“Black guy,” said Strong, who was black. “It’s okay to say it.”
“Kind of an extreme way to rob someone, isn’t it?”
“Homicides are way down in the city. We like to brag on that. But violent robberies and assaults are pretty much up citywide. East of the river, but also on the Hill. It can get pretty rough.”
“Why stab her, though? Why not just hit her on the head or push her to the ground?”
“That’s a good question.”
“Maybe he wanted to hurt her because she was white.”
“That’s your theory?” said Strong.
They looked at each other without speaking. It was perfectly comfortable, in the way that silence can be between men.
“Let me ask you something,” said Lucas. “You ever hear of the Ammidown killing, happened in D.C. around nineteen seventy-one?”
“You weren’t even born in seventy-one. Neither was I.”
“My father told me about it many times. He was a Washingtoniana freak. Loved his local history.”
“Go ahead.”
“Short version is, a white woman named Linda Ammidown was raped and murdered under the East Capitol Street Bridge. A black guy, a local pool player, was arrested and convicted of the crime, and sentenced to the chair by a Judge Sirica... the same Judge Sirica who would later get famous during the Watergate trials. A little more than a week later the Supreme Court threw out the death penalty, so the killer didn’t fry. Eventually, it came to light that Robert Ammidown, the victim’s husband, had hired the guy to kill his wife. It was a contract hit.”
“Black dude rapes and murders a white woman, it deflects the suspicion away from her husband.”
“Exactly.”
“What happened to those two gentlemen?”
“Ammidown pled to second-degree murder. Word is, the guy who did the killing is now out on the street. Friend of mine said he saw him recently in a pool hall on Central Avenue.”
“And the point of that story is what?”
“Something to think on, is all.”
“What do you know, exactly?”
“I’m making a suggestion, Detective. If you ever arrest this so-called Rasta and get him in the box, I’d ask him who paid him to do the job.”
“Thanks for the tip.”
“Just doing my civic duty.”
“Fuck you and give me your phone number,” said Strong.
Lucas gave him the number to one of his disposables. Detective Strong drifted, and Lucas had a seat.
When Amanda Brand returned, he went home. There was nothing else for him to do.
Not long after he entered his apartment, he picked up one of several disposables he owned and dialed the number for Billy King that Charles Lumley had given up the day they’d tortured him and run him out of town.
King answered.
“Hello.”
“This is Spero Lucas. Is this Billy King?”
“Do I know you?”
“You know what I’ve done.”
After a silence, King said, “Are you on a clean line?”
“Yes. You?”
“Uh-huh. So you’re the one who stole my painting and murdered Serge. The guy in the parking lot, right? It’s good to put a name to the face. How’d you get this number?”
“Charles Lumley,” said Lucas. “We should talk.”
“I’m listening.”
“Face-to-face.”
“Call it,” said King.
They agreed on a place and time.
Twenty-Five
Billy King wore a faded red polo shirt, frayed khaki shorts, and Sperry topsiders with no socks. His sunglasses hung on a leash over his broad chest. He was seated at a two-top across from Lucas, in a new Ethiopian-owned coffee shop on Georgia Avenue, in Petworth, located on the second floor of a house.
Lucas had arrived a half hour early and found a seat with its back to a wall. When King had walked in, moving with a jaunty strut, he made an impression. Close up, he was even larger than Lucas had remembered. Below the waist, he was an animal. Freakishly flanked, a full-on beast. He’d be hard to take down.
The morning rush was over, but there were still several patrons seated at tables and on couches, killing time, working on their laptops, using the free Wi-Fi. Others stood by the go-counter, picking up stirring sticks and napkins, glancing at their phones before hurriedly leaving the shop.
“Suckers,” said King, pointing his chin in the direction of two young go-getters who were heading out the door. “Where they going that’s so important?”
“I imagine they’ve got jobs.”
“I work. So do you. But you and me, we don’t have to be anywhere at a certain time. We don’t walk fast unless we want to.” King brushed blond hair off his forehead. “So you’re an independent contractor?”
“Something like that.”
“Like one of those Blackwater guys.”
“No, not like them.”
“You find things.”
“Sometimes.”
“I’m curious. How’d Grace Kinkaid pay you? A flat fee or a commission?”
“Aren’t you gonna ask me how she’s doing?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“She’s going to recover,” said Lucas. “I’m not sure if that bothers you or makes you happy.”
“Oh, has she been ill?” King furrowed his brow in a comic manifestation of concern.
“Cut the bullshit. You didn’t have to do that to her. This was between you and me.”
“She hired you, didn’t she?”
“Yes.”
“Then she brought this on herself.”
“You’re a coward, Billy.”
“Careful.” King smiled pleasantly, showing Lucas his white teeth.
“Your man gave you your money’s worth. He almost cut off one of her breasts.”
“That’s a damn shame. Grace had nice tits. A little smaller than I normally like, but nice. And she had a real tight pussy, Lucas. For her age, I mean. Fit me like a glove.”
“Fucking degenerate.”
“I’m supposed to be ashamed? Of what? I got a big pipe and I like to use it. I make women come. I don’t buy ’em flowers or expensive dinners or any of that bullshit, because that’s all smoke and a waste of time. I take them straight to the bedroom and I give them what they want. It’s as simple as that. You know damn well what I’m talking about. You’re a healthy young man. You’re the same way.”
Lucas thought of Charlotte, naked beneath him, her mouth open, her face contorted in climax.
Lucas said, “No.”
“Sure you are. You ever fuck a woman against her will, Lucas?”
“Never.”
“Not even in high school, in the backseat of a car? Girl says no, but you keep trying, right? You talk her into it, or she gets tired of fighting and lets you in. Your cock’s so hard a cat can’t scratch it, and all you can think of is you. You’re not concerned with that girl’s feelings anymore. You just need to bust. Isn’t that right?”
Lucas said nothing.
“Don’t be so high and mighty,” said King. “It’s the same for you as it is for me. Once you get inside that box, your conscience goes out the window.”
“How would you know?” said Lucas.
“What’s that?”
“I hear you can’t get there unless you put it in a woman’s mouth.”
King sat back. For the first time Lucas saw the infinite nothing in his blue eyes.
“Let’s get to it,” said King.
“Fine.”
“What are we doing here?”
“You’re all alone now. Your crew is gone. Think about that.”
“I have. But I don’t need ’em, see? I’m stronger when I go solo.”
“Then go elsewhere,” said Lucas.
“You’re in no position to threaten me.”