George Pelecanos - Right as Rain

'Did you find what you were looking for?'

'I did.'

'Then you're making progress.'

'Yes, I am.' Strange slung the day pack over his shoulder. 'Mrs Wilson?'

'Yes.'

'I believe I've located your daughter.'

Leona Wilson's lip trembled up into a smile. 'Thank you. Thank the good Lord.' She rubbed her hands together in front of her waist. 'Is she… what is her health?'

'She's gonna need help, Mrs Wilson. Professional help to get her off the kind of trouble she's found. You best… you need to start lookin' into it right away. There's programs and clinics; you can get a list through the church. You need to set that up now, understand? Do it today.'

'Why?'

"Cause I plan on bringin' Sondra home.'

Strange headed for the door.

Leona Wilson said, 'Who is that white man in the car out front? I'm afraid I can't make anything out but his color without my glasses.'

'An independent I been using.'

'Is he helping you with this?'

'Uh-huh.' Strange opened the door.

'Mr Strange-'

'I know. Just doin' what you're paying me for, Mrs Wilson. Don't forget, you will be gettin' a bill.'

'I'll say a prayer for you this Sunday, Mr Strange.'

'Yes, ma'am.'

He stepped outside and stood for a moment on the concrete porch. He'd gone and promised this woman something, and now he'd have to see it through.

'I saw the Wilson woman looking at me through the curtains,' said Quinn. 'She recognize me?'

'She wouldn't recognize her own face in the mirror without her glasses on,' said Strange. He blew a late yellow on Georgia, catching the red halfway through the intersection.

'I went to Chris Wilson's funeral. I tell you that?'

'No.'

'Word must have gotten around with the relatives that I was there. There weren't many white faces to begin with, except for a few cops. Anyway, Mrs Wilson found my eyes through the crowd – she was wearing her glasses that day – and I nodded to her. She gave me the coldest look-'

'What'd you expect?'

'It wasn't that I was expecting anything, exactly. I was hoping for something, that's all. I guess I was wrong to even hope for that.'

Strange didn't feel the need to respond. He passed Buchanan and continued north.

'Hey,' said Quinn, 'you missed your house.'

'I'm droppin' you off at your place, Terry. When I get close like this I need to think everything out my own self

'You're not gonna cut me out of this now, are you?'

Strange said, 'I'll phone you later tonight.'

After he dropped off Quinn, Strange stopped at the Safeway on Piney Branch. When the woman behind the glass handed him the packet of photographs, she said, 'These been in here a long time, Mr Wilson,' and Strange said, 'Thanks for keepin' 'em safe.'

He drove back to the car rental on Georgia, dropped off the Lumina, and picked up his Caprice, which he had left on the lot. Back at his row house, he fed Greco, showered, changed into sweats, went into his office, and had a seat at his desk. There was a message from Lydell Blue on his machine: the numbers on the cruiser matched up with a Crown Vic driven by a street cop named Adonis Delgado. Strange wrote down Delgado's name.

Strange angled his desk lamp down and studied the photographs he had picked up at Safeway. Halfway through them, his blood jumped. He said, 'I'll be goddamned,' and said it again as he went through the rest. He opened the notebook and read the ten log-style pages of text, detailing by date, time, and location the progress of Chris Wilson's own investigation. Strange reached for the phone, lifted the receiver, then replaced the receiver in its cradle. In an envelope in his file cabinet, he found the taped conversations he had recorded. He listened to them through. He rewound the tape to the sections that interested him and listened to those sections two more times.

Strange sat back in his chair. He reached down and patted Greco's head. He folded his arms and stared at the ceiling. He ran his finger through the dust that had settled on his desk. He exhaled slowly, sat forward, and pulled the telephone toward him. He dialed a number, and on the third ring a voice came on the other end of the line.

'Hello.'

'Derek here. You remember which house is mine?'

'Sure.'

'Better get on over here, man.'

'I'll be right there,' said Quinn.

Cherokee Coleman pressed 'end' on his cell and laid the phone on the green blotter of his desk. 'They're here.'

Big-Ass Angelo adjusted his shades so that they sat low on his nose. 'We ready for them to finish this thing?'

'Tomorrow night. We been sellin' this shit faster than I thought we would. We'll send our boys out there to Shitkickersville and let them bring back the last load. Bring back our money, too. Doom all those motherfuckers out there, so I can tell my Colombian brothers I went and avenged the deaths of their own. Stay in their good graces so we can keep on makin' that bank. Like to see those cracker cops out in Fredneck County when they find all those bodies, scratchin' their fat heads and shit, tryin' to figure out who and what and how come.'

'Let God sort 'em out.'

Coleman looked up. 'That's a good name for this next batch, Angie.'

'We used it, man.'

'Fucked in D.C.?'

'That ain't bad, right there.'

Coleman got up from his chair and walked to the office window. Two men got out of a black Maxima and were met by several younger men.

'Delgado got himself a brand new short,' said Coleman. 'Got some nice rims on it, too.'

'He just wants what we got,' said Angelo.

'Let him keep wantin' it. The want is what makes this world go round, black.'

'How his partner look?'

'Boy has got some teeth.'

'Wil-bur,' said Angelo, whinnying like a horse and using his foot, dragging it front to back on the floor, to count to three.

Coleman and Angelo were still laughing as the two men entered the office.

'Somethin' funny?' said Delgado.

'Angelo here was just tellin' me a joke,' said Coleman.

'How you doin', Bucky?' said Big-Ass Angelo to the second man.

'I told you not to call me that,' said the man. 'The name's Eugene Franklin, understand?'

Quinn sat on a hard-back chair in Strange's living room, the tablet-sized notebook and an empty bottle of beer on the floor at his feet, the package of photographs clenched in his hand. There were two photographs of Eugene Franklin and Adonis Delgado in the bunch, wearing street clothes and walking from Eugene's civilian car to the row house of Cherokee Coleman. Quinn had yet to read the contents of the notebook, but Strange had filled him in on the pertinent details.

'You want another beer, man?' said Strange, who sat on a slightly worn living room sofa.

'No,' said Quinn. 'I better not.'

Quinn's eyes were blown out in his pale face, and jaw muscles bunched beneath his tight skin.

'Play me the tape again. The part where Eugene was talking in Erika's.'

Strange played the tape. Eugene's voice filled the silence of the room: 'I saw where Wilson's gun was headed. I saw in his eyes what he planned to do. There's no doubt in my mind, if Terry hadn't shot Wilson, Wilson would have shot me.'

Strange hit the stop button on the micro recorder.

'Wilson would have shot me,' said Strange. 'Franklin slipped right there.'

Quinn nodded obtusely at the recorder. 'Play the tape of me. The first conversation we had, down at the scene, on D Street.'

'We already did this once.'

'Play it,' said Quinn.

Strange popped in another tape. He cued up the spot that he knew Quinn wanted to hear.

Strange: ' You do what next ?'

Quinn: 'I've got my gun on the aggressor. I yell for him to drop his weapon and lie facedown on the street. He yells something back. I can't really hear what he's saying, 'cause Eugene's yelling over him -'