Hell To Pay

chapter 24

THE Park Morton complex looked different during the day. There were children using the playground equipment, and mothers, aunts, and grandmothers watching over them. A group of girls was doing double Dutch by the entrance, and the ones sitting on the brick wall nearby were actually smiling. Strange knew that Sundays were quiet time, even in the worst neighborhoods, and the fact that the sun was full in a clear blue sky, its rays highlighting the turning leaves, added to the illusion of peace. Also, most all the men around town, even the bad ones, were indoors watching the Redskins game.

Strange had been listening to it on the radio, the pregame and then the play-by-play, Sonny, Sam, and Frank on WJFK. The Ravens were in the house at FedEx, and the contest had just gotten under way.

Strange got the list Lydell Blue had given him out of his trunk and locked down the Brougham. He walked across the brown grass of the courtyard to the stairwell leading to Sandra Wilder’s apartment. He noticed flyers with the likenesses of the shooters taped on the stairwell wall.

Strange knocked on the door of the Wilder residence. He waited patiently for a while and did not knock again. Then the door opened and Sandra Wilder stood in its frame. She gave Strange warm eyes.

“Sandra.”

“Derek.” She reached out and touched his arm. “Come on in.”

They settled in a kind of living room the size of a den, at the end of a hall broken by an open entrance to a galley-style kitchen. The couch Strange sat on was marked with food stains and its piping was torn away from the fabric. A television sat on a stand past the rectangular table set before the couch; it was on and showing the game at a very low volume. On the wall behind the set were photographs torn from magazines and newspapers, taped crookedly, of Keyshawn Johnson and Randy Moss, along with a close-up of Deion wearing a do-rag. Tellingly, a poster of Darrell Green at the ready was the largest and most prominently displayed. It would be like Joe to honor the tireless workhorse above the flash. Strange could see him sitting on this couch, eating a snack or a microwaved dinner prepared by his mom, watching the game on a Sunday afternoon. He guessed that that was how the stains had gotten on the couch.

Strange drank a glass of instant iced tea, quietly watching the ’Skins move the ball upfield. Sandra sat beside him, leaning forward and making marks on the list Strange had given her, which she had placed on the table. Her lips moved as she read the names.

Though Sandra Wilder was in her mid-twenties, she appeared at first glance to be ten years older. She was heavy in the hips and waist, and her movements were labored. She had big brown eyes, freckles, a full mouth, and straight teeth. She was pretty when she smiled. Strange guessed she had given birth to Joe when she was about sixteen.

Today Sandra wore a pair of jeans with an untucked T-shirt showing a computer-generated photograph of a grinning Joe. The words “We will not forget you” were printed beneath his image. Entrepreneurs offered T-shirts like this at the wakes and funerals of young people citywide, usually in the form of bulk sales to the grieving families. It had become a cottage industry in D.C.

“Here you go,” said Sandra, handing Strange the sheet of paper. “Why are those Social Security numbers next to the names?”

“My friend hooked me up. I’ll be using those numbers in my computer to get addresses, job histories, like that.”

“I circled the ones still come to mind.”

Strange studied the list. Sandra had highlighted three names: Walter Lee, Edward Diggs, and Sequan Hawkins.

“These your brother’s closest friends?”

“The ones I recall. The ones who used to be around our house most when we were coming up.”

“Were they still tight with Lorenze?”

“I have no idea. I didn’t have much contact with my brother these past few years. But you say these names came off the funeral home list, that book you sign when you pay your respects? So I figure, at least they’re still around. Far as where they live or how to get in touch with ’em, I don’t have a clue.”

“I can find them,” said Strange. “You don’t have to worry about that.”

“My mother would know. She had this address book, she used to keep all our friends’ names in it, ’cause me and Lorenze, when we were young? We were, like, always slipping out, and she had to have a way of finding us. ’Specially Lorenze; that boy was buck wild, you couldn’t keep him in the house at all.”

“Can I speak to your mother?”

“She’s dead.”

Strange turned on the couch so that he was facing her. “Where’d y’all come up, Sandra?”

“Manor Park, over there around North Dakota Avenue. South of Coolidge?”

“I know it,” said Strange, something catching his eye over Sandra’s shoulder. On an end table abutting the couch sat a framed photograph of Joe in his uniform, his face shiny with sweat, a football cradled against his chest.

“Anything else?” said Sandra.

“You say you were out of contact with your brother. Why was that, you don’t mind my askin’?”

