Drama City

Rachel had a door on her office, an undecorated room with nothing on the walls, and a window that gave to a view of the nearby garden apartments. This morning, after briefing her young assistants and listening to their complaints and concerns, she kept her door closed. She normally left it open, but she was trying to get her physical self together in private. A knock on the door and Moniqua Rogers's musical voice told her that her solitude would be short-lived.

'Come in.'

Moniqua entered, bringing her strawberry perfume along with her. She was a correctional officer with almost as many years in as Rachel. Their styles could not have been more different. Moniqua dressed loudly in big-legged pantsuits, laughed easily and deeply, and never brought her job home to her husband and three kids. She wore plenty of makeup. She carried a gun. Rachel was her opposite in nearly every way. None of this stopped the two of them from liking each other. Because Moniqua had a family and Rachel did not, and because of their cultural differences, they rarely saw each other outside work. But they were friends.

'Damn, girl,' said Moniqua. 'Look what the cat thought twice about draggin' in.'

'I didn't get much sleep last night.'

'Were you tossin' or getting yourself tossed? The latter, I hope.'

'Nothing that exciting. I couldn't sleep.'

'Okay.' Moniqua parked an ample ass cheek on the edge of Rachel's desk. 'Look, I got a new offender coming in this afternoon for his initial consult. But my oldest is in some swim meet thing at the pool and she wants me to be there. Can you cover for me?'

'No.'

'Didn't even have to think on it, huh?'

'I'm gonna be out in the field. I didn't finish my calls yesterday, and I can't get behind.'

'Are they good calls or bad calls?' said Moniqua.

'A couple of gentlemen I could do without. But I'm gonna see Eddie Davis today, one of my success stories. That's always good.'

'What about your boy, what's his name, the dog man—'

'Lorenzo Brown. I met with him yesterday.'

'You like him, don't you?'

'He's got potential.'

'I know he's one of your favorites. And don't try and act like you don't have favorites. Shoot, I like my baby boy more than I like his older sisters. I can admit it.'

'Lorenzo's good. But you got to love 'em all, right? Even the bad ones.'

Moniqua patted the .38 holstered in the belt clip on her hip. 'You keep one of these on you, you don't never have to worry about the bad ones.'

'I'd probably hurt myself,' said Rachel. 'Anyway, you pull that thing, you're gonna have to use it. I don't want to shoot anyone.'

'I ain't never had to pull it, honey. They put their eyes on it, they mind their manners.'

'I gotta get going,' said Rachel, getting up out of her seat. 'Sorry I couldn't cover for you.'

Moniqua looked her over. 'You sure you're not sick?'

'What if I am? Can I stay home from school, Mommy?'

'Go ahead, girl,' said Moniqua. 'You're long past school.'

Lorenzo Brown found Deanwood to be the most country of all neighborhoods in D.C. Many of the houses, though gone to seed, were on large plots of land holding vegetable gardens, tall trees, and all variety of vines. In the summer, older residents sat on open and screened-in porches and conversed in Deep South accents.

Because of their origins, some of the folks in Deanwood still clung to country ways. A few kept goats, and more than a few had chickens and roosters caged or running about their yards. Owning livestock and fowl was illegal in D.C. After the standard warning, Brown would return to find the chickens gone. He assumed they were killed and eaten. He did not know or ask how the goats were disappeared.

Lorenzo was not checking on unusual violations today. He was following up on a caging call he had made the week before to a woman named Victoria Newman, who lived with her dog, a rottie named Winston.

Lorenzo parked in the alley and walked through Victoria Newman's yard. He passed Winston, standing in his cage beside his igloo-style doghouse, quietly eyeing Lorenzo. The cage was in the shade of a magnolia tree. Winston was healthy, well fed and watered, and had a clean, shiny coat that was fly free. There were minimal droppings on the cage's concrete floor.

Winston barked one time at Lorenzo and, having done his job, opened his mouth to let his tongue drop out the side.

Victoria Newman answered the door after parting the curtains on the ground floor. She wore a bathrobe over a low-cut nightgown; both barely contained her lush figure. She was light skinned, green eyed, and had big features that suited her. She leaned on the door frame as Lorenzo reintroduced himself.

'You again,' she said in a not unfriendly way.

'Yes, ma'am,' said Lorenzo. 'Just doin' a follow-up on… It's Winston, right?'

'That's my boy. He lookin' good, isn't he?'

Her eyes were unfocused. That and the sound of her television and stereo system both playing at once told Lorenzo that she was high. But a blind man could have seen that, as she stank of weed. The cigarette burning between her fingers did not hide the smell.

'No doubt, he looks fine,' said Lorenzo. 'But we still got the same problem I spoke to you about last month. That space you got him in is too small. He needs to be in an enclosure that's at least eight by ten, not including the shelter within it.'

'You mean the house where he sleep at?'

'Exactly.'

'Eight by ten, that's the parameter.'

'Yes,' said Lorenzo, seeing no point in correcting her.

'Wasn't like I disregarded what you told me,' said Victoria. 'I'm in the process of takin' care of it right now.'

'You need to do it.'

'I been waitin' on this handyman I know to come over here to make the cage larger, only he been busy.'

Lorenzo filled out an Official Notification form on his clipboard.

'Winston's healthy, though,' said Victoria.

'Yes, he is.'

She dragged on her cigarette. 'You healthy too.'

'I'm hangin' in there,' said Lorenzo.

He held out the form. She touched his thumb and gave him a hungry smile as she took it.

'You must be thirsty, all this heat. I got some cold water inside.'

'I got water in my truck,' said Lorenzo.

But I'd love to loosen the belt on that robe of yours. You keep talkin', I might. I'm just a man.

'You sure?' said Victoria.

'Thank you for asking,' said Lorenzo. 'Take care of Winston for me, hear?'

Driving away, his dick semihard, his mind a mixture of relief and regret, Lorenzo thought about Victoria Newman, high at nine-thirty in the morning, alone in that house, not yet out of her bedclothes on a workday. All the people he met in the city on his daily runs, and all those he didn't know but saw, standing on corners, drinking out of paper bags, lighting their cigarettes, all of them with nothing, absolutely nothing, to do. He didn't know how folks like that got up in the morning and faced the day.

The speaker below the dash crackled. He listened to the voice on the other end. It was Cindy, from the dispatch desk, informing him of a call.

'A Felton Barnett, in Anacostia. Dog's been barking in one of the apartments he manages. Says it's been going on for the last two days.'

'Congress Heights,' said Lorenzo. 'Man already left a message on my machine.'

'You gonna take it or should I call Mark?'

'You can call Mark, you want to,' said Lorenzo. 'But I'm gonna take it. Matter of fact, I'm on my way now.'

He replaced the mic in its cradle. He did not notice the silver BMW parked on the corner of 46th and Hayes as he passed.

Lorenzo squinted and reached for his shades. His headache had returned.

CHAPTER 16

Rachel drove into town. She was looking for a man named Carlton Sims and a bottom feeder named Tyrone Meadows. Both stayed in the same facility, a halfway house in Northeast.