Right as Rain

8

Down past Howard University, at the Florida Avenue intersection, Georgia Avenue became 7th Street. They stayed on 7th and then they were in Chinatown, passing nightclubs, sports bars, and the MCI Center, which anchored the new downtown D.C. Farther along there were more nightclubs and restaurants and the short strip of the arts and gallery district, and at Quinn's direction Strange hung a left onto D Street, two blocks north of Pennsylvania Avenue. He parked the Chevy in a no-parking zone, along a yellow-painted curb, and killed the engine. Then he reached into the glove box, withdrew his voice-activated tape recorder, and placed the recorder on the seat between himself and Quinn.

'This is it,' said Strange. 'You were right about here?'

'Except that we parked it in the middle of the street. We came in just like this, from Seventh. My partner was driving the cruiser.'

'That would be Eugene Franklin.'

'Gene Franklin, right.'

'What made y'all pull over?'

'We were working. We had just come off a routine traffic stop, guy in a Maxima had blown a red up at Mt Vernon Square. Up around Seventh and N, you want the exact location.'

'So you were headed south on Seventh after that, and Franklin turned left onto D. He see something, or was that just some kind of pattern?'

'No, we hadn't seen anything yet until we made the turn. This stretch of D is unlit at night, and there's hardly any activity. Pedestrian traffic, none. Sun goes down, rats stroll across the street like they own the real estate.'

'What about that night? You pulled onto D, what did you see?'

Quinn squinted. 'We came up on a confrontation. A curbed red Jeep, a Wrangler, parked behind a shit box Toyota. Next to the Toyota, on the street, a guy with his knee on another guy's chest, pinning him to the asphalt. In the aggressor's hand, a pistol. An automatic, and he had the muzzle smashed up against the pinned guy's face.'

'Describe this aggressor.'

'Black, mid-to-late twenties, medium build, street clothes.'

'And the guy he had on the ground?'

'White…' Quinn looked over at Strange, then away. '… around thirty, street clothes, slight build.'

'So you and your partner, you happen on the scene of this confrontation. What happens then?'

Quinn breathed out slowly. 'Gene says, "Look!" But I'm ahead of him, I already got the mic in my hand. I've got it keyed and I'm calling for backup while Gene flips on the overheads and gives the horn a blast. The aggressor looks up at the whoop of the siren, and Gene stops the cruiser in the middle of the street. But our presence doesn't change the aggressor's mind.'

'You got a talent for reading minds?'

'I'll put it another way. The aggressor keeps the gun on the guy he's got pinned to the ground. He's made us as cops, but it hasn't changed his focus. From my perspective it hasn't changed his intent.'

'His intent being, the intent of this black aggressor I mean, to do harm to the white guy he's got pinned down on the street.'

'I saw a man holding a gun on another man in the street.'

'All right, Quinn. Keep going. Where are you now? You and your partner, I mean.'

'We're about twenty-five yards back from them, I'd say.'

'Okay,' said Strange.

Quinn rubbed his thumb over his lower lip. 'I'm out of the car right away, and I can hear Gene's door swing open as I draw my weapon. So I know he's behind the driver's-side door, and I know Gene's got his own weapon cleared from his holster as well.'

'You do what next?'

'I've got my gun on the aggressor. I yell for him to drop his weapon and lie facedown on the street. He yells something back. I can't really hear what he's saying, 'cause Eugene's yelling over him, telling him what I'm telling him: to drop his weapon. The lights… the red and blue lights from the overheads are strobing the scene, and I can hear the crackle of our radio coming from the open doors of our cruiser behind us.'

'Sounds like a lot of confusion.'

'Yes. Gene and I are both yelling now and there's the lights and the radio, and the aggressor, he's yelling back at us, not moving the gun from the guy's face.'

'What's Wilson – what's the aggressor yelling now?'

'His name,' said Quinn. 'His name and a number. It didn't register… it didn't register until later on that the number he was yelling, it was his badge number. But he never moved his gun away from the guy's face. Not until he looked at us, I mean.'

Strange stared through the windshield, trying to imagine the picture the young man was painting.

'What happened when he looked at you, Quinn?'

