Right as Rain (13 page)

STRANGE
owned a ’91 Cadillac Brougham V—8, full power, black over black leather with the nice chromed—up grille, that he used when he wasn’t working, only for short trips around town. He drove up Georgia Avenue, listening to
World Is a Ghetto
coming from the deck. Greco sat on his right on a red pillow Strange kept for him there, his nose pressed up against the passenger—side glass.

Janine and Lionel Baker lived in Brightwood, up on 7th and Quintana, in a modest red—shingled house. Strange parked out front, got Greco out by his leash and choke chain, and walked him to the front door.

Janine, Lionel, and Strange had dinner together in a small dining room where a portrait of the Last Supper hung on one wall. Janine had given Greco the bone from a chuck roast she had cooked the week before, and the boxer had taken it down to the basement to gnaw alone.

“Pass me those mashed potatoes, young man,” said Strange.

Lionel was tall like his mother, and would be handsome soon but had not yet fully grown into his large features. He held the bowl out for Strange to take.

“Thank you,” said Strange, who spooned a mound onto his plate and reached for the gravy bowl.

“Where you goin’ tonight, Lionel?” asked his mother.

“Got a date with this girl.”

“What’s her name?”

“Girl I know named Sienna.”

“How you gonna take a girl out on a date when you got no car?”

“Could I get yours?”

“Lionel.”

“We’re goin’ out with Jimmy and his girl. Jimmy’s got his uncle’s Lex, gold style with some fresh rims.”

“Where Jimmy’s uncle get the money for a Lexus?” asked Janine, her eyes finding Strange’s across the table.

“I don’t know,” said Lionel, “but that joint is
tight.”
He gave Strange a sideways glance and said, “Course, it ain’t tight like no Caddy, nothin’ like that.”

“You don’t like my ride?” said Strange.

“I like it.” And Lionel smiled and sang, “Best of all, it’s a Cad—i—llac.”

Janine and Lionel laughed. Strange laughed a little, too.

“He’s got a nice voice,” said Janine, “doesn’t he, Derek?”

“It’s all right,” said Strange. “Too bad no one sings anymore on the records, otherwise he might have a career.”

“I’m gonna be a big—time lawyer, anyway,” said Lionel, reaching toward the platter of fried chicken and snagging a thigh.

“Not if you don’t get your grades up,” said Janine.

“You over at Coolidge, right?” said Strange.

“Uh—huh. Got another year to go.”

“So what movie you going to see tonight?” asked Janine.

“That new Chow Yun—Fat joint, up at the AMC in City Place.”

“Say you chewin’ the fat?” said Strange.

“That’s
funny,” said Lionel.

Strange looked at the Tupac T—shirt Lionel was wearing, the one with the image of Shakur smoking a blunt. “None of my business, but if I had a date with a young lady, I wouldn’t be wearin’ a shirt with a picture of another man on the front of it.”

“Oh, I’ll be changing into somethin’ else, Mr. Derek. Bet it.” Lionel looked at the watch on his gangly wrist. “Matter of fact, I gotta bounce. Jimmy’ll be here any minute to pick me up.”

Lionel dropped the thigh bone and took his plate and glass and carried them off to the kitchen.

“See what I put up with?” said Janine.

“He’s a good boy.”

“I do love him.”

“I know you do.”

Janine patted Strange’s hand. “Thank you for coming over tonight, Derek.”

“My pleasure,” said Strange.

Ten minutes later a horn sounded from outside, and they heard Lionel’s heavy footsteps coming down the stairs. Strange got up from the table. He walked into the foyer and met Lionel as he was heading for the front door.

“Later, Mr. Derek.”

“Hold up a second, Lionel.”

Lionel looked himself over. He wore pressed jeans and a Hil—figer shirt with Timberland boots. “What, you don’t like my hookup?”

“You look fine.”

“Got me some brand—new Timbs.”

“Sears makes a better boot for half the price.”

“Ain’t got that little tree on ’em, though.”

“Listen up, Lionel.” Strange took a breath. He wasn’t all that good at this, but he knew he had to try. “Don’t be drivin’ around smoking herb in a fancy ride, hear?”

“Herb?” Lionel said it in a mocking way, and Strange felt his face grow hot.

