Right as Rain

'"Get Down." Here it is.' Strange turned the bass dial and put more bottom into the mix. 'What's Ron doin' on Monday, you know?'

'He's workin' a couple of jumpers, I think.'

'I could use his help.'

'We need the money he's gonna bring into the business, Derek. Don't tell me this Wilson thing is going to result in a big payday, 'cause I know you're not gonna end up charging his mother enough. Let Ron do his thing and go on and do yours.'

'Yeah, you're right.' Strange turned up the volume and sang,' "The po-lice… We're talkin' 'bout the po-lice."'

Janine laughed. 'You're in rare form tonight, honey.'

'Havin' a good time, I guess.'

'Me, too. I like Juana. That's a together young lady right there. Going to law school down at GW, you know that? Might have her talk to Lionel about it, let him know in a backdoor kind of way that anybody can do anything, they set their mind to it. You know she didn't come from any kind of privilege or nothin' like that.'

'What about Terry? You think he's good for her?'

'They stay together, they're gonna have problems they don't even know about yet. Not to mention, all you've got to do is look in his eyes and see, that's an intense young man. He's got a lot of things to work out his own self before he can take on the responsibilities of a real relationship. But I do like him.'

Strange nodded, looking in the rearview mirror at the black VW following his car. 'So do I.'

In the Bug, Quinn shifted the stick while Juana worked the clutch and steered with her left hand. Her right hand was going through a box of tapes that sat in her lap.

'How about Lucinda Williams?' said Juana.

'The chick on Laverne and Shirley?'

'You're thinkin' of Cindy Williams.'

'I'm fuckin' with you, girl.'

'Here, put this in, you'll like it.'

Quinn slipped the tape into the deck. 'Metal Firecracker' came through the system, filling the interior of the car.

'This rocks,' said Quinn.

'Yeah, Lucinda is bad.'

Quinn chuckled, looking through the windshield. 'Derek's got that Caddy all waxed up. I bet he really loves that car.'

'What's wrong with that?'

'Nothin'. I'm sayin' he's proud of it, is all. His age group, the symbol of success is a Cadillac. You know what I mean.'

'I guess I do.'

When Juana was a kid, she heard a white boy in her elementary school class call a Cadillac a 'nigger boat.' She had told herself from the start that Terry wasn't 'like that' in any kind of way. But how could you know what was really in a person's heart? He had downed more than a few beers tonight, and maybe this was him for real, loose and talking truly for the first time. Maybe what he believed was out of his control, that everything he had learned had been taught to him, and had been ingrained in him irreversibly, long ago. And maybe she was just being too sensitive. Once you started going in that direction, you could drive yourself crazy over something that was probably nothing at all.

'What's wrong?' said Quinn, looking at her face.

'Nothing, Tuh-ree,' said Juana, finding his hand and giving it a gentle squeeze. 'I was just thinking of you, that's all.'

21

Strange was doing something he called 'the chicken leg,' Janine dancing beside him, as 'Night Train' blared through his living room stereo. Quinn was nearby, shouting out encouragement between hits from a can of beer. Juana sat on the couch, twisting up a number from some herb and papers she had found in her purse. Greco lay on the floor with his head between his paws, his tail slowly thumping the carpet.

'Sonny Liston used to train to that one,' said Strange, as the song ended.

'Like you were doin' right there?' asked Quinn.

'Naw, man, that was a dance we used to do. Check this out.' Strange held up a CD with a photograph of a sixties-looking white girl on its cover. 'Mr Otis Redding. Otis Blue.'

'You already played that Solomon Burke. What, are we working our way up to modern times here?'

'This is the man right here,' Strange said, as Steve Cropper's bluesy guitar kicked it off on 'Ole Man Trouble,' the horns and then Otis's vocal coming behind it.

'Got any Motown?'

'Shoot, Terry, Motown ain't nothin' but soul music for white people, man.'

'How do I know? I wasn't even alive when this shit was playin' on the radio.'

'And I was still gettin' press-and-curls,' added Janine. 'Barely a child.'

'I was there,' said Strange. 'And it was right.'

Juana walked over with a joint in her hand. 'You guys want some of this?'

'I do,' said Quinn.

'Been a while for me,' said Strange.

'Come on,' said Juana.

'You all aren't gonna start acting funny now, are you?' asked Janine.

'What's this "you all" stuff?' said Strange.

The four of them stood in the middle of the living room floor and smoked the joint. Strange took Quinn's shotgun, but Juana refused it. Janine just waved her hand and laughed. By the time the joint was a roach, they were all alternately giggling and arguing over the next piece of music to be played.

Strange put Motor Booty Affair on the CD player and turned up the volume. 'The power of Parliament. Now we're gonna roll with it, y'all.'

The four of them danced, tentatively at first, to the complex, dense songs. The bass line was snaky and insistent, and the melodies bubbled up in the mix, and as the rhythms insinuated themselves into their bodies they let go and found the groove. They had broken a sweat by the fifth cut.

Strange dimmed the lights and put on Al Green's The Belle Album.

'Reminds me of those blue-light parties we used to have,' said Strange.

'That was before my time, too,' said Janine, kissing him on the mouth.

They slow-dragged to the title tune. Janine had her cheek resting on Strange's chest, moving in her stocking feet. Quinn and Juana made out like high-schoolers as they danced. As the cut ended, Janine checked her watch and told Strange that it was time to go.

'Lionel ought to be getting back to my house by now,' she said. 'I want to be there for him when he arrives.'

'Yeah, we need to clear out of here,' said Strange.

'Where's the head?' asked Quinn.

'Up the stairs,' said Strange.

Quinn went up to the second floor. He saw the bathroom, an open door that led to a bedroom and sleeper porch, and two more bedrooms, one of which had been set up as an office. Quinn looked over his shoulder at the empty flight of stairs and walked into the office.

The office appeared to be well used. Strange's desk was a countertop set on two columns of file cabinets. Atop the desk was a monitor, speakers, a keyboard, and a mouse pad, and scattered papers and general clutter. Quinn went around the desk.

Beside the desk, Strange had mounted a wooden CD rack to the wall. In the rack were western movie sound tracks: the Leone Dollars trilogy, Once Upon a Time in the West, The Magnificent Seven, Return of the Magnificent Seven, My Name Is Nobody, Navajo Joe, The War Wagon, Two Mules for Sister Sara, The Professionals, Duel at Diablo, The Big Country, The Big Gundown, and others. There was no evidence in this room of the funk and soul music from the sixties and seventies that Strange loved so much. Quinn wondered if Strange was hiding this collection here, if he was embarrassed to have his taste for western sound tracks on display for his friends.

Quinn looked at the papers on the desk. Stock related documents, mostly, along with report forms with the Strange Investigations logo printed across the top. A heap of matchbooks and a faded photograph of a pretty young woman. He picked the photograph up, recognizing the image as that of Chris Wilson's striking sister. Quinn remembered her from the newspaper stories and television reports that had been broadcast the day of the funeral.

'You see a toilet in here?' said Strange from the doorway.