'I will,' said Nigel.
'You ought to call him, tell him to come over, have some of this ham.'
'He busy right now.'
'What's he doing?'
'He's out there on Otis, I expect.' Nigel smiled a little, looking toward the living-room window that fronted the street. 'Walkin' his dog.'
Shadows had lengthened on the playground. Lorenzo watched the children doing what children did on summer evenings, getting in the last of their games before supper got called or darkness fell. He remembered being out here with Nigel when he'd first moved over from Congress Heights to stay with his grandmother, Nigel his first Park View friend. Nigel dreaming on a pair of Superstar three-stripes he'd seen in a store window, focusing on what he wanted, what he was gonna get, even then. Asking Lorenzo if there was anything he wanted, 'cause when he, Nigel, got his hands on some money, he was gonna buy his boy something too.
Lorenzo stood in the tall grass by the dusty baseball diamond, holding his dog by the leash, his other hand holding a plastic bag fashioned as a glove. I have come a long way, he thought, with a shit bag in my hand.
Jasmine did her business, and Lorenzo cleaned it from the grass. He tied off one end of the bag, walked through the alley that ran behind Otis and Princeton, and put it in someone's trash can back there. He cut out of the alley's T, went along Georgia, and turned the corner where the old neighborhood market, owned and operated by a Jew named Meyer, had been. Meyer, it was said, used to extend credit to the neighborhood's residents, but his business was gone, and he was long dead. Lorenzo headed up Princeton Place.
He had taken this route out of habit and now, nearing Rayne's house and his grandmother's house beside it, he was sorry that he did. Rayne was out on her porch, and little Lakeisha was up there too. At least Lorenzo was on the other side of the street.
'That Jazz Man, Mama?' he heard Lakeisha say.
Lorenzo tugged on the leash as Jasmine's head turned toward the little girl. He glanced at the house and saw Rayne standing by the railing, looking at him with bewilderment as he kept going without a word. He waved weakly but did not make eye contact with Rayne. Lakeisha called out to him and his dog, and he walked on, wincing at the sound of disappointment in her innocent voice.
Don't do that, little princess. Don't call me over. You and your mother don't need me in your life.
He didn't look at his grandmother's house at all. He just went on his way.
Back in his apartment, Lorenzo changed into loose-fitting jeans, a sleeveless T, and a short-sleeved button-down shirt. He tied a pair of Nike 20s tight on his feet. In the living room, he moved the hope chest and inspected the contents of the area beneath the cutout he had made in the floor.
Nigel called from one of his cells. He was out in the car, on Otis, waiting. Jasmine whimpered and came to Lorenzo as he hung up the phone.
'I'm comin' back,' said Lorenzo. 'You just go and lie down in your bed.'
The dog walked into the bedroom. Lorenzo went to meet Nigel.
CHAPTER 23
Calvin Duke lived on 35th Street, off Ames, between Minnesota Avenue and the Anacostia Freeway, in his grandmother's house in Northeast. His backyard, like most of the yards on the one hundred block of 35th Street, was deep and wide, and ended at an alley. Past the alley were the railroad tracks, and past the railroad tracks were the Anacostia Freeway, the green of Anacostia Park, and the brackish water of the Anacostia River. It felt like country here. Many of the residents on 35th maintained bountiful gardens of vegetables and flowers in their backyards. In Calvin Duke's were several cars.
Nigel Johnson and Lorenzo Brown cruised down 35th in Nigel's Lexus, going along slowly so as not to miss Duke's residence. Lorenzo spotted the house, and Nigel swung his sedan into a space along the curb. They walked together to the front door.
An old woman answered their knock. Her skeletal frame was no more than a hanger for her housedress. Sparse white hair topped a scalp dotted with raised moles. Her eyes were sunken in their sockets. She had removed her teeth. To Lorenzo, she had the look of one of those shrunken heads he'd hung on his doorknob when he was a kid.
'Yes?' she said.
'Is Calvin in?' said Nigel.
'You some kind of police?'
'No, ma'am. We're lookin' to talk to him about a car.'
'My grandson's out back, burnin' a steak.'
'We'll just go around there, then, that's okay with you.'
The old woman shrugged. 'Mind that dog.'
They walked down to Ames and then cut into the alley. Crepe myrtle and hibiscus were in bloom and plentiful among the vegetable gardens in the backyards. The smell of their blossoms hung sweet and heavy in the humid early-evening air.
Approaching the back of the old woman's residence, they saw the large figure of a man standing over a brick-walled barbecue pit built up on a concrete slab. He held a green bottle in one meaty hand and a grilling fork in the other. Smoke came up off the grill. A black rottweiler stood by the man's side, looking up at its master, then at the grill, and again at its master.
A large portion of the fenced yard was paved, and on the pavement sat three cars: a late-model Mercedes coupe, a new Cadillac XLR convertible, and a two-tone '63 Impala tricked with mags, new pipes, and air shocks. What wasn't paved was untended and dotted with excrement.
Nigel and Lorenzo stood at the fence. The rot barked lazily but did not leave its master's side.
'I help you two with somethin'?' said the man, raising his deep voice.
'You can if you're Calvin Duke,' said Nigel. 'We wanna talk about a rental.'
'Who sent y'all?'
'Fella I spoke to down at the supper club,' said Nigel. 'Said you were the man.'
'I guess you in the right place, then.' Duke, around forty, big and round, light of skin, and moley like his grandmother, smiled. 'You done found the Dukey Stick.'
'Mind if we come in?'
'Come through the gate.'
'What about that animal?' said Nigel to Lorenzo.
'That dog ain't gonna hurt no one.'
They went through the gated portion of the fence, passing a freestanding garage that had been converted into some sort of office for the fat man. They walked by the cars, waxed and detailed, and stepped up onto the concrete slab. A T-bone steak sizzled on the grill over glowing coals. The bricks at the top of the pit were not mortared to those below them and sat crookedly. A couple of empty Heineken bottles were set atop the bricks.
Lorenzo whistled softly. The rot came to him at once, and Lorenzo rubbed its scalp. The dog's ears were scarred and carried open pink sores. Its eyelids curled inward.
'Champ supposed to be a watchdog,' said Duke good-naturedly. 'But he don't watch nothin' but what's on this grill.'
'You got a fly problem with this dog's ears,' said Lorenzo.
'That so.'
'You clean up the feces in the yard, that'll discourage some of it. But you got to treat this animal's ears now. It needs treatment for its eye condition too.'
'Oh, so now I'm gonna clean up the feces in my own yard.' Duke looked Lorenzo over with amusement. 'You wanna clean shit, you clean the shit out your own yard, hoss. 'Stead of comin' into my yard and telling me to clean mines.'
'Dog needs treatment,' said Lorenzo.
'What're you, some kind of dog police, sumshit like that?' Duke laughed expansively to let them know they were all friends.
Lorenzo stared at Duke.
Duke looked away and drank off some of his Heineken. He put the fork down on the grill and patted his fat thigh. 'C'mere, boy.'
The rot moved back toward his master but did not get too close. Duke reached down to pet him, and the dog backed up a step, then bent his head down timidly and allowed Duke's touch.
'Anyway,' said Duke. 'What can I do for you boys?'