Drama City

A chair creaked in the room.

'It just takes one person to believe in you,' said Lorenzo. 'When I hugged that woman, I knew I was gonna try to do right. And that's all I can claim. I'm tryin' out here. I don't mean to bore you, but I needed to talk to someone today, and you people came to mind. So thank you for listening, all a y'all. Thank you for letting me share.'

'Thank you for sharing.'

'Anyone else?' said the guest host.

'My name is Rachel Lopez…' said Rachel, speaking quickly, not planning to speak at all, not knowing what she was going to say.

'Hey, Rachel.'

'… and I'm an alcoholic'

Lorenzo leaned forward in his chair.

'I don't have the right to be here,' said Rachel. 'I haven't even tried to get sober. I was drunk last night. I was still drunk when I woke up this morning.'

'I remember those mornings,' said a woman.

'It's not just that I haven't tried to get straight,' said Rachel. 'I'm a probation officer. I make my living telling other people that they need to stay on track. And that makes me a hypocrite. Because I jumped the tracks myself a long time ago.'

'I recognized you the first time you came to these meetings,' said a male voice behind her. 'You used to come to my mother's house to call on my brother. You always showed my mother respect. You got the right to be here, same as anyone else.'

Rachel did not turn around to match a face to the voice. She laced her fingers together and rested her hands in her lap.

'I've been drinking a long time. I started when I was about fourteen, down in Texas…'

Rachel Lopez spoke of high school, then college. She spoke of being the last one standing in the bars at the end of the night. Her friends said she handled alcohol well. She didn't change while under its influence. While drinking, she seemed to have control.

'I got a degree in criminology at the local college. I don't know why I chose law enforcement, exactly. It seemed exciting, I guess, and I had a vague notion that I was going to help people. After graduation I took an internship at a halfway house near my parents' place. I didn't like the work, and I felt stifled, living at home…'

She had entered into no romantic relationships. She had continued to drink.

'I wasn't happy. I sent in an application to become a probation officer in Maryland. The EEO was on my side. They needed Spanish-speaking POs at the time. Still do, I guess. Anyway, I got the gig.

'My father…'

Rachel closed her eyes and saw him, in bed, on his last day. He was going to die and yet he was not thinking of himself. He wanted to talk about her. He was worried about her.

'My father got sick,' said Rachel. 'My mother got sick too. I took a leave of absence from my job and went back to Texas to stay with them. You know, to help. But I couldn't help. I couldn't control what was happening to them. They both had inoperable cancer. The doctor called it an unfortunate coincidence. My father passed, and then my mom.'

'They're together now,' said a voice in the room.

'Yes,' said Rachel. 'And here I am, still drinking. Still trying to control things I can't control. I don't even know why I'm telling you all of this today. It's not like I've got a plan or anything like it. Anyway.' Rachel cleared her throat. 'Thank you for letting me share.'

'Thank you for sharing.'

The basket was passed around. The group gathered in a circle, their arms resting on one another's shoulders, and said the Serenity Prayer and afterward, the Lord's Prayer. An older gentleman extolled the virtues of Narcotics Anonymous. The meeting dispersed, and its participants went on their way.

Out in the parking area of the church, facing East Capitol, Rachel Lopez lit a cigarette. Some members of the group went to their cars, alone or in twos and threes. Others went to the bus shelter and sat on a bench protected from the sun. Lorenzo Brown walked across the grounds of the church and stopped beside Rachel.

'Hey, Miss Lopez.'

'Hey, Lorenzo.' She exhaled a stream of smoke. 'What about that incident you described in there? The physical-retaliation thing. We gonna have a problem with that?'

'The man I stepped to, I don't think he'll report it. That's how it goes in the street. Callin' the police is the last thing he's gonna do.'

'I'd hate to see you violated over something as trivial as that.'

Lorenzo chuckled. 'You ever stop working?'

'When I stop working I get in trouble.' Rachel's eyes softened. 'You know…'

'What?'

'I'm sorry you had to hear all that.'

'You're human, is all.'

'I appreciate it.'

'We all just tryin' out here.'

'Yes.'

'You ever want to talk about any of this, you can call me. Doesn't need to be about me all the time. You hear me, Miss Lopez?'

'Sure. But when it's on that level, it's Rachel.'

'Okay, then. Rachel it'll be.'

Shirley, walking with the quickness of the short and compact, came from the church and joined them.

'Hey,' said Shirley.

'Hey,' said Rachel.

'Can I get a Marlboro, Rachel?'

'Sure.'

As Rachel retrieved the pack from her purse, Shirley looked Lorenzo over with blatant interest.

'You tall,' said Shirley.

'Everyone is to you,' said Lorenzo, and Shirley smiled.

Rachel shook out the filtered ends of a few cigarettes, and Shirley drew one from the pack. Rachel handed her a matchbook from the hotel she'd been at the night before and told her to keep it. Shirley lodged the cigarette behind her ear as Sarge passed them on foot.

'Hey, Sarge,' said Shirley. 'Where you headed?'

'Back to my efficiency,' said Sarge, not breaking stride. 'What you think?'

'You need someone to walk with you?'

'I don't need it,' said Sarge, still moving, but slowing down. 'But if you got a mind to, I ain't gonna try and stop you.'

'He ain't all that tough,' said Shirley. She looked at Rachel and then at Lorenzo. 'You two have a blessed day.'

'You also,' said Rachel.

Shirley joined Sarge by the shelter.

'I need to get back to work,' said Rachel.

'I do too,' said Lorenzo.

'You been to the clinic yet?'

'I haven't had the chance.'

'Better do it.'

'I will.'

Rachel touched his arm. 'Thank you, Lorenzo.'

'Ain't no thing.'

Rachel walked to her vehicle; Lorenzo went to his.

CHAPTER 19

'That was Deacon,' said Melvin Lee. He

closed the cover of his Samsung cell and

placed the phone on the table by his chair.

'Figured it was,' said Rico Miller. 'He ain't happy, huh?'

Lee did not answer. Instead he rubbed at his face.

They were in the living area of Melvin Lee's apartment, on the third floor of a row house on Sherman Avenue, near Irving Street, in Columbia Heights. The house had been subdivided into six apartments, two on each floor. It was not far from where Lee had been raised.

The apartment's decor reflected Lee's solitary lifestyle. The few pieces of furniture were secondhand. Only the electronics, a thirty-six-inch high-definition Sony television with theater sound and an Xbox video game system, were new. Lee rarely watched movies or programs, not even sports, on television. He preferred to sit on his threadbare couch for hours on end, playing Counter-Strike, Brute Force, and Project Gotham. Anything with guns or cars.

'Homicide already done visited Deacon,' said Lee. 'They got them gang-task-force people, know all the players. You know how they do.'