Drama City

'That means they been to see Nigel too.'

'That's a bet.'

'Nigel ain't gonna say a thing to the police. He gonna want to handle this his own way.'

'I expect.'

'Nigel and his want more blood, we gonna give 'em some. We soldiers, right?'

Lee looked across the room at Miller, who stood by the big picture window fronting the street. Miller had been pacing the room like an animal who'd got up on two legs for the first time. He'd been unsettled ever since he'd shown up at the apartment and described the murders in detail. Miller had expected Lee to be pleased. He was perplexed at Lee's reaction.

'Why?' Lee had said upon hearing the news.

'Why I kill 'em?' said Miller. 'Shit, they was gonna go at you, wasn't they?'

'DeEric was just talkin', Rico. He was doin' his job. I been knowin' DeEric since he was a boy. He was bold like that.'

'Too bold, you ask me.'

'And that kid. He wasn't gonna hurt no goddamn one.'

'You right about that. That boy was a straight bitch.'

'You missin' my point. Deacon say the kid was special to Nigel.'

'Nigel gone faggot now, huh?'

'Listen to me,' said Lee, desperation and anger in his voice. 'You ain't hearin' me, Rico. We got a problem here. We got to find a way to work this out.'

'Thought you'd be happy,' said Miller, lowering his head. 'I did this thing for you.'

Lee had left the conversation lying there, like something dead in the room you stepped over on the way to somewhere else. There wasn't any use in going on with this. Miller seemed to have no remorse for what he'd done. For the first time, Lee feared him. He'd heard about this kind of thing, had always thought of it as street bullshit passing for wisdom. But now he saw that it was true: Came a time in every relationship like this, you traded places. The father became the son.

And now the call had come from Deacon, a call Lee had expected and dreaded all morning long.

'What Deacon say to do?' said Miller.

'He wants you to sit tight right here. He don't want you to go nowhere, 'cause if he wants to pull up on you personal, he need to know where you at.'

'He can get me on my cell.'

'That ain't good enough. Since you don't want to tell no one where you stay at, you gonna have to be within physical reach for now.'

'Where you gonna be?'

'I got to get my ass into work,' said Miller.

'What I'm gonna do here all day?'

'Play Xbox, you want to.'

'I don't even like Xbox. I roll with PS2.'

'You gonna have to deal with that, Rico.'

Lee got up out of his chair, gathered his cell and keys, and went to the front door. He looked at Rico Miller, standing there with nothing but some peach fuzz on his face, slouched and gangly, deadlier than most men but really no older than a kid.

'Don't be standin' by that window,' said Lee.

'I ain't stupid.'

'I'm just sayin'. Po-lice could put me together with them bodies somehow, might come calling on me.'

'I wouldn't let no police fuck with you, Melvin.'

'I'm sayin' … Shit, Rico, I'm thinkin' of you right now. Any law shows up here, you leave out the fire escape, through my bedroom window. It'll lead you back to the alley. That ladder drops the way it supposed to. I know, 'cause I tried it out.' Lee put his hand on the doorknob, then thought of something else.

'You ain't bring no gun in here, right?'

'What you think?'

'That's a mandatory right there. I can't be gettin' violated.'

'Guns I used are put away.'

'You need to get rid of 'em. They dig the lead up out of those bodies, I'm talkin' about the pistol lead, they can match it to that gun.'

'They won't find the guns. Anyway, I picked up the casings off the street.'

'Anyone see you last night?'

'I don't think so.' Miller cocked his head in a birdlike way. 'You ain't mad at me, right?'

Lee looked away. 'We gonna work this out.'

Melvin Lee took the stairs down to the street and found his faded Camry, parked on Sherman behind Rico Miller's shiny BMW. Driving up Georgia toward the car wash, he looked at the people out on the sidewalks and breathed the warm summer air rushing through his open window. He wanted to enjoy the sights and smells. He had the sick feeling that these things would be taken away from him again all too soon.

He could drive out of town right now, but he knew that someone would catch up to him eventually. He'd been running on a wheel, in a cage, his whole life.

He drove to work.

Deacon Taylor closed his disposable cell and settled himself in the driver's seat of his S-Series Benz. He had parked on Luray Place in Park View and was waiting for Griff to roll up and report on his meet with Nigel's enforcer, Lawrence Graham. Looked like Griff was coming his way now. Griff favored fast Japanese sedans, and drove a 260-horsepower midnight blue Infiniti G35.

Deacon had already had an eventful day. A Homicide team had come by his place and interviewed him about the murders. He had told them he knew nothing, and they had gone on their way. He had spoken to Melvin Lee and conveyed his extreme displeasure over the murders of Green and Butler. Then, on his personal cell, he had made a call to an officer in 4D he had been friendly with for some time.

Officer Muller was a careful man. He refused to finger informants, rough Taylor's enemies, or make false arrests. He would not initiate anything that he felt would compromise his personal code. He did provide Taylor with information on occasion that he thought was of a harmless nature. Taylor, in turn, fed information to Muller that was equally benign. For this dialogue Muller accepted nothing in the way of cash or gifts. The first-name-basis familiarity with a drug dealer and the attendant camaraderie appealed to his self-image. Muller liked to think of himself as a cop who was hardwired to both sides of the street.

'What you hear about that double off Crittenden last night?' Deacon had said.

'Hold up, Deacon,' said Muller. 'You need to tell me why you're interested first.' Always reminding Taylor that he, Muller, was in charge.

'Ain't no secret that it was two of Nigel Johnson's got themselves dead. I'm just tryin' to keep informed.'

'That's all?'

'You and me don't play games like that, big man,' said Deacon. In fact, he was playing Muller with every word.

'Just so we're clear,' said Muller.

'We crystal clear.'

'Victim one died of shotgun wounds inside his SUV. Victim two was killed in the street by the same shotgun. Vic two also took bullets to the mouth and head.'

'Sounds like the shooter was angry about somethin'.'

'Prob'ly just one of those misunderstood youths we got out here.'

'Killer leave any prints?'

Muller did not reply. It was answer enough.

'No witnesses either, huh?' said Deacon.

Again, Muller said nothing.

'You keep me posted, hear?' said Deacon.

'I expect the same from you.'

'You know I will. This kind of violence is bad for business. Pretty soon the neighborhood gonna be crawling with bad elements like yourself.'

'You don't want that, dawg.'

'Word,' said Deacon. He hadn't used that expression to anyone but Muller in the last ten years.

Griff pulled his Infiniti up alongside the Mercedes and idled it in the street. They went nose to ass, the way police did, so they could speak.

Griff was serious, dependable, and strong of body and character. He dressed neatly and without show. He was Deacon's most fearsome employee. Only fault he had was he talked too much, and bragged, when his head was up on weed. Maturity would cure that. Someday the boy would become a man and learn how to handle his high.

'What's up, soldier?' said Deacon.

'I got up with Graham,' said Griff.

'Talk about it.'

'Nigel want to parley with you about this problem. Says he'll do it somewhere neutral, just the two of y'all.'