“All I’m telling you is, the police see a car with young black men inside it, ’specially a gold Lexus with fancy wheels, looks like a drug car, they don’t think they need a reason to pull you over. They find blunt or cheeva or whatever you’re calling it these days inside the car, you got a mark on your record you can’t shake. You might as well go ahead and forget about law school then. You understand what I’m saying?”

“I hear you, Mr. Derek.”

“All right.” Strange reached into his back pocket and pulled a twenty from the billfold. “Here you go. You don’t want to be taking out a nice girl without a little extra money in your pocket. Take her over to that TGI Friday’s they got up there after the show, buy her a sundae, something like that.”

“Thank you.” Lionel took the money and winked. “Maybe after that sundae, she might even give me some of that trim.”

Strange frowned, put his face close to the boy’s, and lowered his voice. “I don’t want to hear you talking like that, Lionel. You have a nice young woman, you treat her with respect. The same way you’d want a man to treat your mother, you understand me?’

“Yes sir.”

Strange still had his wallet out, and he pulled a condom he kept for emergencies from underneath his business cards. He handed the condom to Lionel.

“In the event something
does
happen, though …”

“Thank you, Mr. Derek,” said Lionel, smiling stupidly as he pocketed the rubber. The horn sounded again from out on the street. “I’m ghost.”

“Have a nice time.”

Lionel left, and Strange locked the door behind him. Strange walked back to the living room, wondering just how bad he’d fucked that up.

Janine was waiting for him there. She had put
Songs in the Key of Life
on the stereo and had brought out a cold bottle of Heineken and two glasses and set them on the table before the couch. Janine was sitting on the couch with her stockinged feet up on the table. Strange joined her.

“You and Lionel have a little man—to—man?”

“Uh, yeah.”

“There’s so much I can’t give him alone.”

“I’m just a man, no smarter than any other.”

“But you are a man. He needs a strong male figure to guide him now and again.”

Strange smiled and flexed his bicep. “You think I’m strong?”

“Go ahead, Derek.”

“I don’t feel too strong tonight, I can tell you that.”

“That Sherman Coles pickup do you in?”

“Good thing I had that young man with me.”

Janine put a pillow behind Strange’s head. “Tell me about your day.”

They talked about work. He told her the Coles story, and she told him how she’d taken care of some loose ends at the office. When they were done talking and the beer bottle had been emptied, they went upstairs to Janine’s room.

She had turned the sheets down, and he knew she had done it for him. Her clock radio, always set on HUR, had been turned on and was softly emitting some Quiet Storm. The room was strong with the smell of her perfume, and as he undressed her, taking his time, the room grew strong with her female smell, too.

He got out of his outer clothes and stripped himself of his underwear. They were naked and they kissed standing. He got his hand on her behind and caressed her firm, ample flesh.

“Damn,
Janine.”

“What?”

“You got some back on you, girl.”

“You don’t like it?”

“You
know
I do.”

He pushed her large breasts together and kissed them, then kissed her mouth.

“Come on,” she said, short of breath.

“You in some kind of hurry?” Strange chuckled and sucked a little on her cool lips.

“Sit your ass down,” said Janine.

“Here?” asked Strange, pointing to the edge of the bed.

“You said you were tired,” said Janine. “Let me do the work tonight.”

“WHO’S this right here?” said Quinn. “Lauryn Hill,” said Juana. “You like it?”

“Yeah, it’s pretty nice. But you have any music with a guy singer?” “I got the Black Album. You know, Prince. Does that count?”

“Oh, shit,” laughed Quinn.

“What’s so funny?”

“I already had this conversation once today.”

Quinn adjusted himself. He felt his erection returning, and he moved his hips against hers. He gave her a couple of short strokes to let her know he was still alive.

“You tryin’ to stay in or get out?”

“Just testing the water,” said Quinn.

“The water’s warm.”

“Deep, too.”

“Cut it out.” Juana smiled. “Some guys I know, they’d be tripping over themselves right about now, trying to get out the front door.”

“I’d be trippin’ over somethin’, I tried to leave right now.”

“Stop bragging.”

“Anyway, I want to stay right here.”

“You tellin’ me you’re not the type to hit it and split?”

“I’ve done it; I’m not gonna lie about that. But I don’t want to do that with you.”

They were still on the couch. Quinn pulled an afghan up over them. The fire had weakened, and a chill had come into the room. He looked at his white skin atop her brown.

