Drama City

'You had me cursin' your name, Boy Scout.'

Mark and Lorenzo exchanged keys. Lorenzo threw a soft right to Mark's head. Mark dodged the punch.

'You're not mad, are you?'

'Nah,' said Lorenzo, 'I'm straight.'

Driving south on Georgia a few minutes later, Lorenzo thought of Green and Butler, and how Nigel was going to carry their deaths, and the waste. Lorenzo had a pretty good idea who was involved in the killings. He realized that he could have called the police with the information first thing. Instead, he had tried to call Nigel.

Straight.

I'm a long way from straight.

Rachel Lopez had two assistants on staff charged solely with handling the paperwork related to her caseload. Rachel had planned on finishing her field calls but decided to drop by the office first to see how the assistants were coming along and to check her messages. It had been a struggle to get out of bed and out of her apartment. She could not even think of food and had not smoked her usual morning cigarette. A shower had revived her, but not by much.

Rachel had a door on her office, an undecorated room with nothing on the walls, and a window that gave to a view of the nearby garden apartments. This morning, after briefing her young assistants and listening to their complaints and concerns, she kept her door closed. She normally left it open, but she was trying to get her physical self together in private. A knock on the door and Moniqua Rogers's musical voice told her that her solitude would be short-lived.

'Come in.'

Moniqua entered, bringing her strawberry perfume along with her. She was a correctional officer with almost as many years in as Rachel. Their styles could not have been more different. Moniqua dressed loudly in big-legged pantsuits, laughed easily and deeply, and never brought her job home to her husband and three kids. She wore plenty of makeup. She carried a gun. Rachel was her opposite in nearly every way. None of this stopped the two of them from liking each other. Because Moniqua had a family and Rachel did not, and because of their cultural differences, they rarely saw each other outside work. But they were friends.

'Damn, girl,' said Moniqua. 'Look what the cat thought twice about draggin' in.'

'I didn't get much sleep last night.'

'Were you tossin' or getting yourself tossed? The latter, I hope.'

'Nothing that exciting. I couldn't sleep.'

'Okay.' Moniqua parked an ample ass cheek on the edge of Rachel's desk. 'Look, I got a new offender coming in this afternoon for his initial consult. But my oldest is in some swim meet thing at the pool and she wants me to be there. Can you cover for me?'

'No.'

'Didn't even have to think on it, huh?'

'I'm gonna be out in the field. I didn't finish my calls yesterday, and I can't get behind.'

'Are they good calls or bad calls?' said Moniqua.

'A couple of gentlemen I could do without. But I'm gonna see Eddie Davis today, one of my success stories. That's always good.'

'What about your boy, what's his name, the dog man—'

'Lorenzo Brown. I met with him yesterday.'

'You like him, don't you?'

'He's got potential.'

'I know he's one of your favorites. And don't try and act like you don't have favorites. Shoot, I like my baby boy more than I like his older sisters. I can admit it.'

'Lorenzo's good. But you got to love 'em all, right? Even the bad ones.'

Moniqua patted the .38 holstered in the belt clip on her hip. 'You keep one of these on you, you don't never have to worry about the bad ones.'

'I'd probably hurt myself,' said Rachel. 'Anyway, you pull that thing, you're gonna have to use it. I don't want to shoot anyone.'

'I ain't never had to pull it, honey. They put their eyes on it, they mind their manners.'

'I gotta get going,' said Rachel, getting up out of her seat. 'Sorry I couldn't cover for you.'

Moniqua looked her over. 'You sure you're not sick?'

'What if I am? Can I stay home from school, Mommy?'

'Go ahead, girl,' said Moniqua. 'You're long past school.'

Lorenzo Brown found Deanwood to be the most country of all neighborhoods in D.C. Many of the houses, though gone to seed, were on large plots of land holding vegetable gardens, tall trees, and all variety of vines. In the summer, older residents sat on open and screened-in porches and conversed in Deep South accents.

Because of their origins, some of the folks in Deanwood still clung to country ways. A few kept goats, and more than a few had chickens and roosters caged or running about their yards. Owning livestock and fowl was illegal in D.C. After the standard warning, Brown would return to find the chickens gone. He assumed they were killed and eaten. He did not know or ask how the goats were disappeared.

Lorenzo was not checking on unusual violations today. He was following up on a caging call he had made the week before to a woman named Victoria Newman, who lived with her dog, a rottie named Winston.

Lorenzo parked in the alley and walked through Victoria Newman's yard. He passed Winston, standing in his