Strange closed his notebook and walked to the facility.
He checked in and spent a long half hour in the waiting room. He was then led to the interview room, subdivided by Plexiglas partitions into several semiprivate spaces. There were two other meetings being conducted in the room between lawyers and their clients. Strange had a seat at a legal table across from Granville Oliver.
Oliver wore the standard-issue orange jumpsuit of the jail. His hands were cuffed and his feet were manacled. Behind a window, a guard sat in a darkened booth, watching the room.
Oliver nodded at Strange. “Thanks for comin’ in.”
“No problem. Can we talk here?”
“’Bout the only place we can talk.”
“They treating you all right?”
“All right?” Oliver snorted. “They let me out of my cell one hour for every forty-eight. I’m down in Special Management, what they call the Hole. Place they put the high-profile offenders. You’re gonna like this, Strange: Guess who else they got down there with me.”
“Who?”
“Garfield Potter and Carlton Little. Oh, I don’t see ’em or nothin’ like that. They’re in deep lockup, just like me. But we’re down there together, just the same.”
“You’ve got more to worry about right now than them.”
“True.” Oliver leaned forward. “Reason I’m telling you is, I got contacts all over. Last couple of years I made friends with some El Ryukens. You know about them, right? They claim to be descended from the Moors. Now, I don’t know about all that. What I do know is, these are about the baddest motherfuckers walkin’ the face of this earth. They fear nothing and take shit from no man. They got people everywhere, and like I say, me and them are friends. Wherever Potter and Little go, whatever prison they get sent to? They will be got.”
“You don’t need to tell me about it, Granville.”
“Just thought you’d like to know.”
Strange shifted his position in his chair. “Say why you called me here.”
“I want to hire you, Strange.”
“To do what?”
“To work with my lawyers. I got two of the best black attorneys in this city.”
“Ives and Colby. I read the papers.”
“They’re going to need a private detective to help build my case against the government’s. It’s routine, but this case is anything but.”
“I know how it works. I do this sort of thing regularly.”
“I’m sure you do. But this here ain’t the usual kind of drama. It’s life and death. And I’ll only have a black man working on my case. You do good work, so there it is. What those lawyers are gonna need is some conflicting testimony to the testimony the government is gonna get out of Phillip Wood.”
“In a general sense, what’s he saying?”
“I’ll tell you specifically. He’s gonna get up on the stand and say that I ordered the hit on my uncle. That I gave Phil the order directly, and he carried it out.”
“Did you?”
Oliver shrugged. “What difference does it make?”
“None, I guess.”
Oliver turned his head and stared at one of the room’s blank white walls as if it were a window to the outside world. “They got Phil next door, you know that? In the Correctional Treatment Facility. He’s in one of those low-number cells, like CB-four, CB-five, sumshit like that. The special cells they got reserved for the snitches. Phil got punked out the first stretch he did. Got ass-raped like a motherfucker, and he can’t do no more prison. That’s what all this is about. Course, he could be got the way Potter and Little gonna be got. But that would take some time, and time is something I do not have.”
“Told you I don’t need to know about that.”
“Fine. But will you help me?”
Strange didn’t answer.
“You wouldn’t want to sit back and watch someone kill me, would you, Strange?”
“No.”
“Course not. But they got me on these RICO charges, and that’s what they aim to do. You remember that photo I showed you, that promo shot I did for my new record, with me holding the guns? The prosecution’s gonna use that in court against me. You know why? Do you know why they picked me to execute, the only death penalty case in the District in years, instead of all the other killers they got in D.C.? Well, that picture says it all. They got a picture of a strong, proud, I-don’t-give-a-good-fuck-about-nothin’ black man holding a gun. America’s worst nightmare, Strange. They can sell my execution to the public, and ain’t nobody gonna lose a wink of sleep over it. ’Cause it’s just a nigger who’s been out here killin’ other niggers. To America, it is no loss.”
Strange said nothing. He held Oliver’s stare.
“And now,” said Oliver, “the attorney general wants to help me right into that chamber where they’re gonna give me that lethal injection. She and the government gonna help me now. Wasn’t no government lookin’ to help me when I was a project kid. Wasn’t no government lookin’ to help me when I walked through my fucked-up neighborhood on the way to my fucked-up schools. Where were they then? Now they’re gonna come into my life and help me. Little bit late for that, don’t you think?”
“You had it rough,” said Strange, “like a whole lot of kids. I’m not gonna deny you that. But you made your own bed, too.”
“I did. Can’t say I’m ashamed of it, either.” Oliver closed his eyes slowly, then opened them again. “Will you work for me?”
“Have your lawyers call my office,” said Strange.
Strange signaled the guard. He left Oliver sitting at the table in chains.
“HOW y’all feel?”
“Fired up!”
“How y’all feel?”
“Fired up!”
“Breakdown.”
“Whoo!”
“Breakdown.”
“Whoo!”
“Breakdown.”
“Whoo!”
The Petworth Panthers had formed a circle beside the Roosevelt field. Prince and Dante Morris were in the center of the circle, leading the Pee Wees in calisthenics. Strange and Blue and Dennis Arrington stood together in conference nearby, going over the roster and positions. Lamar and Lionel tossed a football to each other on the sky blue track.
In the stands, Janine sat with the usual small but vocal group of parents and guardians. Among them were the parents and guardians rooting for the opposing team, the Anacostia Royals.
Arrington noticed a white man and white woman walking slowly across the field, the woman’s arm through the man’s, where two refs stood conferring at the fifty-yard line. Arrington nudged Strange, who looked across the field and smiled.
“Terry,” said Strange, shaking Quinn’s hand as he arrived. “Sue.”
“Hey, Derek,” said Sue Tracy, pulling an errant strand of blond away from her face.
“Runnin’ a little late, aren’t you?” said Strange.
“Had a meeting with my attorney,” said Quinn. His cheek was bandaged. His jaw line was streaked yellow, the bruise there nearly faded away.
“They’re not gonna drop the charge?” said Strange.
“Assault with intent,” said Quinn, nodding. “They got to charge me with something, right?”
“Well,” said Strange, a light in his eyes, “wasn’t like Wilson came to your apartment and kicked your ass.”
“Right,” said Quinn. “But with Stella’s testimony, he’s gonna do some time.”
“Soon as they take those straws out his nose and rewire his jaw.”
“It’ll keep him off the stroll for a while, anyway. As for me, my lawyer says, I get sentenced at all, it’ll be suspended.”
“The authorities don’t want no one mistaking you for a hero.”