“Think we can make this work?” asked Quinn.

“Do you want it to?”

“Yes.”

STRANGE was under the covers, lying beside Janine, when Greco walked into the room. He dropped the chuck bone at the foot of the bed, then moved it between his paws as he got himself down on the carpet.

“He’s tellin’ me it’s time to go home.”

“I wish you didn’t have to,” said Janine. “It’s nice and warm under this blanket.”

“It wouldn’t be proper to have Lionel come home and know that I was here.”

“He already knows, Derek.”

“It wouldn’t be right, just the same.”

Janine got up on one elbow and ran her fingers through the short hairs on Strange’s chest.

“That lawyer I do business with from time to time,” said Strange. “That Fifth Streeter with the cheap suit?”

“Markowitz?” said Janine.

“Him. He owes us money, doesn’t he?”

“He’s got an unpaid balance, I recall.”

“Give him a call tomorrow, see if he can’t get us the transcripts of the review board hearings on the Quinn case.”

“You want to wipe out his debt?”

“See how much it is and settle it the way you see fit.”

“What’s your feeling on this Quinn?”

Strange had been thinking of Terry Quinn all night. Quinn was violent, fearless, sensitive, and disturbed … all of those things at once. A cocktail of troubles, a guy who could come in handy in situations like they’d had today, but not the kind of guy who needed to be wearing a uniform, representing the law.

“I don’t know enough about him yet,” said Strange. “Next thing I’m going to do, I’m going to read those transcripts. Then I’m gonna go out and try and talk to the other players.”

“You think Quinn was wrong?”

“I think he’s a white man who saw a black man holding a gun on another white man in the street. He reacted the way he’s been programmed to react in this society, going back to birth.”

“You saying he’s that way?”

“He’s like most white people. Don’t you know, most of ’em will tell you they don’t have a racist bone in their bodies.”

“They’re pure of mind and heart.”

“Quinn doesn’t
think
he’s that way,” said Strange. “But he is.”

Chapter
12

N
ESTOR
Rodriguez looked in the rearview mirror and spotted the green Ford, ten car lengths back. He punched a number into the cell phone cradled beside him, then snatched the phone up as it began to ring on the other end.

“Lizardo.”

“Brother.”

“We’re almost there. I just now called Boone and told him to pick us up.”

“We have to do this every time for the midget?”

“The jerkoff doesn’t want us to know where he and his father live. He insists.”

“Why can’t we just make the trade in the parking lot?”

“Because the little one likes to scale out the
manteca
and test it at his house, in front of us. He’s afraid of being ripped off.”

“Shit,” said Lizardo. It sounded like “chit.”

The Rodriguez brothers did not have to worry about their conversation going out over the radio waves. Nestor had paid a young software engineer in Florida to alter his and his brother’s electronic serial numbers and mobile identification numbers. Also, a Secure Cellular device called a Jammer Scrambler, attached to both of their phones, altered their voices.

Nestor was traveling north on 270 in a blue Ford Contour SVT. Lizardo Rodriguez followed in a green version of the same car. There were five kilograms of Colombian brown heroin in the trunk of Nestor’s Ford and five in the trunk of Lizardo’s.

The Contours looked liked family sedans, but at 200 horses were hardly that. The cars did 0 to 60 in 6.9 and could top out at over 140 miles per hour. The Fords’ bland body styling was perfect for their runs, but the Rodriguez brothers preferred more flash driving on the streets of Orlando, their adopted city. Nestor in particular, who was the unmarried one of the two, was in love with pretty cars. He owned a new Mustang Cobra, also an SVT. His did 60 in 5.5. He was proud that he had not touched it cosmetically, as many Spanish were prone to do, but had left it stock. Well, not all the way stock. He had put two decals, silhouettes of naked girls with white—girl hair, on the back of the car, with “Ladies Invited” spelled out between the girls in neon letters. But that was the only extra thing he had done to the car.

“Who were you talking to a few minutes ago?” said Nestor.

“My woman,” said Lizardo. “Her father doesn’t want to change his crops. I tried to explain to him, the cartel will provide the fertilizer and the seeds, and a guarantee that what he reaps we will sell. The poppy will give him two crops a year, twice what he’ll get from his single crop of coffee beans. And we’ll pay his field—workers four times what they earn to harvest the crop.”