Right as Rain (23 page)

“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 coun—tertop 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, Dual 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.

Quinn looked up. “Sorry, man. I’m naturally nosy, I guess.”

Strange’s eyes were pink and lazy. He folded his arms and leaned on the door frame.

“Why have a photo of Wilson’s sister?” said Quinn.

“For the simple reason that I’m beginning to think Sondra Wilson’s the key to this whole thing.”

“You talk to her?”

Strange shook his head. “Gonna have to find her first. Her own mother doesn’t know where she is. Sondra’s a junkie, man, got a deep heroin jones. Been away from the house a long while now. Wilson was looking to hook up with her, maybe bring her back home, is what I think. And another thing I think is, on the night he was killed, Chris got a phone call had something to do with Sondra.”

Quinn dropped the photograph to the desktop. “You think Ricky Kane had something to do with that?”

“I like your instincts, Terry.”

“Well, do you?”

“It crossed my mind.”

“You need to talk to Kane.”

“If he’s involved, it won’t do any good to talk to him. It would shut him up for real, and I got no kind of leverage. It might even hurt my chances of finding Sondra.”

“That’s what you’re looking to do now?”

“Yeah,” said Strange. “Finish what Chris Wilson started. Bring her home.”

“Because you know you got nothing else for Leona Wilson, right? You know there was nothing deeper than what got put on the record about my involvement in the death of her son.”

“You tellin’ me?”

“I’m
asking
you, Derek.”

“Look here, man.” Strange rubbed his cheeks and exhaled slowly. “God
damn,
I am fucked up. Haven’t smoked herb in years, you want the truth. Don’t know why I did tonight. But I got to blame it on something, I guess.”

“Blame what?”

“The crazy thing I’m gettin’ ready to ask you to do. See, my associate, Ron, he’s gonna be busy next week. And I could use your help.”

“Name it.”

“A tail and surveillance on Ricky Kane, for starters. I was thinkin’ Monday morning.”

“Tell me what time.”

“You don’t even have a car.”

“I plan to go out this weekend and buy one.”

“Just like that.”

“Gettin’ tired of Juana chauffeuring me around.”

“Okay, then. I’ll call you Sunday evening, let you know where we can meet.”

“Derek?”

“What?”

“This mean I’m off the hook?”

“Aw, shit,” said Strange, chuckling from deep in his gut. “You’re somethin’, man.”

“I’m serious, Derek.”

“Okay.” Strange unfolded his arms. “That hook you’re talkin’ about, you put yourself on it. You got to admit to yourself the reality of the situation. You got to free your
own
self, man.”

“You just said —”

“I said that I suspect there was something with Chris Wilson and his sister. That her lifestyle is what drove him to D Street that night. But you yourself admitted that Wilson was tryin’ to tell you and your partner that he was a cop. He was screaming his badge number out to you, man, but you wouldn’t listen.”

“Look —”

“You wouldn’t
listen.
You saw a black man with a gun and you saw a criminal, and you
made up your mind.
Yeah, there was noise and confusion and lights, I know about all that. But would you have listened to him if he had been white? Would you have pulled that trigger if Wilson had been white? I don’t think so, Terry. Cut through all the extra bullshit, and you’re gonna have to just go ahead and admit it, man: You killed a man because he was black.”

Quinn stared into Strange’s eyes. Quinn wanted to say more in his defense, but the words wouldn’t come. He was certain that any words he could choose would be insufficient. How could a white man ever tell a black man that he wasn’t that way without sounding self—serving or duplicitous?

They heard Janine’s voice, calling them from the bottom of the stairs. Strange lowered his gaze to the floor.

“C’mon, Terry,” he said, his voice nearly a whisper. “We better go.”

QUINN
and Juana drove east to her row house on 10th. They went straight to her bedroom, where he stripped naked and undressed Juana from behind. He ran both hands up her inner thighs and slipped two fingers inside her. She arched her back and moaned as he pinched her swollen nipples. Then, very quickly, they were fucking on the bed, Juana on the edge of it with her calves resting on his shoulders, and Quinn thrusting with his feet still on the floor. It was fast and nearly violent; Juana came with a groaning howl. Quinn was right behind her, veins standing out on his forehead and neck. The bed had slid across the room, stopping when it hit the wall.

Quinn pulled out and slid Juana up to the center of the bed, putting a pillow under her head. They got beneath the blankets, holding a tight embrace, and what was left from them wet each other and the sheets. She stared up at him, not saying a word, her eyes saying everything. Soon she was breathing evenly. Her eyes fluttered, then closed completely, and she fell asleep.

LIONEL
Baker came home at one forty—five in the morning, nearly two hours past his curfew. Janine had been waiting in the living room, parting the curtains of the front window every few minutes to check for her son, as Strange sat patiently beside her. A Lexus finally pulled up on Quintana in front of her house, and when she saw her son emerge from the car, Janine said, “Thank the Lord.”

