“Me, what.”
“What do you do, exactly? You didn’t get your lifestyle on Petersen wages. You’re not even a licensed investigator. I asked Tom.”
“Petersen doesn’t require CJA training or a license. That’s attractive to me. I prefer to work without the ticket in my wallet.”
“Well?”
Lucas swallowed the last bite of his steak. He sat back in his chair, had a swig of his beer, and put the glass back on the table.
“I find things for people,” said Lucas. “I retrieve things that were lost or stolen.”
“And you get what for that?”
“Forty percent. If it’s not cash I’m looking for, then I take the same percentage of the assessed value of the item.”
“How in the world did you get into that?”
“When I came back from the Middle East, I did a little security work. Limo companies, driving celebrities and dignitaries, like that. I also silent-bounced at a couple of clubs. One night at the bar I met a woman whose boyfriend had stolen her jewelry before he broke up with her. She was a nice person and this guy was a bully; he’d fucked her over, basically, because he knew that he could. I agreed to try and get her stuff back. She asked me what my fee was, and forty percent came into my head. I don’t know why. I took the job and I completed it.”
“How?”
“It’s not important. I’ve always been aggressive. Make a decision and act on it. I like having a task and solving things, I guess.”
“How’d you turn it into a living?”
“Her jewelry was worth a lot of money, and my take was substantial. I thought, I can get used to this. And I was good at it. I did a couple more jobs, one private, one for a small-businessman whose employee was ripping him off, and it got around on the street telegraph that I was that guy. I started getting referrals. Petersen heard about me from a client.”
“I get it. What about things like pension and insurance?”
“I can buy health insurance. Far as a retirement account goes, it’s not on my radar screen.”
“No college?”
“I had a couple of semesters. It wasn’t my thing.” Lucas leaned forward. “There’s a lot of men and women out here like me, Constance. We’ve been through this war and we just look at things differently than other people our age. I mean, there are certain bars I don’t hang in. The people, the conversations, they’re too frivolous. I’m not gonna sit around and have drinks with people who are, you know, ironic . Being in a classroom, listening to some teacher theorizing, I can’t do it. I also wasn’t about to take a job in an office and deal with the politics. I woke up one day and knew that I was never gonna have a college degree or wear a tie to work. I was coming up on thirty years old and I realized, I’ve fallen through the cracks. But I’m luckier than some people I know. I’ve found something I like to do. My eyes open in the morning and I have purpose.”
Constance pushed her plate, now holding only bones, to the side. “You’re either the most complicated guy I ever met or the simplest.”
“I’m the simplest.”
“You’re smart. You read a bunch. You should try school again.”
“Not gonna happen,” said Lucas. “Does that bother you?”
“No.”
“But it will.”
“Maybe.” She reached across the table, put her hand over his, and squeezed it. “It doesn’t bother me tonight.”
Lucas signaled the waitress.
Tavon Lynch and Edwin Davis drove east over the Benning Bridge in Tavon’s SS, passing streetlamps haloed in mist. The Anacostia River flowed darkly beneath them. They were headed toward central Northeast, a part of the city that was largely unfamiliar to them. A Backyard CD, a live at the Tradewinds thing with Big G on vocals, was playing low in the car. As Tavon accelerated, the young men felt the buzz and rumble of the Impala’s twin pipes.
“Why’d you have to tell him ’bout the package?” said Edwin.
“We’re gonna have to tell Anwan,” said Tavon. “And then he’s gonna put Spero on this one, too. Might as well be up front about it from now.”
“What’s his last name?”
“Lucas.”
“He don’t seem like the type to give up.” Edwin rubbed at the whiskers on his chin. “You tell them about him?”
“No need to jam him up. He ain’t gonna find anything anyway.”
“Had the feeling he was gonna sit out there on Twelfth Street all day.”
“Man keeps hard at it,” said Tavon. “Got to give him that.”
Tavon admired Lucas’s work ethic. He believed that he, Tavon, was of the same stripe. He and his boy Edwin were young, but they had been on it for a while.
Tavon had grown up in Chillum, the youngest of a large family, now scattered. He was closest with his eldest brother, Samuel, who had done time in his youth but was now living straight. Edwin was from a smaller family that lived in an apartment in West Hyattsville. Edwin saw his father occasionally and of late had begun to reestablish a relationship with him; Tavon had no relationship with his father at all. Both of them had graduated from Northwestern High School, where Len Bias had played, on Adelphi Road.
They were into watching sports on TV and playing video games, but mostly they loved nightlife. Tavon caught reggae at the Crossroads and dancehall at TNT and Mirage Hall, and hung out with Edwin at the go-go and hip-hop clubs in the city and in Prince George’s County. The Ibex had been shuttered long ago, and so had the Black Hole, but shows were live in places like Legend on Naylor Road, Icon in Waldorf, the Scene, D.C. Star off Bladensburg, and 24. Tavon and Edwin beat their feet to Reaction, TOB, Backyard, Junk Yard, old bands like EU with Sugar Bear at Haydee’s, and up-and-comers like ABM. They tipped the doormen, the bouncers, and the men guarding the parking lots, and soon they were in the VIP rooms for free and never had to be on the lower floors with those who stood in line. They met a promoter named Princess Lady who got them started on her street team, passing out flyers for a flat fee of thirty dollars a night, then they graduated into real promotion money, creating a guest list for the door that brought in three to five dollars a head. They made up stage names, Young Tay and E-Rolla. They always looked fresh.
In the VIP loft of one of the big clubs off New York Avenue they met Anwan Hawkins, who most everyone knew by sight. He was approachable, an older man who didn’t have to front or act hard because he wasn’t trying to get somewhere; he was there. After several nights partying with Anwan, they began to do a little work for him on the side, keeping their promotion enterprise going all the while. Anwan moved them up quick and kept them busy, and the weed work overtook the promotion stuff and made it seem less important. Soon they were Anwan’s seconds and they let their show business aspirations die.
Thing of it was, they weren’t making all that much money. Only Anwan was bringing it in big. But the life was exciting, for a while.
The two of them still lived with their mothers. Edwin tended to lead a secret life and never did talk to his mom much; Tavon was close to his. She was excited for him when he first began to bring in dollars, and encouraged his entrepreneurial spirit. Then she found a scale in his room and tiny plastic bags, a ledger book with figures and names. He continued to tell his mother he was working on his music, but she could read the lie in his eyes.
“Why they pick this part of town?” said Edwin, as they turned left onto Minnesota Avenue, passing fast-food chains, Chinese grease pits, pawnshops, high-priced convenience markets, and high-fee check-cashing establishments, the kind of places that kept folks unhealthy, broke, and low.
“Said they was gonna be over here tonight on other business,” said Tavon. “They didn’t feel like crossing back and uptown just to pay up. Said if we wanted our piece we’d have to go where they decided to meet.”
“I don’t like being off our turf,” said Edwin.
“I don’t either,” said Tavon. “But I like the way money feel in my hands.”