“So you’re just giving up on those boys,” said Quinn. “No possible hope, ever, is that what you’re sayin’?”
“For them? That’s right.”
“You can call the MPD in now if you want to. End it right here.”
“You think that would end it?”
“There’s no death penalty in the District, if that’s what you mean. But they’d do long time. They’d get twenty-five, thirty years. Maybe on a good day they’d get life.”
“And what would that do? Give those boys a bed and three squares a day, when Joe Wilder’s lying cold in the ground? Joe’s gonna be dead forever, man—”
“Derek, I know.”
“Then you’re gonna read in the paper how the police solved the murder. The big lie. Can’t no murder ever be solved. Not unless the victim gonna get out of his grave and walk, breathe in the air. Hug his mother and play ball and grow up to be a man and lie down with a woman . . . live a life, Terry, the way God intended him to. So how you gonna solve it so Joe can do that?” Strange shook his head. “I’m not lookin’ to solve this one. I’m looking to resolve it.”
“You telling me, Derek? Or are you trying to convince yourself?”
“A little bit of both, I guess.”
“You do this,” said Quinn, “you lose everything. You believe in God, Derek, I know you do. How you gonna reconcile this with your faith?”
“Haven’t figured that one out yet. But I will.”
Quinn nodded slowly. “Well, you’re on your own.”
“You don’t want any part of it, huh?”
“It’s your decision,” said Quinn. “Anyway, I’ve got something I’ve got to do tonight myself.”
Strange looked Quinn over carefully. “You’re goin’ after that pimp.”
“I have to.”
“It’s not just what he did to the girl, is it? That pimp tried to punk you out.”
“Like you said: It’s a little bit of both.”
“Sure it is.” Strange smiled sadly. “Shit’s older than time, man. Garfield Potter killed Joe Wilder ’cause he thought Joe’s uncle disrespected him on a hundred-dollar debt. Now I’m gonna do what I think I have to, my idea of making it right. And all of it started ’cause this boy Potter thought he got took for bad.”
Quinn finished his coffee and dropped the cup on the floor. “I gotta go.”
“Go ahead, then. But don’t forget your gun. It’s under the seat there.”
“I won’t need it.”
“Neither will I.”
“I better leave it. Can’t be carrying it around town now, can I?”
“Plus, you wouldn’t feel right, would you, to have any kind of drop on that pimp?”
“That’s not it.”
“Okay. You need a ride?”
“I’ll catch a Metrobus up Georgia. I can get off at Buchanan and pick up my car.”
“You gonna hang out at the bus stop, in this neighborhood? At night?”
“I’ll be all right.”
Strange reached over and shook Quinn’s hand. “I’m gonna pray that you will be.”
“Keep your cell on,” said Quinn, “and I’ll do the same with mine. Let’s talk later on, all right?”
Strange nodded. “See you on the other side.”
Quinn got out of the car and shut the door. Strange eyed him in the rearview, walking down Warder in that cocky way of his, hands in his leather, shoulders squared, going by groups of young men moving about on the sidewalks and gathered on the corners.
Quinn went under a street lamp and passed through its light. Then he was indistinguishable from the others, just another shadow moving through the darkness that had fallen on the streets.
chapter 28
STRANGE made a call on his cell. He spoke to the man on the other end of the line for a long while. When their conversation was done, Strange said, “See you then.” He hit “end,” punched Janine’s number into the grid, pressed “talk,” and waited to connect. He got Janine on the third ring.
“Baker residence.”
“Derek here.”
“Where are you?”
“Workin’ this Joe Wilder thing. Sittin’ in my car.”
“Where?”
“Out here on the street.”
“You’re not drinking coffee, are you?”
“I did.”
“You know how it runs through you.”
Strange found himself smiling at the sound of her voice. “Just wanted to call and make sure Lionel got to practice.”
“Lydell came by and got him. Told me to tell you, if we spoke, that they found this guy, Ray something, and picked him up.”
“Ray Boyer. He say if Boyer gave him anything?”
“Not yet. Lydell said that Boyer wanted to lawyer up first. Something to do with making sure the paperwork’s right so he gets the reward money.”
Strange knew now that he didn’t have much time.
“Why don’t you knock off for the day?” said Janine. “Sounds like the police have this in hand.”
“I think I’ll stay out some, see what happens.”
“Must be getting chilly in that car. And I know you’re not lettin’ the heat run. You, who’s always telling Ron Lattimer that a running car kills a surveillance, what with the exhaust smoke coming out the pipes—”
“You know me too well.”
“That I do.”
“You asking me to come over and warm myself up?”
“Are you ready to do some serious talking?”
“Not yet,” said Strange. “Soon. But I didn’t just call about Lionel and practice.”
“Well?”
“Wanted to ask you something. My mother used to tell me, You can’t trade a bad life for a good. Do you think that’s right, Janine?”
“Do I think it’s right? I don’t know . . . . Where are you, Derek? You don’t sound right.”
“Never mind where I’m at.” Strange shifted his weight on the bench seat. “I love you, Janine.”
“Us lovin’ each other is not the issue, Derek.”
“Good bye, baby.”
Strange cut the call. He stared up the street at the row house. If he was going to do this, then he had to do it now. He found his notepad beside him, and on the top sheet, the phone number of the house. He punched the numbers into his cell. As he did, he went over in his head what he had planned. It was all risk, a long play. He couldn’t waver or stumble now.
The phone rang on the other end. A silhouette moved behind the curtains of the row house window.
“Yeah.”
“Garfield Potter?”
“That’s right.”
“Lorenze Wilder. Joe Wilder. Those names mean anything to you?”
“Who?”
“Lorenze Wilder. Joe Wilder.”
“How’d you get my number?”
“Not too hard, once you find out where a person lives. I been followin’ you, Garfield.”
“Man, who the fuck is this?”
“Derek Strange.”
“That supposed to mean somethin’ to me?”
“If you saw me, you’d remember. I was coachin’ the football team that little boy played on. The boy you killed.”
“I ain’t kill no boy.”
“I’m the one you and your partners were crackin’ on, callin’ me Fred Sanford and shit while I was walking to my car. Y’all were smokin’ herb in a beige Caprice. You and a boy with cornrows, and another boy, had a long nose. Remember me now? ’Cause I sure do remember you.”
“So?”
Strange heard a crack in Potter’s voice.
“I followed Lorenze and the boy the night you killed them. I was responsible for that boy, and I followed. Only, you weren’t riding in a beige Caprice that night. It was a white Plymouth with a police package. Isn’t that right, Garfield?”
“White Plymouth? That shit was on the news, any motherfucker own a television set gonna know that. You got somethin’ serious you want to say, then say it, old-time.”
“Maybe you want to say something, Garfield. You kill a boy—”