“Lorenze was no-account. I loved him, but that’s what he was. He wanted some of that bling-bling, but he couldn’t even do that right, for real. He was always calling me, trying to get me to hook him up with Granville. Tellin’ me he wanted Granville to put him on. But when Joe got born, I didn’t want to have anything to do with Granville anymore. I didn’t want Joe to know about him at all. Lorenze wouldn’t leave it alone, so I broke things off with my own blood. You know I took a car from Granville, and I am not proud of that, but I swear to you, that’s all I had to do with that man.”

“You don’t need to apologize for anything.”

“But I do want you to know. I’ve been straight all the way. I been having the same job for years now and I’m never late on my bills… It’s been hard, Derek, but I have been straight.”

“I know you have,” said Strange. “Did Lorenze have enemies you knew of?”

“It’s like I told the police. He didn’t go lookin’ for trouble. But it found him sure enough. It was his way. He just didn’t take anything serious. Couldn’t hold a job, and still, he always felt free to put out his hand. Never did take care of his debts. Never did. Laughed it off most of the time. He thought it was all a joke, but the ones he was laughin’ at, they didn’t see it that way. To them, Lorenze was tryin’ to take them for bad.”

“You think that’s why he was killed?”

“I expect.”

Strange folded the list and slipped it into the inside pocket of his suit coat. He took one of Sandra Wilder’s hands. It felt clammy and limp in his.

“Listen,” said Strange. “You did right by keeping your son away from Oliver, and away from your brother, too. And don’t you ever think that you could have prevented what happened. Because you did right, and you did good. That boy was as special as they come, Sandra. And it’s because of you.”

A smile broke upon her face. The smile was perfect, and her hair was beauty-shop done and in place, and her makeup was perfectly applied. Cosmetically, Sandra Wilder was completely intact. But Strange could see that her eyes were jittery and too bright, and her mouth twitched at the corners as he tried to hold the smile.

Strange put his arms around her and drew her toward him. She fell into his embrace without resistance, Strange catching the foulness of her breath. It was quiet in the room except for the faint voice of the announcer calling the game. After a while he felt Sandra’s shoulders shaking beneath him and her hot tears where she had buried her face in his neck. He held her like that until she was cried out, and he left her there when he knew that there was nothing left.

THE ’Skins / Ravens game was tied up three to three, a pair of field goals the only score, as Strange drove north. A pass interference call against Washington put the Ravens on the Redskins’ one yard line with ten seconds to go in the half. From the radio, Sonny Jurgensen and Sam Huff discussed the most likely call for the next play. It would certainly be a run, Jamal Lewis up the middle. If he was stopped, there would still be time on the clock for a field goal to put the Ravens ahead before the end of the first half.

Strange pulled his Cadillac to the curb and let the motor run. He clockwised the volume dial.

“Come on,” said Strange. “Hold ’em.”

Ravens quarterback Tony Banks did not hand the ball off to Lewis. He attempted a pass into the flat of the end zone to Shannon Sharpe, who was in the company of two burgundy jerseys. It was a bad play to call – if Banks were to throw it at all he should have thrown it away. Redskin linebacker Kevin Mitchell picked off the pass.

Strange’s holler was one of disbelief. The roar of FedEx and the laughter of Sonny and Sam were in the car as Strange pulled down on the tree and continued uptown.

“DEREK, come on in,” said George Hastings. “You see that last play?”

“I been listenin’ to it on the radio,” said Strange.

They walked through the hall of Hastings’s brick tudor in Shepherd Park. Hastings wore a Redskins cap, but he was otherwise cleanly dressed in an expensive sweater and slacks. His house was just as clean.

“You believe that call Billick made?” said Hastings, looking over his shoulder as he led Strange into his den. “You got Jamal Lewis, a tough young back, on the one yard line, and all you got to do is give it to him and let him run it up the gut, and you call a pass? ”

“Tony Banks ain’t exactly one of your top-tier NFL quarterbacks either.”

“Not yet, anyway.”

“Should have pitched it out of the end zone when he saw the coverage. That was his inexperience showing right there.”

Hastings pointed to one of two big loungers in the den. A large-screen Sony was set in a wall unit in the room; the second half was under way. “Sit down, Derek. Can I get you something? I might have a cold beer myself.”

“Nothin’ with alcohol in it for me, not today. A Co-Cola if you got it, George.”

Hastings returned with the drinks and had a seat. Both teams went scoreless in the third.

“Our defensive linemen got fire in their eyes today,” said Strange.

“Yeah, this is one of those classic defensive battles we got goin’ right here,” said Hastings.

