"Yes. She's very happy for you. You and your colleagues must be very pleased."
"I am." But you will never be.
"It sounds like a very big case, fifteen defendants, all manner of counts."
Her mother added, "Well, I hope you're getting some rest, dear. You did look a little tired, on TV."
It's the sex. "Well. I gotta go, Mom. It's late. I just wanted to check in."
"Good, get some sleep, honey," her mother said, and her father added:
"Pleasant dreams."
In time, Vicki crossed into Devil's Corner and had reached Lincoln Street, surprised to see lights, commotion, and activity. She drove down Lincoln, closer to whatever was going on; one block, then two, until she had to stop. Reheema's block had been cordoned off by police sawhorses, and a crowd of people filled the street, milling around outside, even in the frigid air. TV klieglights sliced the night sky, calcium-white beams knifing the cold cobalt-blue, and the white microwave antenna of a mobile newsvan towered almost as high as the row houses.
Vicki's mouth went dry. She flashed on the scene outside Shayla Jackson's, the night she'd been killed. Reheema's block looked like a crime scene. What could it be? She had listened to the radio on the way over, and the news had been dominated by the Toys "R" Us arrests and the drug busts. She hadn't heard anything about trouble in Devil's Corner. Maybe it had just happened and hadn't hit the media yet.
Alarmed, Vicki slammed on the brakes, yanked up the emergency, and parked the car. She jumped out and hustled toward the crowd and the TV lights, her heart lodged somewhere in her throat. She reached the crowd and heard noise, talk, and shouting coming from near Reheema's house.
"What's going on?" Vicki asked a man in a down parka, but his thick hood was up and he turned away. Then she heard rap music and what sounded like singing.
Huh? Vicki wedged her way through the crowd, which was buzzing and chattering happily away. People carried homemade signs that they pumped in time to the thumpa-thumpa rap. A handwritten poster on a stake read, KEEP THE DEVILS OUT OF DEVIL'S CORNER! Another sign, Magic Marker on oak tag, said, TO HELL WITH THE HOLE!
Vicki relaxed, smiling. It wasn't a crime, it was some sort of block party. She wedged her way toward Reheema's, where she smelled hot dogs and grilling barbecue. Nelly rapped about Nellyville on a boom box, and neighbors danced, laughed, smoked, and talked on the street and sidewalk, heedless of the temperature. It was a joyous sight for a street that used to be so deserted, and in the middle of the crowd, dancing tall above the other heads, there bopped a familiar knit cap.
"Reheema!" Vicki called out, making a mitten megaphone. Reheema looked over at the sound, but couldn't see a very short AUSA among the revelers. "It's me!"
A few neighbors looked over curiously, but most clustered around a TV reporter, watching the interview and making funny faces in the background. The TV reporter was the only other white face in the crowd, and he held a bubble microphone in front of a mother cradling a bundled-up toddler on her hip. The mother said into the mike: "This is a celebration of the families who live in Devil's Corner! We're takin' back our neighborhood! We shut down the store on Cater Street and we're gonna make damn sure it don't come back!"
The TV reporter looked a little nervous, the neighbors cheered, and Vicki threaded her way to the knit cap.
"Come 'ere, girl!" Reheema shouted above the din, smiling broadly when she recognized her. "What're you doin' here!"
"I missed you!" Vicki shouted back, and they made their way to the fringe of the crowd, where it was quieter.
Reheema beamed. "Check it! What do you think of our party?"
"It's great! What's going on?"
"We tore down the wall on Cater, threw out the trash, and cleaned out the hole. And we got teams signed up for a neighborhood watch." Reheema waved at someone who had been calling her name. "Gonna walk around. Wear orange safety belts, like in grade school."
"For real?"
"Believe it! It's a party!" "Ding, dong, the witch is dead!" Reheema blinked. "Say what?" "White culture thing." Reheema smiled. "Whatever, isn't it great? I never met these people, now they're all coming out, meetin' each other. Organized. Together. And guess what, I'm block captain!" Vicki saluted. Reheema laughed. "I gotta give you the credit. I'm not gonna sell this house. I bought and paid for it, and my mother lived here. I belong here. And I started to figure, why does this Harvard girl care more about where I live than I do?"
Vicki smiled, touched.
"When they had that press conference today, all those suits, and then you, I said to myself, All right, let's see if we can keep it clean here, on our own. So I went door to door and they all took it up." Reheema grinned. "They were just scared, is all."
Vicki looked around, happily. "Well, they're not anymore." Reheema eyed the crowd, too. "No, they're drunk!" They both laughed, and if they'd been girly girls, they would have hugged. But that wasn't happening, and the stars weren't diamonds, either.
Vicki said, "I wanted you to know I appreciated your help, all last week, and with that kid. I never could have caught him. You were so brave, and you can run!"
Reheema shook it off. "I owe you, too. You gave me back my house." "I didn't forget about your mom." "I knew you wouldn't." "Good." Vicki liked the sound of that. It was trust, which was even better than a hug. "Tomorrow morning, at nine?" "Ha! You got a plan?" "What do you think?" And they slapped five. Black glove against red mitten.
FORTY
Saturday morning, Vicki and Dan got up early, showered, dressed, and went down to the kitchen together, making coffee more silently than usual. Vicki worried that something was wrong. First, Dan hadn't wanted to make love when they woke up, but she tried not to let that bother her. Maybe he was the one man on the planet who didn't automatically want to make love in the morning. Second, when Dan brushed against her elbow on his way to the coffeemaker, he said, "Excuse me." Vicki tried not to give that much weight, though she was losing that battle, too. Loss of libido and good manners were sure signs that a couple was circling the toilet.
"Are we breaking up?" Vicki asked, turned suddenly from the sink.
"What? No. Of course not." Dan's brow furrowed, and he looked at her like she was crazy.
"I'm not crazy."
"I didn't say you were."
Oh. "Last night you said we might break up, because of your promotion."
"No I didn't." Dan hit the Brew button. "I said I was worried about how our being a couple would affect work, and vice versa, but that doesn't mean we're breaking up."
Vicki blanched. "It sounds like it does."
"Well, I didn't mean it that way." Dan smiled. The coffee began its happy gurgling, and he came over and gave her a hug. He was wearing Vicki's favorite baggy jeans and navy crewneck, and even that didn't cheer her up. "How about we go on a date tonight? A real date, go out and celebrate?"
"Celebrate what?" Vicki whined, and enjoyed it. Nobody could whine like a suburban girl.
"Celebrate that the good guys won, and, in this case, they happen to be in love with each other."
"Okay."
"Good." Dan gave Vicki a quick kiss, which she worried was too wife-y and not girlfriend-y enough, then he patted her on the butt, which was downright quarterback-y. "Now we gotta get to work."
Go, team! "We do?" Vicki checked her watch. 7:38. She was supposed to meet Reheema at nine.
"Yeah, we do. We executed a coupla warrants yesterday, if you remember." Dan laughed softly as he opened the dishwasher, grabbed their Harvard and Elvis mugs, and set them on the counter. "We have to start preparing for the grand jury hearings. We'll need scripts for cross-examination, for witnesses, subpoenas prepared, you know this drill." Dan's cell phone started ringing in its belt holster, and he twisted it upward to read the display. "Unknown number, that's the press. I told Strauss I'd be in at nine."