door, Strange patted Prince’s shoulder.

“You played a good game today, son.”

“Thanks, Coach Derek.”

“See you at practice, hear? Now go on inside.”

Lamar Williams rode shotgun for the trip down to Park Morton. He stared out the window, listening to that old-school music Mr. Derek liked to play, not really paying attention to the words or the melody. It was always that blue-sky stuff about love and picking yourself up, how the future was gonna be brighter, brother this and brother that. Lamar wondered if everyone had been more together back then, in the seventies or whenever it was. If those brothers weren’t killin’ each other every day, like they were now. If they were killin’ on kids “back in the day.” Anyway, that kind of music, it sure didn’t speak to the world Lamar was living in right now.

“You thinkin’ of Joe?” said Strange.

“Yeah.”

“It’s okay. I was, too.”

Lamar shifted in his seat. “That boy was just good. I never thought he’d die. You’d think he’d be the last one living in my complex who’d go out like that.”

“Just because he was a good boy? You know better than that. I’ve told you before, you always got to be aware of what’s going on around you, living where you do.”

“I know. But I don’t mean that, see? Word was, Joe was protected. Even the ones liked to step to everybody, they kept their hands off that boy. I mean, he was a tough little kid and all. But the word was out; everybody knew not to fuck with Joe.”

Strange started to correct Lamar from using the curse word, but he let it pass. “Why you think that was?”

“No idea. Was like, people got the idea in their heads he was connected to someone you didn’t want to cross. It was just one of those things got around, and you knew.”

“I saw some fellas at his funeral,” said Strange, “had to be drug boys.”

“I saw ’em, too,” said Lamar.

“Any idea why they were paying their respects?”

“Uh-uh.”

“Was his mother involved with those people?”

“Not so I knew.”

“What about that car she came in?”

“Everybody drivin’ a nice car these days, seems like. Don’t make you in the game.”

“True. But you never saw her hangin’ with people you thought were in the life?”

“No. There was these young boys, was lookin’ for her one night. They rolled up on me when I was walkin’ through the complex. Said they owed her money. I didn’t tell ’em where she lived, though. They didn’t look right.”

Strange looked over at Lamar. “How did they look?”

“I don’t recall, you want the truth. Don’t mind tellin’ you, Mr. Derek, I was scared.”

“Did one of them have cornrows?”

“I don’t remember. Look, I didn’t even want to meet their eyes, much less study on ’em. I only remember this one boy in the backseat, ’cause he was, like, goofy lookin’. Had a nose on him like one of those anteaters and shit.”

“What about their car?”

“It was white,” said Lamar. “Square, old. That’s all that registered in my mind. That’s all I know.”

“You did right not to meet their eyes, Lamar. You did good.”

“Yeah.” Lamar snorted cynically. “It’s all good. Good to be livin’ in a place where you can’t even be lookin’ at anyone long for fear you’re gonna get downed.”

Strange pulled into Park Morton and went slowly down its narrow road.

“You got be positive, Lamar. You got to focus on doing the things that will get you to a better place.”

Lamar looked Strange over. His lip twitched before he spoke. “How I’m gonna do that, huh? I can’t read all that good, and I’m barely gonna graduate high school. I got no kinda grades to get me into any kind of college. Only job I ever had was dustin’ your office and taking out your trash.”

“There’s plenty of things you can do. There’s night school and there’s trade school… whole lotta things you can do, hear?”

“Yessir,” said Lamar, his voice devoid of enthusiasm. He pointed to the road going alongside the playground in the courtyard. “You can drop me right here.”

Strange stopped the car. “Listen, you been good to me, Lamar. Conscientious and efficient, and I’m not gonna forget it. I’ll help you in any way I can. I’m not going to give up on you, young man, you hear me?”

Lamar nodded. “I’m just all messed up over Joe right now, I guess. I miss that boy.”

“I miss him, too,” said Strange.

He watched Lamar cross the courtyard, pushing on a rusted swing as he walked past the set. Strange thought about the description that Lamar had just given him: the white car, and the kid with the long nose. Juarez, the ice-cream-parlor employee, had described the Plymouth’s driver as having a nose “like a beak.”

Strange had the strong suspicion that this was not a coincidence. He knew he should phone Lydell Blue right now and give him the information he had just received. But he had already decided to keep Lamar’s story to himself.

