George Pelecanos - Right as Rain

'It was,' said Strange.

'Didn't take a genius to figure it. You had called me and asked me to run the numbers of Delgado's cruiser, remember?'

'I do.'

'So tell me how you came to get all that information.'

Strange shrugged. 'I was hired by Leona Wilson to try and clear her son's reputation. Among other things, she wanted his name etched onto that police memorial they got downtown. I started by interviewing Quinn, and then Franklin, and the natural progression was to follow Ricky Kane and see what he was all about.'

'Okay. What'd you find?'

'Same thing Wilson did. Kane led me to Coleman, and that was when I noticed the same Crown Vic cruiser patroling the perimeter of the operation on two separate days. I called you and got Delgado's name. I found Wilson's notebook and the photographs and mailed them off to you. See, I saw that this thing was bigger than me, Lydell. I thought if y'all could connect the dots, Wilson's story would naturally get told. I didn't give a goddamn about no conspiracy thing, man, I was only trying to do what Leona Wilson had hired me to do.'

'A couple of cops came forward, said they saw you and Quinn talking to Franklin down at Erika's.'

'That's right.'

'They're gonna bring you in for questioning, man. They're gonna bring Quinn in, too.'

'You tell them I mailed you the information?'

Blue drank the rest of the coffee in one long gulp. He dropped the empty cup at his feet.

'They don't even know I got it,' said Blue. 'The notebook and photographs, they're in the trunk of my Buick, man. Gonna give it all back to you before you leave.'

'You can't use it?'

'How could I explain the fact that it was sent to me in the first place?'

'You couldn't, I guess.'

'Either I'd have to lie or I'd have to implicate you. And those are two things I'm not gonna do. Anyway, the department doesn't need the notebook or the photographs to make the case. Kane's been picked up. What I hear, he's already rolled over, and he's confirmed the background information that was in Franklin's note. They're gonna get him to turn Cherokee Coleman in exchange for some kind of country club jolt. Whether it sticks to Coleman or not, we'll see. Nothin' has so far.'

'Kane say how he got Wilson out in the street that night?'

'Kane said he heard that Wilson had a sister was hooked on junk. He told Wilson he'd found her and to meet him on D.'

Kane heard that Wilson had a sister… Lyin' motherfucker, thought Strange, tryin' to make himself look good.

'You knew about the sister?' said Blue.

'She lives with her mother,' said Strange, with a casual nod. 'Everything that family's been through, I'd hate to see that junkie sister rumor get thrown out to the press.'

'We know what that family's been through. How Kane got Wilson out to the street that night is immaterial. Far as anybody's ever gonna know, the sister's clean.'

'And Chris? What about him?'

'Yeah, Chris Wilson. It's delicate, how the department's gonna handle that. For obvious reasons, they don't want too much play on this bad-cop thing, and they don't want the public to think that what Wilson did – being some kind of rogue enforcer out there – is something they condone, exactly. In the end, I don't know how this will be spun for the general public. But I do know what they're saying about Wilson down at headquarters. He's gonna get some kind of posthumous, low-key commendation from Chief Ramsey.'

'Good,' said Strange. 'That's real good.'

'You stirred the pot, Derek.'

'I guess I did.'

'Funny about that other cop. Quinn, I mean.'

'Yeah. He's not gonna come out of this smellin' any better than he did to begin with.'

'You think he should?' said Blue.

'He made a mistake,' said Strange. 'I've gotten to know Quinn a little, and I can tell you, he's still payin' for what he did. I think he's always gonna pay.'

'Ending a fine young man's life the way he did, that's not just a mistake. And you can't tell me that if Chris Wilson had been white-'

'I know it, Lydell. You don't have to tell me, 'cause I know.'

Strange cracked his window. The afternoon sun had warmed the interior of the car.

'All the good people in this city,' said Blue. 'And all you ever hear about is the bad in D.C. Now you're gonna hear about bad cops, too, when most of 'em are good. And most of the people I come across every day, they come from good families. I'm talkin' about the people in the church, people who go to work every day to take care of their own, good teachers, good, hard workers… and here we are, all these years we been out here, fuckin' with the bad ones. Why'd we choose this, Derek?'

'I don't know. I guess it chose us.'

'If we'd only known, when we were young men.' Blue chuckled, looking over at his friend. 'Lord, I been knowin' you now for nearly fifty years. I even remember the way you used to run when you were a little boy, with your fists balled up near your chest, back in grade school. And I can remember the way you looked in your uniform, as a young man, back in sixty-eight.'

'Sixty-eight,' said Strange. 'That was some kind of year, Lydell, wasn't it?'

'Yes it was.'

A look passed between Strange and Blue.

'Thank you, Lydell.'

' You know how we do.'

Strange shook Blue's hand. 'So the department's gonna be callin' me in.'

'Any day,' said Blue. 'The way you just explained it-'

'What, somethin' about it you didn't like?'

'It was just a little rough, is all. I'd work on it a little, I was you.'

Strange returned to his row house and phoned Terry Quinn. He relayed the conversation he'd had with Lydell Blue.

'I hated to lie to my friend,' said Strange. 'But I didn't know what else to do.'

'I guess Eugene destroyed the original confession,' said Quinn.

'Looks like he did. The one the police found was written on plain white paper. I'm fixin' to destroy some things, too. Gonna lose the clothing I wore that night, my boots, my knife… you need to do the same. Get rid of your day pack and that Glock.'

'It's already done.'

'I don't like the way you sound, Terry,' said Strange. 'Don't do anything stupid, hear?'

'Don't worry,' said Quinn. 'I'm not as brave as Eugene.'

The phone clicked dead in Strange's ear.

On a Sunday morning in early April, when the cherry blossoms along the tidal basin were full and brilliant, and magnolias and dogwoods had erupted pink and white on lawns across the city, Strange, Janine, and Lionel met at church.

Strange had not been to services for some time. He decided to go this day, the weekend after Easter, to pray for his mother, and though he did pray in the privacy of his home from time to time, he thought it might be wise to be in the Lord's home for this, considering his mother's dire condition. He knew that attending church for personal favors was wrong and, on some level he didn't fully understand, hypocritical, but he went just the same.

The pews inside the New Bethel Church of God in Christ, on Georgia and Piney Branch Road, were nearly full. Strange paid some attention to the sermon, prayed intently for his mother while Janine rested her hand atop his, and enjoyed the gospel singing from the choir, his favorite part of the service.

Outside, as the congregation exited, Strange recognized many. In the faces of some of the children he saw their parents, whom he'd known since they were kids themselves. And he saw several former clients, whom he greeted and who greeted him with firm handshakes and claps on the arm. Though he had often given these people less-than-happy news, he was glad he'd never padded his hours with them or done a second-rate job. They knew who he was and what he was about, and he was proud that they knew.