Strange knew Lionel had been smoking herb, or doing something other than just drinking, as soon as he walked through the front door. Lionel’s pupils were dilated, his movements awkward and slow. He didn’t look his mother in the eye as he greeted them with a “Hey” and tried to get past them and up the stairs without another word.

“Hold on a minute, Lionel,” said Janine.

“What is it?” he said, looking at her directly for the first time. He glanced at Strange, then back at his mother, and an impudent smile threatened to break on his face.

“Where you been, son?”

“Out with Ricky, just rollin’, listenin’ to music… . Can’t you just let me go up to my room for a change? You always be
stressin
and shit.”

Janine rose up from her seat. “Don’t you be takin’ a tone with me, young man. Me and Mr. Derek been sitting up, worried that you were in some kind of trouble, or worse. And now you come walking in here late, lookin’ all red—eyed —”

“How about y’all?”

“What?”

“Forget it, Mama,” said Lionel, with a wave of his hand. He turned and went up the stairs.

Janine froze for moment, then moved to follow her son. Strange took hold of her arm.

“Hold up, baby. I’ll talk to him, all right?”

On the second floor of the house, Strange knocked on Lionel’s closed door. Lionel did not respond. Strange turned the knob and walked inside the bedroom. Lionel was standing, looking through his window, which gave to a view of the street. Strange crossed the room and stood beside him. Lionel turned to face him.

“Lionel?”

“What?”

“You know your mother loves you, right?”

“Sure.”

“When she asks you where you been all night, it’s just her way of lettin’ off a little steam. She’s been sittin’ down in that living room, worried sick about you, for the last two hours, and you come through that door, she’s got to give you a taste of what you been puttin’
her
through all night.”

“I know it. It’s just… I’m nearly a man, Mr. Derek. I don’t need all these questions all the time, see what I’m sayin’?”

“While you’re livin’ under her roof, and she’s payin’ for that roof, it’s something you’re just gonna have to deal with.”

“And there goes Mama, tellin’
me
my eyes are lookin’ red, when y’all look like you been smokin’ cheeva your own selves.”

“We drank a few bottles of beer, tonight, that’s all,” lied Strange. “I don’t know, maybe we had one too many, but we did have fun. I’m not gonna go and apologize for that, ’cause your mama deserves it, hard as she works. But I never did claim I was perfect, even when I was trying to warn you about all the ways you can mess your life up before you even get out of the gate. Now, I told you what I thought about you drivin’ around in that fancy car, gettin’ high. I still think you’re setting yourself up for something that could affect you your whole life. And your life ain’t even started, son.”

“You’re not my father,” said Lionel softly, and at once his eyes filled with tears. “Don’t call me son.”

Strange put his hand on Lionel’s shoulder. “You’re right. I never did have the kind of courage it takes to be a father to a boy for real. But there’s some times when I look at you, when you’re making one of your jokes at the dining room table, or when I see you dressed up, lookin’ all handsome and ready to go out and meet a girl, and I get a sense of pride… . There’s some times when I
look
at you, Lionel, and I get the kind of feeling that I know a father must have for his own.”

Strange pulled Lionel to him. He felt Lionel’s heart beating hard against his chest. He held Lionel for a little while and let him break away.

“Mr. Derek?”

“Yes?”

“The way it is with you and my mother … What I’m tryin’ to say is, I know what time it is, see? I know you’re tryin’ to not disrespect her by staying in her room while I’m here, but I was thinkin’ … I was thinkin’, see, that you disrespect her even more in some way by not waking up in her bed.”

“Huh?”

“What I’m sayin’ is, I’d like it if you just went ahead and stayed the night.”

“I’ll, uh, talk to your mother,” stammered Strange. “See if that’s all right.”

Strange went down the hall to Janine’s room. Inside, Janine was sitting on her bed, the toes of her stocking feet touching the floor. Ronald Isley was singing “Voyage to Atlantis” from the clock radio set on her nightstand, and she had turned the light down low.

“Everything okay?” she said.

“Fine,” said Strange. “He wants me to spend the night.”

“Do you want to?”

“Yes.”

“You feed Greco?”

“I opened a can of Alpo for him before we left my house.” “Come here,” said Janine. She smiled and patted the empty space beside her on the bed.

QUINN
got out of bed, covering Juana to the neck with her own blanket and sheets. He had been watching the numbers change on the LED display on Juana’s clock for the last two hours, and he knew that he would not fall asleep.

He was sober now. He stretched and walked naked to her window, turning the rod of the miniblinds to open an angle of sight. He looked out the window to the sidewalk on 10th, illuminated by street lamps. A young black man was walking down the sidewalk in an oversize hooded jacket, glancing in the windows of the parked cars he passed.

Quinn made some immediate presumptions about the young man, all of them negative. Then he tried to think of other explanations for why the kid would be out at this hour on the street. Maybe the young man had been unable to sleep, like Quinn, and was simply taking a walk. Maybe he was just leaving his girlfriend’s place, was feeling bold and proud, and was checking out his reflection in the windows of the cars. These were logical scenarios, but they were not the
first
scenarios he had thought of when he had seen the young black man.