“They’ve stopped Stephen Davis, and we got hardly any receivers left except Albert Connell. Fryar’s out.”

“Your boy Westbrook is gone for the season, too. Again.”

“And I thought it was gonna be his year, too,” said Strange sadly. “Next year, maybe.”

At the start of the fourth quarter, Stephen Davis left the field with a pinched nerve in his shoulder. Skip Hicks replaced him for three downs at tailback and then Davis came back in. On second and seven, the teams lined up on the Baltimore thirty-three, with the Ravens showing blitz. Davis took the handoff from Brad Johnson and hit a hole provided by tackle Chris Samuels and fullback Larry Centers. Davis was off with only safety Rod Woodson between him and the goal line. Davis stiff-armed Woodson, dropped him to the turf, and sailed into the end zone.

Strange and Hastings were on their feet with instant high fives.

“Just like Riggo,” said Strange.

“Thought you said they were stoppin’ Davis.”

“You can’t stop that boy for long.”

George looked at his friend. “Good to see you smiling, man.”

“Was I?” said Strange. “Damn. Guess it’s been a while since I have.”

They watched the rest of the game, knowing the contest was over with the Davis touchdown. The ’Skins had broken Baltimore’s back with that one play. When the whistle sounded, Hastings hit the mute button on the remote and sat back in his lounger.

“All right, man,” said Hastings. “Gimme the bad news.”

“Well, I don’t think you can call it bad,” said Strange. “Your future son-in-law is clean.”

“For real?”

“Don’t look so disappointed.”

“What about all that Calhoun Enterprises jive?”

Strange spread his hands. “Can’t fault a man just ’cause he picks a bad name for his business. Far as his work ethic goes, and his reputation, the man is golden. He comes from a solid family who gave him a good example, by all accounts. I got no reason to think he won’t be anything but a good provider for your daughter.”

“What else?”

“Huh?”

“I been knowin’ you too long, Derek, and you know I can read your face. There’s somethin’ else, so why don’t you say it?”

“Well, Calhoun Tucker likes the ladies.”

“Course he does. What, you think some faggot’s gonna be fallin’ in love with my girl?”

“I don’t mean that. I mean, he’s got an eye for ’em.”

“Say what you’re gettin’ at, man.”

Strange looked down at his hands. He had been rubbing them together and he made himself stop.

“I don’t know what I’m getting at exactly, George. I guess… I was wondering, not to get into your business, understand, but I was wondering how it was between you and Linda. The whole time you were married, I mean. Did you ever, you know, stumble? Did you ever find yourself steppin’ out on her or anything like that?”

“Never,” said Hastings. “You know me better than that, Derek.”

“But I remember how you were, back when the two of us were out there. When we were single and coming up, I mean. You had a lot of girlfriends, George. Wasn’t like you ever just stuck to one.”

“Until I met Linda.”

“Right. But you and her were together for like, two years before you put the ring on her finger. How was it for you and other women in that time?”

“Well, naturally, you know, I continued to see other girls while I was dating Linda. I never did consider that to be any kind of sin. But once I made a pledge to her and the Lord in the church, though, that was it. I looked hard at plenty of women, but as far as lyin’ down with someone other than my wife, after I was married? It was never an option for me again.”

“So you don’t see nothin’ wrong with cattin’ around up to the wedding day.”

“Young man’s only gonna be young once. You tellin’ me Calhoun Tucker’s a player?”

If he were to bring it up, now would be the time. But he had been leaning one way already, and this conversation with George had made up his mind. Strange shook his head.

“I guess I strayed off the topic some. To tell you the truth, I was askin’ about it because… because I been having some problems with Janine. I been stumblin’ like that with regards to her, George. Not just once or twice, understand, but as a matter of habit. It came to a head between us last night.”

“Sounds like you need to make some decisions. But you know, Derek, everybody’s got to make those kinds of choices their own selves.”

“I hear you.”

“Anything else about Tucker?”

“Just this: I talked to some people who know him, here in D.C. They told me, to a one, how much he goes on about Alisha all the time, how deep he loves her. Sounds like he’s sincere to me.”

“Who wouldn’t love that girl?”

“True. But I thought you might like to know. Far as what kind of husband he’s gonna be, only thing I can say is, neither one of us is gonna know that until time tells us. Right?”

“Yeah, you’re right. I guess I been wantin’ to find something wrong with that young man. It’s like you told me back in your office: Maybe the only thing wrong with him is that he’s getting ready to take away my little girl.”

