George Pelecanos - The Night Gardener

'I certainly do know the difference.'

'I'm just a little curious,' said Ramone. 'I'm sure there are some white kids in this school who have also gotten into fights from time to time. Have you ever sat in this office and described those kids as dangerous?'

'Please,' said Ms Brewster with a small wave of her hand. Her smile was joyless and sickly. 'I'm the principal of a school that's over fifty percent African American and Hispanic. Do you think they would have brought me in here if I didn't have an empathy and understanding for minority students?'

'Obviously, they made a mistake,' said Ramone. 'You separate these kids by test scores. You see color and you see problems, but never potential. Pretty soon it starts to become a self-fulfilling prophecy. And having a black man doing your hatchet work for you doesn't excuse any of it.'

'Now wait a minute,' said Mr Guy.

'I'm talking to Ms Brewster,' said Ramone. 'Not you.'

'I don't have to take this,' said Mr Guy.

'Yeah?' said Ramone. 'What are you gonna do ?'

'In any event,' said Ms Brewster, still collected, 'this is all moot. In the course of Mr Guy's investigation, a student informed us that you and your family do not live in Montgomery County but rather reside in D.C

'Would you like me to show you the deed on my house in Silver Spring?'

'A deed makes no difference to us if you don't actually live in the house, Detective. You and your family reside on Ritten-house Street in Northwest – we've confirmed this. In effect, Diego is illegally attending this school. I'm afraid we're going to have to terminate his enrollment, effective immediately.'

'You're kicking him out.'

'He is disenrolled. If you'd like to appeal-'

'I don't think so. I don't want him here.'

'Then this conversation is over.'

'Right.' Ramone got out of his chair. 'I can't believe they'd put someone like you in charge of kids.'

'I'm sure I don't know what you're talking about.'

'I believe you. But that doesn't make you right.'

'Good day, Detective.'

Mr Guy stood. Ramone brushed by him and left the office. He had a spring in his step. He knew he had been aggressive and needlessly insulting, and he did not feel sorry at all.

Ramone called Regina from the parking lot. Diego had come home briefly, picked up his basketball, and gone out the door. He wasn't angry, Regina said. Just quiet.

Ramone drove over the District line down to 3rd and Van Buren. He parked, left his suit jacket in the car, loosened his tie, and walked up to the fenced court. Diego was shooting buckets, wearing shorts too big for him, a wife beater, and his Exclusives. He spun in a reverse layup, gathered up the ball, and tucked it under his arm. Ramone stood three feet away from him and spread his feet.

'I know, Dad. I messed up.'

'I'm not gonna lecture you. You made a choice and you did what you thought was right.'

'How long am I out for?'

'You're not going back there ever,' said Ramone. 'They found out we used the Silver Spring address to get you in.'

'So where am I gonna go?'

'I've got to talk with your mother. I expect we'll put you back in your old school for the rest of the year. Then we'll figure something out.'

'I'm sorry, Dad.'

'It's okay.'

Diego looked out across 3rd. 'Everything, this week…'

'Come here.'

Diego dropped the ball and went into his father's arms. Ramone held him tightly. He smelled Diego's perspiration, the Axe he sprayed on his body, that cheap shampoo he used. He felt the muscles of his shoulders and back, and the heat of his tears.

Diego stepped out of Ramone's embrace. He wiped at his eyes and picked up the ball.

'Want to play some?' said Diego.

'You got me at a disadvantage. You in your eighty-dollar sneakers and me in my brogues.'

'You scared, huh?'

'To eleven,' said Ramone.

Diego took the ball out. It was over, really, with his first step off check. Ramone tried to beat him, but he could not. Diego was a better athlete at fourteen than Ramone had ever been.

'You goin' back to work like that?' said Diego, nodding at the sweat stains on Ramone's shirt.

'No one will notice. Women stopped looking at me five years ago.'

'Mom looks.'

'Occasionally.'

'Five dollars says I can make it from thirty feet out,' said Diego.

'Go ahead.'

Diego banked it in off the glass. He flexed his arm, kissed his biceps, and smiled at Ramone.

That's my son.

'You didn't call backboard,' said Ramone.

'I'll take that five.'

Ramone paid up. 'I'm outta here. Got a long day today.'

'Love you, Dad.'

'Love you, too. Call Mom if you go anywhere, let her know where you are.'

Ramone went to the Taurus and got under the wheel. Before he turned the key, Rhonda Willis called him on his cell. They had Dominique Lyons and Darcia Johnson in the boxes down at VCB. 'I'll be right there,' said Ramone.

Darcia Johnson's mother called her to say that her baby was feverish and having difficulty with his breathing. The detectives and uniformed backups who had been radioed for assistance had little time to get in place: within a half hour, a black Lexus GS 430 came up Quincy, stopping in front of the Johnson house. Inside, watching from the upstairs bedroom window, Virginia Johnson phoned Rhonda Willis, seated with Bo Green in the maroon Impala parked up the street. Virginia told Rhonda that the woman getting out of the Lexus was her daughter Darcia and, from what she could make out, the driver of the vehicle, memorable because of his braids, was Dominique Lyons. As Rhonda listened she nodded to Bo Green, who was on his radio with the sergeant in charge of the uniformed officers. Green told the sergeant to go.

Two squad cars suddenly blocked the east and west access to Quincy Street as uniforms on foot emerged from the Warder Place alley with guns drawn, yelling at the driver of the Lexus to step out of the vehicle with his hands visible. The action was loud and swift, meant to shock and defuse any potential situation completely. Based on Lyons's history, Rhonda was taking no unnecessary risks.

Darcia Johnson sat down immediately on the steps of her parents' row house and covered her face with her hands. Dominique Lyons did as he was told and got out of his car, his hands raised. He was cuffed and put into the back of a squad car. Darcia, also cuffed, was led to a different car. The Lexus was searched thoroughly. No weapons of any kind were recovered. Roughly an ounce of marijuana was found beneath the driver's-side seat.

Virginia Johnson emerged from the house holding Isaiah. She looked at her daughter in the squad car and saw fear and hate in Darcia's eyes. Virginia asked Rhonda if she could come with them, and Rhonda told her that it would be fine.

'We got a playroom set up for kids,' said Rhonda. It was Rhonda, in fact, who had pushed for the funding of such a room on the VCB premises. The idea of a waiting area for spouses, girlfriends, grandmothers, and children whose relatives were being arrested or questioned regarding murder-related business had entered few of her male colleagues' minds.

'I'll have my husband meet me there,' said Virginia.

'This is gonna be good for your daughter in the end,' said Rhonda. 'You did right.'

Dan Holiday stood in the community garden on Oglethorpe Street, smoking a cigarette. He had a job later in the day and was dressed in his black suit. He had come because he knew that the answer he was looking for was here.

The crime scene had reverted to the state it had been in prior to Asa Johnson's death. Someone had taken the yellow tape down and disposed of it. A few citizens were out in the garden, idly working their plots but socializing mostly, as full autumn had come to Washington, and the vegetables had been harvested and the growth of flowers and other plants had slowed.