Strange was not proud of his decision, but he had to be honest with himself now. He was hoping to find the murderers of Joe Wilder before they were picked up by the police. He knew that if these little pieces were coming to him, a private cop, it would not be long before the police, fully mobilized, would have suspects in custody. He was wondering how much time he had before they took the killers in. Wondering, too, what he would do to them if he found them first.

STRANGE hit the heavy bag in his basement, showered and dressed, fed Greco, and locked down his row house. He drove uptown toward the District line. In his rearview he thought he saw a red car, vaguely familiar, staying with him but keeping back a full block at all times. The next time he checked on the car, up around Morris Miller’s liquor store, it was gone, and Strange relaxed in his seat.

The events of the past week had elevated his sense of street paranoia. People living in certain sections of the city, Strange knew, felt the fear of walking under this kind of emotional sword every day. But he didn’t like to succumb to it himself.

Strange parked on Sligo Avenue. As he was crossing the street, the beeper on his hip sounded, and he checked the numbered readout: Janine. He clipped the beeper back onto his belt.

Strange walked into Renzo’s, an unbeautiful neighborhood beer garden in downtown Silver Spring. Renzo’s housed a straight-line bar, stools along a mirrored wall, a pool table, and keno monitors. Bars like this one were common in Baltimore, Philly, and Pittsburgh, but rare around D.C. Quinn sat on a bar stool, reading a paperback and nursing a bottle of Bud in the low light. A heavyset guy in a flannel shirt, a guy in camouflage pants, and several keno players, huffing cigarettes, sat with him along the stick. The bartender was a woman, nearly featureless in the low light, wearing a Nighthawks T-shirt and jeans. Smoke hung heavy in the air.

Strange got up on a stool next to Quinn. He ordered a Heineken from the tender.

“From a bottle,” said Strange. “And I don’t need a glass.”

“This is you,” said Quinn, producing a record album he had propped up at his feet.

Strange took it and studied the cover. He smiled at the photograph of Al Green decked out in a white suit, white turtleneck, and white stacks, sitting in a white cane chair against a white background. A green hanging plant and a green potted plant, along with the singer’s rich chocolate skin, gave the cover its color. It looked like Al was wearing dark green socks, too, though some argued that the socks were black.

“I’m Still in Love With You.”

“You don’t have to say it,” said Quinn. “It’s understood.”

“Al freaks called this ‘The White Album,’” said Strange, ignoring Quinn. “Has ‘Simply Beautiful’ on it, too.”

“You don’t have it, do you? I thought it might be one of those you lost in that house flood you had.”

“I did lose the vinyl, you’re right. I own the CD, but the CD’s got no bottom.”

“Funny thing is, it came in with this carton of seventies rock, a lot of hard blues-metal and also weird stuff some pot smoker had to be listening to. I found Al Green filed alphabetically, after Gentle Giant and Gong.”

“Herb smokers used to listen to Al, too. People used to listen to all sorts of music then, wasn’t no barriers set up like it is now. Young man like you, you missed it. Was a real good time.”

“I think you might have mentioned that to me before. Anyway, I’m glad you like it.”

“Thank you, buddy.”

“It’s all right.”

Strange and Quinn tapped bottles. Strange then filled Quinn in on the ongoing investigation. He told him about the Caprice in the parking lot and the white car and its occupants that had rolled up on Lamar Williams. He told him about Lydell Blue’s list.

“You get up with Joe’s mother,” said Quinn, “she might be able to narrow down the number of names for us.”

“I called Sandra a couple of times and left messages,” said Strange. “She hasn’t got back to me yet.”

They discussed the case further. Strange drank two beers to Quinn’s one. Quinn watched Strange close his eyes as he took a deep pull from the bottle.

“Janine’s been trying to get up with you,” said Quinn.

“Yeah?”

“She called me at the bookstore, said she’s been beeping you. Something about finding the last piece of the puzzle on Calhoun Tucker.”

Strange drank off some of his beer. “I’ll have to see what that’s about.”

“What’s goin’ on between you two?”

“Why, she say somethin’ was?”

“Only that you’ve been avoiding her this week. Outside of work stuff, she hasn’t been able to get through to you at all.”

“I’m not sure I’m right for her right now, you want the truth. Her or Lionel. When I get like this… Ah, forget it.” Strange signaled the bartender.

“You’re not done with that one yet,” said Quinn, nodding to the bottle in front of Strange.

“I will be soon. But thanks for pointing it out.” Strange’s elbow slipped off the bar. “At least you’re doin’ all right with Sue. Seems like a good woman. Looks good, too.”

