"Got you, Your Majesty," he breathed.
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CHAPTER TWENTY‑
EIGHT
Back at headquarters, Decker found that Hicks had left a scribbled note for him.
I checked the historical records at City Hall. John Mason's great-great-grandfather was Hiram P. Mason, who was manager out on Cudahy's tobacco plantation out near Tuckahoe. He served as a captain in Heth's division in the First Army Corps during the Civil War, November 1863–May 1864.
Decker went over to the window and looked down at Grace Street. It was only a few minutes past noon and—unlike him—nobody had a shadow. The street looked bright and unreal, like a scene from The Bodysnatchers. For all he knew, the So-Scary Man was down there, too, walking right through the crowds, unseen, unnoticed, on his way to mur‑
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der another victim. On his way to murder him, if Cathy was right.
He was driving slowly along St. James Street when he saw Junior Abraham's brother Treasure walking toward him, with three other young men and a girl with cornrow hair and the tightest white jeans that he had ever seen. She looked as if she were naked and her legs had simply been painted white. He pulled into the curb and put down the window.
"Hi, Treasure," he said, without taking his eyes off the girl. "How about you and me having a little friendly conversation?"
Treasure sniffed and jerked his head. He was wearing sloppy brown cargo pants and a green T-shirt with The Big Gig printed on it in red letters. "Kind of busy right now, Lieutenant."
"Listen . . . I'm working my butt off trying to find out who killed your brother. You can spare me a couple of minutes, can't you?"
"I don't know. Maybe it's better if we kind of forget about it, you know? People like that ... you don't want to go upsetting people like that."
"People like what?"
"I don't know, man. People who come up to you when you're eating your lunch and blow your fucking head off."
Decker reached across and opened the passenger door. "Ten minutes tops. Come on. Junior deserves that much, doesn't he?"
The girl winked at Decker and said, "Go on, Treasure. Go talk to the nice policeman. You can catch up with us later."
Treasure reluctantly heaved himself into the car. Decker immediately pulled away from the curb with a brisk squeal of tires and headed north.
"Where are we going, man?" Treasure asked, after they had driven six blocks. "I thought you just wanted to talk."
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"I do. But I want you to meet a friend of mine. Somebody who can help you remember what happened."
"Hey . . . you're not going to pull out my toenails or nothing?"
"Of course not. We want to have a little relaxing chin music, that's all."
"I told you . . . I don't remember what the guy looked like. He was just kind of, like, normal. Not too tall, not too short."
"We'll see." He picked up his cell phone and punched out Hicks's home number.
He drove out to Valley Road and parked in front of the Hicks house. As they climbed out, Rhoda opened the front door, wearing a flowery yellow sundress. "Tim not with you?" she asked, looking around.
"No, poor guy. He had a whole heap of paperwork to finish off. This is Treasure, the young man I was telling you about on the phone. Treasure, meet Rhoda."
Treasure sniffed and wiped his hands on his pants. "Come along in," Rhoda said. "Do you want coffee or anything? Maybe a soda?"
"No, we're fine, thanks, Rhoda. I promised not to take up too much of Treasure's time."
"Treasure, that's an unusual name."
"My mom always used to call me Mama's Little Treasure. It stuck even when I grew big."
"That's so sweet."
"You think so? I think it's wholly embarrassing."
Rhoda had already spread a neatly pressed white tablecloth on the kitchen table and set up two white candles. She drew the blinds and lit the candles, and then she sat down, her hands pressed together as if she were praying. Treasure looked at Decker and said, "What?"
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Rhoda said, "All you have to do is sit down and try to relax."
"Go on," Decker urged him, and so he dragged out a chair and sat down, sniffing again and jerking his head.
Rhoda took hold of his hand. "What we're trying to do today, Treasure, is to talk to Junior."
"Say what? Junior had his nut blown off. Junior can't talk."
"Junior's dead, for sure. He doesn't have a physical presence anymore. But his spirit lives on, and always will, just as all of our spirits live on. God creates us, Treasure, and you don't think that God would ever allow His precious creations to die?"
"Listen, Lieutenant, I thought you and me was going to talk. I didn't think you was bringing me to no prayer meeting."
"This isn't a prayer meeting, Treasure. This is to help you remember."
"I told you. How many times did I told you? I can't exactly remember what the guy looked like. It all happened so fast, it was like I couldn't focus my eyes."
Rhoda turned her head abruptly to the left and said, "Junior! Junior Abraham! Your brother Treasure's here."
Treasure bobbed up out of his seat and looked around, wide-eyed. When he realized that Junior wasn't standing right behind him, he blew out his cheeks and said, "Shit, you scared me then. You really scared me."
Rhoda closed her eyes. "Junior Abraham, your brother's here. Your brother wants you to tell him what happened to you."
Treasure said, "Come on, this is seriously nuts. I went to Junior's funeral, I laid a rose on top of his casket. He can't talk to me."
Decker pressed his finger to his lips. "Give it a chance, Treasure. I've seen this myself, and it works."
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"Maybe I don't want to talk to Junior. I mean, maybe I'm crapping my pants here."
"Your brother wouldn't do anything to harm you. Besides, he deserves justice, doesn't he?"
"I don't know. I guess."
Treasure stayed quiet, but he still couldn't stop himself from twitching and flinching. Rhoda took out her okuele and dropped it onto the table. She made a note of how the medallions had fallen, and then she said, "Junior, listen to me. Your brother's here. He wants to know who hurt you."
Treasure looked more and more unhappy, but Rhoda kept on calling Junior, her voice curiously flat, as if she were speaking from another room.
"Junior, you haven't gone far, I know that. You're still very close to us. Speak to us, Junior."
She cast the okuele three more times. More than ten minutes had gone by, and even Decker was beginning to feel that this wasn't going to work. But then he began to notice that the kitchen appeared to be growing darker, as if clouds were sliding over the sun. One of the candle flames gave a nervous jump, and then the other, and then they both began to burn brighter.
"I can feel you, Junior. I know you're here. Talk to your brother, ask him to remember what really happened."
The candle flames rose higher and higher, and they began to burn so fiercely that they hissed, like oxyacetylene torches. The light was so dazzling that Treasure had to shield his eyes with his hand. In the very center of the light, Decker thought that he could make out a face, but it was so intense that it was impossible to say for sure.
It was only when Rhoda began to speak that he knew that she had contacted Junior Abraham, wherever he was, in heaven or hell, or some place in between. Her voice was
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very harsh and low, and it made Decker feel as if his scalp were being pricked by dozens of sewing needles.
"We was sitting together, man, and we was talking about the Down Home Family Reunion."