'It was only for a moment. He looked at me and then at Gene, and something bad crossed his face. I'll never forget it. He was angry at us, at me and Gene. He was more than angry; his face changed to the face of a killer. He swung his gun in our direction then-'

'He pointed his gun at you?'

'Not directly,' said Quinn, his voice growing soft. 'He was swinging it, like I say. The muzzle of it swept across me, and he had that look on his face… There wasn't any doubt in my mind… I knew… I knew he was going to pull the trigger. Eugene screamed my name, and I fired my weapon.'

'How many times?'

'I fired three rounds.'

'From where you stood?'

'They say I walked forward as I fired. That I don't remember.'

'According to the articles, the trajectory of the entrance wounds and the exit pattern of the shell casings for that particular weapon were consistent with your statement. But the three casings weren't found together in a group. Apparently you moved forward and fired the third round into him when he was down. The third casing was found about ten feet from the victim.'

'I don't remember moving forward,' said Quinn. 'I know what they said, and I know about the casings, but I don't remember. And I don't believe I shot him when he was down. He might have been going down, still pointing his gun-'

'Weren't you concerned with hitting the other guy?'

'At that point I was concerned primarily with the safety of myself and my partner. I've already admitted as much.' Quinn glared at Strange. 'Anything else?'

'Okay, Quinn. Take a deep breath and settle down.'

Strange's beeper sounded. He took it from his hip and checked the readout. He said, 'Excuse me, man,' reaching across Quinn to unlock the glove box and withdraw his cellular phone. He punched a number into the grid and spoke into the mouthpiece.

'What's up, Ron?… Uh-huh.' Strange frowned. 'Now, you gonna ask me to do this thing for you because you're down on K Street picking up a suit?… Yeah, I know you can't just pick it up, you got to try it on, too… Uh-huh… No, it's not 'cause I buy my shit off the rack that I don't understand… I do understand… Believe me, it's no thing. I got no problem with it, Ron. I sound like I do? Gimme the data, man.'

Strange took the information, using a pen on a cord, writing on a pad affixed to the dash. He cut the line without another word and dropped the phone in the glove box, shutting the door a little too hard.

'I got something I got to do. Man jumped bail on a B amp;E beef, and there's this snitch we use, been hangin' in a bar this man supposed to frequent. Turns out the bail jumper just walked into the bar.'

'Who was that on the phone?'

'My operative, young man by the name of Ron Lattimer, works for me.'

'You do skip-tracing, too?'

'Ron handles that. I don't like to chase people down. But Ron's busy, see, picking up a suit. So this one goes to me. Shouldn't be too serious. I've seen the sheet on this guy, and he's all of one twenty if he's a pound. It's out of my way, but you want, I'll drop you off.'

'I'll ride with you,' said Quinn. 'You can drop me when you're done.'

'Suit yourself.'

'Hold up a second.' Quinn put his hand on Strange's arm. 'Don't think I didn't notice what you were getting at with your questions there. All that black-aggressor, white-guy, black-this, white-that bullshit. What happened that night, you can try and paint it any way you want if it makes you feel any better. But it had nothing to do with race.'

'Don't tell me,' said Strange. 'Don't tell me, 'cause I'm a black man, twenty-five years your senior, and I know. I'm just trying to get at the truth, and if I hurt your feelings or hit a nerve somewhere along the line, so be it. I didn't drop by to see you today 'cause I was looking for a friend, Quinn. I got plenty of friends, and I don't need another. I'm just doing my job.'

Strange ignitioned the Caprice, engaged the trans, and swung a U in the middle of D.

'One more thing,' said Quinn. 'Knock off that "Quinn" shit from here on in. Call me by my given name. It's Terry, okay?'

Strange turned right on 7th and gave the Chevy gas. He reached for the sunglasses in his visor, chuckling under his breath.

'What's so funny?'

'You got a temper on you,' said Strange.

Quinn looked out the window, letting his jaw relax. 'People have told me that I do.'

'That story about fighting in the alley. How you were shaking, afraid and excited at the same time. You liked the action your whole life, didn't you?'

'I guess I did.'

'What you ended up becoming, that's not surprising. Guy like you, I bet you always wanted to be a cop.'

'That's right,' said Quinn. 'And I was a good one, too.'