Sheryl was a timid driver, which was all right with Hannibal while they traveled through residential areas. Again he rode through the familiar streets and watched the neighborhoods shift. He could pay more attention to his surroundings now that he wasn’t driving. Children scampered, streetlights changed and before long, well-tended residences became expensive rental properties. During the drive Hannibal fiddled with her radio until he found a hip-hop station. He couldn’t sing along, but Sheryl could watch him bob his head beside her. It would help to establish his character. She didn’t talk during their journey. Hannibal wondered if that was due to fear of him or of Rod’s reaction when they arrived.
When they reached the two story brick house with the white picket fence Sheryl pulled her Beetle into the driveway. There was off-street parking for three but hers was the only vehicle present. Stepping out of the car, Hannibal noticed how quiet the neighborhood seemed. It felt deserted, but he suspected that experience had taught Mantooth’s neighbors that it was best to stay out of sight. By the time Hannibal walked through the gate, Sheryl had been to the door and was on her way back down the walk.
“There’s nobody home,” she said, shrugging. “No point hanging around here, right? Let’s go back to my place and party, huh? I got the stuff in my purse.”
Hannibal was sure that “the stuff” was one of the many illegal substances people used to enhance the “party” experience. But he had no interest in sex right then and even less interest in this girl whom he thought of as Lemon. He was wondering how long it would take him to search what looked like a five-bedroom house. Hannibal had not wanted Rod to see his car, in case he wanted to maintain surveillance on the man later, but now he wondered if he should have driven. As it was there was little chance of a quick getaway if one were called for. He was weighing the risk of getting caught rifling Rod’s place when a movement down the block caught his attention. He whipped around, scanning the street, but didn’t see anyone. Had there been a man back there, peering over the hood of that parked Continental?
Hannibal had lost that feeling of being followed on the long drive down from Washington, but here it was again. Did Huge send backup? No, not his style. Sarge? He could never have tailed Hannibal without being spotted long before now. Was Rod smart enough to post a lookout?
Before Hannibal could even process his own thoughts, a Jeep with an inefficient muffler roared around the corner. The vehicle almost tipped over as the driver, a young white kid with bulbous shoulders, whipped it into the driveway. Mariah hopped out of the back with a bag of groceries. In person, Hannibal could plainly see that she was Hawaiian or from some other Pacific Island. A second girl climbed more carefully out of the topless vehicle. The cherry bathing suit barely covered the important parts of a young black girl with smooth creamy skin and straightened hair. She was thicker than Anita in the thighs and hips, but otherwise the same make and model. The driver, a transplanted surfer-dude from the West Coast, stepped down and waved to Sheryl.
Rod Mantooth walked around from the passenger’s side. His obsidian eyes scanned Hannibal up and down like an x-ray machine. He had a killer smile, the kind you see on torturers in World War II movies. Hannibal stood his ground as Rod moved toward him like an ebb tide. In person, the man was a primal force, raw energy, and suddenly Hannibal understood.
Rod stopped within three inches of Hannibal, craning his bull neck to stare into Hannibal’s face with a coarse defiance, which his mild words belied.
“I see Sheryl brought company. And what’s your name, dude?”
Hannibal stared back, fighting an unexpected urge to back down. Rod must have expected every dog to tuck his tail when they met. If he thought of himself as the alpha male he would suppose the rest of the world saw him that way too. Hannibal knew he had to show his teeth.
“They call me Smoke. Who the hell are you?”
Hannibal could feel the other four holding their breath while Rod took stock of him.
“I’m the dude who owns the house you’re standing in front of, dude. This is my crew.”
Hannibal nodded and jerked his chin at Mariah. “I come looking for her.”
“Oh, you know Mariah?” Rod turned toward her, and she reacted. She appeared to feel something, maybe a jolt of fear. If so, her face said it felt good.
“Not really,” Hannibal said. “Spotted her on the boardwalk a couple of nights ago and it looked like she was a good connection for some… product. She belong to you?”
“That’s right,” Rod said, thrusting a hand toward Hannibal. “Rod Mantooth. You want to talk to Mariah, you talk to me.” Hannibal took Rod’s fist in his own and endured a fierce, crushing grip. Because he expected it, he managed to keep his hand from being mashed.
“So, I guess you the man,” Hannibal said. “That’s cool. I don’t know nobody down this way, not yet anyway, so I guess I need to know you. Let’s go inside and talk a little business.”
Rod seemed to still be evaluating Hannibal when Mariah closed in on them. Hannibal noticed that her white, spaghetti strap heels were also quite high. Three-inch heels made good legs look great but Cindy had told him they were bad for the feet. These girls didn’t seem to mind. Mariah showed small but perfect teeth and ran her fingertips up Hannibal’s chest.
“Let’s keep him, daddy,” she said over her shoulder to Rod. “I might get bored while you’re training the newbie.”
Rod smiled with only one side of his mouth. “We’ll see if you earn that kind of a reward. Come on inside, dude.”
They walked through the porch, which was choked with wicker furniture. Crossing the main threshold Hannibal spotted an alarm box beside the doorsill. A small white fixture hung in the upper left corner of the room. A motion sensor, Hannibal knew. Rod certainly didn’t want any uninvited visitors.
The house itself was cool inside but that wasn’t the reason that Hannibal felt small bumps rising on his skin. He sensed an odd tone, a mood filling the air as if an electric undercurrent connected everyone in the room. Mariah appeared to float free, not at all like the captive woman Sheryl had implied. The blonde boy rested a hand on the back of Sheryl’s neck, guiding her steps and making a clear declaration of ownership. The third girl, the one Hannibal still had labeled Cherry in his mind, stayed in Rod’s trail, following at a respectful distance. She didn’t seem as comfortable in the heels or in the atmosphere as the others were, but her tentative smile expressed a brave effort to show she had what it takes. Hannibal stopped in the middle of the room, looking at no one in particular.
“Hey, Bucktooth. Any of these other people got names?”
A quick flash of anger rose and just as quickly faded in Rod’s eyes. “It’s Mantooth, dude. My man here is Derek. He takes care of people who can’t remember my name right.”
The younger man stepped forward and shook Hannibal’s hand. “Derek Steel,” he said through an exaggerated smile.
“Derek Steel?” Hannibal repeated. “That your real name, or you work in porn?”
Derek’s face darkened in a diluted imitation of Rod’s. “Do it say Smoke on your birth certificate, wiseass?”
“All right, don’t get excited,” Hannibal said, already knowing that at some point he was going to have to kick this boy’s ass. “Derek it is. Now what about the ladies?”
“I guess you already know Sheryl,” Rod said. The platinum blonde lowered her gaze to smile at Hannibal’s shoes. “Mariah, she’s the queen bee.” To Hannibal’s surprise, Mariah also faced him and lowered her eyes. “The new girl is Missy.” Again, eyes lowered and her head bowed. Derek chuckled and Rod wore a look of pride. Hannibal’s impression was that he was fishing for a compliment.