“It’s like I told the police. He didn’t go lookin’ for trouble. But it found him sure enough. It was his way. He just didn’t take anything serious. Couldn’t hold a job, and still, he always felt free to put out his hand. Never did take care of his debts. Never did. Laughed it off most of the time. He thought it was all a joke, but the ones he was laughin’ at, they didn’t see it that way. To them, Lorenze was tryin’ to take them for bad.”
“You think that’s why he was killed?”
“I expect.”
Strange folded the list and slipped it into the inside pocket of his suit coat. He took one of Sandra Wilder’s hands. It felt clammy and limp in his.
“Listen,” said Strange. “You did right by keeping your son away from Oliver, and away from your brother, too. And don’t you ever think that you could have prevented what happened. Because you did right, and you did good. That boy was as special as they come, Sandra. And it’s because of you.”
A smile broke upon her face. The smile was perfect, and her hair was beauty-shop done and in place, and her makeup was perfectly applied. Cosmetically, Sandra Wilder was completely intact. But Strange could see that her eyes were jittery and too bright, and her mouth twitched at the corners as he tried to hold the smile.
Strange put his arms around her and drew her toward him. She fell into his embrace without resistance, Strange catching the foulness of her breath. It was quiet in the room except for the faint voice of the announcer calling the game. After a while he felt Sandra’s shoulders shaking beneath him and her hot tears where she had buried her face in his neck. He held her like that until she was cried out, and he left her there when he knew that there was nothing left.
THE ’Skins / Ravens game was tied up three to three, a pair of field goals the only score, as Strange drove north. A pass interference call against Washington put the Ravens on the Redskins’ one yard line with ten seconds to go in the half. From the radio, Sonny Jurgensen and Sam Huff discussed the most likely call for the next play. It would certainly be a run, Jamal Lewis up the middle. If he was stopped, there would still be time on the clock for a field goal to put the Ravens ahead before the end of the first half.
Strange pulled his Cadillac to the curb and let the motor run. He clockwised the volume dial.
“Come on,” said Strange. “Hold ’em.”
Ravens quarterback Tony Banks did not hand the ball off to Lewis. He attempted a pass into the flat of the end zone to Shannon Sharpe, who was in the company of two burgundy jerseys. It was a bad play to call — if Banks were to throw it at all he should have thrown it away. Redskin linebacker Kevin Mitchell picked off the pass.
Strange’s holler was one of disbelief. The roar of FedEx and the laughter of Sonny and Sam were in the car as Strange pulled down on the tree and continued uptown.
“DEREK, come on in,” said George Hastings. “You see that last play?”
“I been listenin’ to it on the radio,” said Strange.
They walked through the hall of Hastings’s brick tudor in Shepherd Park. Hastings wore a Redskins cap, but he was otherwise cleanly dressed in an expensive sweater and slacks. His house was just as clean.
“You believe that call Billick made?” said Hastings, looking over his shoulder as he led Strange into his den. “You got Jamal Lewis, a tough young back, on the one yard line, and all you got to do is give it to him and let him run it up the gut, and you call a pass? ”
“Tony Banks ain’t exactly one of your top-tier NFL quarterbacks either.”
“Not yet, anyway.”
“Should have pitched it out of the end zone when he saw the coverage. That was his inexperience showing right there.”
Hastings pointed to one of two big loungers in the den. A large-screen Sony was set in a wall unit in the room; the second half was under way. “Sit down, Derek. Can I get you something? I might have a cold beer myself.”
“Nothin’ with alcohol in it for me, not today. A Co-Cola if you got it, George.”
Hastings returned with the drinks and had a seat. Both teams went scoreless in the third.
“Our defensive linemen got fire in their eyes today,” said Strange.
“Yeah, this is one of those classic defensive battles we got goin’ right here,” said Hastings.
“They’ve stopped Stephen Davis, and we got hardly any receivers left except Albert Connell. Fryar’s out.”
“Your boy Westbrook is gone for the season, too. Again.”
“And I thought it was gonna be his year, too,” said Strange sadly. “Next year, maybe.”
At the start of the fourth quarter, Stephen Davis left the field with a pinched nerve in his shoulder. Skip Hicks replaced him for three downs at tailback and then Davis came back in. On second and seven, the teams lined up on the Baltimore thirty-three, with the Ravens showing blitz. Davis took the handoff from Brad Johnson and hit a hole provided by tackle Chris Samuels and fullback Larry Centers. Davis was off with only safety Rod Woodson between him and the goal line. Davis stiff-armed Woodson, dropped him to the turf, and sailed into the end zone.
Strange and Hastings were on their feet with instant high fives.
“Just like Riggo,” said Strange.
“Thought you said they were stoppin’ Davis.”
“You can’t stop that boy for long.”
George looked at his friend. “Good to see you smiling, man.”
“Was I?” said Strange. “Damn. Guess it’s been a while since I have.”
They watched the rest of the game, knowing the contest was over with the Davis touchdown. The ’Skins had broken Baltimore’s back with that one play. When the whistle sounded, Hastings hit the mute button on the remote and sat back in his lounger.
“All right, man,” said Hastings. “Gimme the bad news.”
“Well, I don’t think you can call it bad,” said Strange. “Your future son-in-law is clean.”
“For real?”
“Don’t look so disappointed.”
“What about all that Calhoun Enterprises jive?”
Strange spread his hands. “Can’t fault a man just ’cause he picks a bad name for his business. Far as his work ethic goes, and his reputation, the man is golden. He comes from a solid family who gave him a good example, by all accounts. I got no reason to think he won’t be anything but a good provider for your daughter.”
“What else?”
“Huh?”
“I been knowin’ you too long, Derek, and you know I can read your face. There’s somethin’ else, so why don’t you say it?”
“Well, Calhoun Tucker likes the ladies.”
“Course he does. What, you think some faggot’s gonna be fallin’ in love with my girl?”
“I don’t mean that. I mean, he’s got an eye for ’em.”
“Say what you’re gettin’ at, man.”
Strange looked down at his hands. He had been rubbing them together and he made himself stop.
“I don’t know what I’m getting at exactly, George. I guess . . . I was wondering, not to get into your business, understand, but I was wondering how it was between you and Linda. The whole time you were married, I mean. Did you ever, you know, stumble? Did you ever find yourself steppin’ out on her or anything like that?”
“Never,” said Hastings. “You know me better than that, Derek.”
“But I remember how you were, back when the two of us were out there. When we were single and coming up, I mean. You had a lot of girlfriends, George. Wasn’t like you ever just stuck to one.”
“Until I met Linda.”
“Right. But you and her were together for like, two years before you put the ring on her finger. How was it for you and other women in that time?”
“Well, naturally, you know, I continued to see other girls while I was dating Linda. I never did consider that to be any kind of sin. But once I made a pledge to her and the Lord in the church, though, that was it. I looked hard at plenty of women, but as far as lyin’ down with someone other than my wife, after I was married? It was never an option for me again.”