“Yeah, she’s cool. I’m lucky I found her. But Derek, I’m talkin’ about you.”

“Look, man, everything’s been boiling up inside me, with Joe’s death and all. I know I haven’t been dealing with it right.”

“Nobody knows how to deal with it. When a kid dies like that, you look around you and the things you thought were in order, your beliefs, God, whatever… nothing makes sense. I’ve been fucked up about it myself. We all have.”

Strange didn’t say anything for a while. And then he said, “I should’ve let him run that play.”

“What?”

“Forty-four Belly. He wanted to run it in at the end of the game. Boy never did get to run that touchdown play, the whole time he played for us. He would’ve scored that day, too, ’cause he had the fire. Can you imagine how happy that would’ve made him, Terry?”

Strange’s eyes had filled. A tear threatened to break loose. Quinn handed him a bar napkin. Strange used it to wipe his face.

Quinn noticed that the guy in the flannel shirt was staring at Strange.

“You want somethin’?” said Quinn.

“No,” said the guy, who quickly looked away.

“I didn’t think you did,” said Quinn.

“Settle down, Terry. I’d be starin’, too. Grown man, actin’ like a baby.” Strange balled up the napkin and dropped it in an ashtray. “Anyway. It’s all water passed now, isn’t it?”

“You did right,” said Quinn, “telling Joe not to run up that score. You were teaching him the right thing.”

“I don’t know about that. I don’t know. I thought he had a whole lifetime of touchdown runs ahead of him. Out here, though, every day could be, like, a last chance. Not just for the kids. For you and me, too.”

“You can’t think like that.”

“But I do. And it’s selfish of me, man, I know. Plain selfish.”

“What is?”

Strange stared at his fingers peeling the label of the bottle of beer. “These feelings I been having. About my own mortality, man. Selfish of me to be thinkin’ on it, when a boy died before he even got started and I been fortunate enough to live as long as I have.”

“Men are always thinking about their mortality,” said Quinn. He sipped his beer and placed the bottle softly on the bar. “Shit, man, death and sex, we think about it all the time. It’s why we do all the stupid things we do.”

“You’re right. Every time I start thinkin’ on my age, or that I’m bound to die, I start thinking about getting some strange. Makes me want to run away from Janine and Lionel and any kind of responsibility. It’s always been like that with me. Like having a different woman’s gonna put off death, if only for a little while.”

“You need to be runnin’ to those people, Derek. The ones who love you, man. Not to those girls down at those massage parlors-”

“Aw, here we go.”

“Just because they don’t walk the street doesn’t make ’em any different than streetwalkers. Those girls ain’t nothin’ but hookers, man.”

“For real?”

“I’m serious. Look, I’ve been with whores. So I’m not looking down on you for this. Just about every man I know has been with ’em, even if it was just a rite-of-passage thing. But what I’ve been seeing lately-”

“Your girl Sue got you converted, huh? Now you got religion and seen the light.”

“No, not me. But it’s wrong.”

“Terry, these ladies I see, they got to make a living same as anyone else.”

“You think that’s what they want to be doing with their lives? Putting their hands on a man’s dick they got no feelings for? Letting a stranger touch their privates? Shit, Derek, these Asian girls in those places, they’ve been brought over here and forced into that life to pay off some kind of a debt. It’s like slavery.”

“Nah, man, don’t even go there. White man starts talkin’ about, It’s like slavery, I do not want to hear it.”

“Ignore it if you want to,” said Quinn. “But that’s exactly what it’s like.”

“I got to relieve myself, man,” said Strange. “Where’s the bathroom at in this place?”

Quinn drank the rest of his beer while Strange went to the men’s room. When Strange returned, Quinn noticed that he had washed his face. Strange did not get back on his stool. He placed one hand on the bar for support.

“Well, I better get on out of here.”

“Yeah, I need to also. I’m seeing Sue tonight.”

Strange withdrew his wallet from his back pocket. Quinn put his hand on Strange’s forearm.

“I got it.”

“Thanks, buddy.” Strange picked up his album and put it under his arm. “And thanks again for this.”

“My pleasure.”

“Monday morning, I plan on getting started on that list Lydell slipped our way. You with me?”

“You know it. Derek-”

“What?”

“Call Janine.”

Strange nodded. He shook Quinn’s hand and pushed away from the bar, unsteady on his feet. Quinn watched him go.