“Maybe. Wouldn’t anybody blame you for feeling that way, though. The thing is, you just got to support her decision now and see what happens. Don’t you agree?”

Hastings reached over and shook Strange’s hand.

“Thank you, Derek.”

“I’ll have a written report for you next week.”

“Send a bill along with it.”

“You know I will.”

Hastings removed his Redskins cap and rubbed the top of his head. “Any progress on finding that boy’s killers?”

“It won’t be long,” said Strange. “One way or another, they’ll be got.”

STRANGE walked out the front door of the Hastings residence. Calhoun Tucker’s Audi was parked behind Strange’s Cadillac. Tucker, all Abercrombie & Fitch, leaned against the car. Alisha Hastings was with him, her eyes alight as she followed his every word, both of them beside the waxed Audi parked beneath the fiery colors of an oak. The tableau was like some advertisement for beauty and youth.

“Come here, Mr. Derek,” said Alisha. “I want you to meet someone.”

Strange crossed the lawn and went to the couple. He kept his eyes on Tucker’s as Alisha introduced them to each other. They shook hands.

“I bet you and my daddy were in there watching the game,” said Alisha. “I can’t understand how you two could stay inside and watch television on a beautiful day like this.”

“It’s always a beautiful day when the Redskins win,” said Strange.

“Y’all catching up on old times in there?” said Tucker.

“Just being a friend to my old buddy George.”

“Oh?”

“Been meaning to get by and congratulate him on the engagement of his lovely daughter here. Congratulations to the both of you as well.”

Tucker’s eyes softened. “Thank you, Mr. Strange.”

“Make it Derek.”

They shook again. Strange tightened his grip on Tucker’s hand.

“Good to meet you, young man.”

“You don’t have to worry,” said Tucker, moving in close to Strange’s face.

“See that I don’t,” said Strange, his voice very low. He released Tucker’s hand.

Strange kissed Alisha, hugged her and held her tightly. He kissed her again and walked toward his car.

“What was that about?” said Alisha. “I couldn’t hear what you two were saying, but it looked intense. You two don’t know each other, do you?”

“No. It was nothing. Just, you know, pissin’-contest stuff between men.”

“Stop it.”

“I’m kiddin’ you. He seems like a good guy. He coming to the wedding?”

“Yes. Why?”

“Looking forward to seeing him again is all.”

Tucker flexed his right hand to alleviate the pain. He watched Strange drive away, orange and red leaves rising from the street in the Caddy’s wake.

STRANGE stopped by the house to pick up Greco and a couple of CDs, then drove down to his place of business. In his office, he slipped The Sons of Katie Elder sound track into his CPU as he settled into his chair. The message light blinked beside his phone.

Lydell Blue had called to tell him that the beige Caprice had been found in an impound lot in Prince George’s County. The Chevy was determined to have been a stolen vehicle, wiped down of prints. Clothing fibers, orange threads of a fleece material, found in the Chevy matched those found in the Plymouth driven by the shooters.

Strange was certain now that the boys he had seen in the Caprice idling in Roosevelt’s parking lot were the killers of Lorenze and Joe Wilder. He had caught a look at the driver and especially the boy with the braids, and their faces loosely matched those of the artist’s renderings posted around town.

He knew this. But he didn’t phone Lydell Blue back to tell him what he knew.

Strange got into Westlaw and fed the names Walter Lee, Edward Diggs, and Sequan Hawkins, along with their Social Security numbers, into the program. It took a couple of hours to find what it would have taken Janine a half hour to find. Despite his rudimentary knowledge of the programs, Strange was still old world, and much better at his job when out on the street. He also tended to seek out distractions when he should have been working nonstop behind his desk. In those two hours he played with Greco, thought of Janine, and ate a PayDay bar she had left for him on his mouse pad. But finally he got the information he needed.

Using PeopleFinder and the reverse directory, he had secured the current addresses and phone numbers of the men. Also the names and addresses of their current neighbors. The Social Security numbers had given him their past and present employment data.

Strange phoned Quinn and got him on the third ring.

“Terry, it’s Derek. You see the game?”

“I saw some of it.”

“Some of it. Your girlfriend over there, man?”

“Yes, Sue’s here.”

“Been there all day, huh? Y’all even get a look at the sunshine today, man?”

“Derek, what’s on your mind?”

“Wanted to make sure you were gonna be ready to go in the morning.”

“Told you I would be.”

“Meet me down at Buchanan at nine, then. We’ll roll out together in my car.”

“Right.”

“And Terry?”

“What?”

“Bring your gun.”