Right as Rain

George Pelecanos Right as Rain

The first book in the Derek Strange and Terry Quinn series, 2001

For Emily

1

What Derek Strange was worried about, looking at Jimmy Simmons sitting there, spilling over a chair on the other side of his desk, was that Simmons was going to pick some of Strange's personal shit up off the desktop in front of him and start winging it across the room. Either that or get to bawling like a damn baby. Strange didn't know which thing he wanted to happen less. He had some items on that desk that meant a lot to him: gifts women had given him over the years, tokens of gratitude from clients, and a couple of Redskins souvenirs from back in the 1960s. But watching a man cry, that was one thing he could not take.

'Tell me again, Derek.' Simmons's lip was trembling, and pools of tears were threatening to break from the corners of his bloodshot eyes. 'Tell me again what that motherfucker looked like, man.'

'It's all in the report,' said Strange.

'I'm gonna kill him, see? And right after that, I'm gonna kill his ass again.'

'You're talkin' no sense, Jimmy.'

'Fifteen years of marriage and my woman's just now decided to go and start taking some other man's dick? You're gonna tell me now about sense? God damn!'

Jimmy Simmons struck his fist to the desktop, next to a plaster football player with a spring-mounted head. The player, a white dude originally whose face Janine's son, Lionel, had turned dark brown with paint, wore the old gold trousers and burgundy jersey from back in the day, and he carried a football cradled in one arm. The head jiggled, and the Redskins toy tilted on its base. Strange reached over, grabbed the player, and righted it before it could tip over.

'Take it easy. You break that, I can't even charge you for it, 'cause it's priceless, hear?'

'I'm sorry, Derek.' A tear sprang loose from Simmons's right eye and ran down one of his plump cheeks. 'Shit.'

'Here you go, man.' Strange ripped a Kleenex from the box atop his desk and handed it to Simmons, who dabbed tenderly at his cheek. It was a delicate gesture for a man whose last day under three hundred pounds was a faded memory.

'I need to know what the man looked like,' said Simmons. 'I need to know his name.'

'It's all in the report,' Strange repeated, pushing a manila envelope across the desk. 'But you don't want to be doing nothin' about it, hear?'

Simmons opened the envelope and inched out its contents slowly and warily, the way a child approaches an open casket for the first time. Strange watched Simmons's eyes as they moved across the photographs and the written report.

It hadn't taken Strange all that long to get the goods on Denice Simmons. It was a tail-and-surveillance job, straight up, the simplest, dullest, and most common type of work he did. He had followed Denice to her boyfriend's place over in Springfield, Virginia, on two occasions and waited on the street until she came out and drove back into D.C. The third time Strange had tailed her, on a Sunday night when Jimmy Simmons was up in Atlantic City at an electronics show, he had waited the same way, but Denice did not emerge from the man's apartment. The lights went out in the third-story window where the man lived, and this was all Strange needed. He filled out the paperwork in the morning, picked up the photographs he had taken to a one-hour shop, and called Jimmy Simmons to his office the same day.

'How long?' said Simmons, not looking up from the documents.

'Three months, I'd say.'

'How you know that?'

'Denice got no other kind of business being over in Virginia, does she?'

'She works in the District. She's got no friends over in Virginia -'

'Your own credit card bills, the ones you supplied? Denice has been charging gas at a station over there by the Franconia exit for three, three and a half months. The station's just a mile down the road from our boy's apartment.'

'You think she'd be smarter than that.' Simmons nearly grinned with affection. 'She never does like to pay for her own gas. Always puts it on the card so I'll have to pay, come bill time. She's tight with her money, see. Funny for a woman to be that way. And though she knows I'll be stroking the checks, she always has to stop for the cheapest gas, even if it means driving out of her way. I bet if you checked, you'd see they were selling gas at that station dirt cheap.'

'Dollar and a penny for low-lead,' said Strange.

Simmons rose from his chair, his belly and face quivering as if his flesh were being blown by a sudden gust of wind. 'Well, I'll see you, Derek. I'll take care of your services, soon as I see a bill.'

'Janine will get it out to you straightaway.'

'Right. And thanks for the good work.'

'Always hate it when it turns out like this, Jimmy.'

Simmons placed a big hat with a red feather in its band on his big head. 'You're just doing your job.'

Strange sat in his office, waiting to hear Simmons go out the door. It would take a few minutes, as long as it took Simmons to flirt with Janine and for Janine to get rid of him. Strange heard the door close. He got out from behind his desk and put himself into a midlength black leather jacket lined with quilt and a thin layer of down. He took a PayDay bar, which Janine had bought for him, off the desk and slipped it into a pocket of the jacket.

Out in the reception area of the office, Strange stopped at Janine Baker's desk. Behind her, a computer terminal showed one of the Internet's many sites that specialized in personal searches. Janine's brightly colored outfit was set off against her dark, rich skin. Her red lipstick picked up the red of the dress. She was a pretty middle-aged woman, liquid eyed, firm breasted, wide of hip, and lean legged.

'That was quick,' he said.

'He wasn't his usual playful self. He said I was looking lovely today-'

'You are.'

Janine blushed. 'But he didn't go beyond that. Didn't seem like his heart was all that in it.'

'I just gave him the bad news about his wife. She was getting a little somethin'-somethin' on the side with this young auto parts clerk, sells batteries over at the Pep Boys in northern Virginia.'

'How'd they meet? He see her stalled out on the side of the road or something?'

'Yeah, he's one of those good Samaritans you hear about.'

'Pulled over to give her a jump, huh.'

'Now, Janine.'

'This the same guy she was shackin' up with two years ago?'

'Different guy. Different still than the guy she was running with three years before that.'

'What's he gonna do?'

'He went through the motions with me, telling me what he was going to do to that guy. But all's he'll do is, he'll make Denice suffer a little bit. Not with his hands, nothin' like that. Jimmy wouldn't touch Denice in that way. No, they'll be doing some kind of I'm Sorry ceremony for the next few days, and then he'll forgive her, until the next one comes along.'

'Why's he stay with her?'

'He loves her. And I think she loves him, too. So I guess there's no chance for you and Big Jimmy. I don't think he'll be leaving her any time soon.'

'Oh, I can wait.'

Strange grinned. 'Give him a chance to fill out a little bit, huh?'

'He fills out any more, we'll have to put one of those garage doors on the front of this place just to let him in.'

'He fills out any more, Fat Albert, Roseanne, Liz Taylor, and Sinbad gonna get together and start telling Jimmy Simmons weight jokes.'

'He fills out any more-'

'Hold up, Janine. You know what we're doing right here?'

'What?'

'It's called "doing the dozens."'

'That so.'

'Uh-huh. White man on NPR yesterday, was talking about this book he wrote about African American culture? Said that doing the dozens was this thing we been doin' for generations. Called it the precursor of rap music'