thing he's gonna do.'
'I'd hate to see you violated over something as trivial as that.'
Lorenzo chuckled. 'You ever stop working?'
'When I stop working I get in trouble.' Rachel's eyes softened. 'You know…'
'What?'
'I'm sorry you had to hear all that.'
'You're human, is all.'
'I appreciate it.'
'We all just tryin' out here.'
'Yes.'
'You ever want to talk about any of this, you can call me. Doesn't need to be about me all the time. You hear me, Miss Lopez?'
'Sure. But when it's on that level, it's Rachel.'
'Okay, then. Rachel it'll be.'
Shirley, walking with the quickness of the short and compact, came from the church and joined them.
'Hey,' said Shirley.
'Hey,' said Rachel.
'Can I get a Marlboro, Rachel?'
'Sure.'
As Rachel retrieved the pack from her purse, Shirley looked Lorenzo over with blatant interest.
'You
'Everyone is to you,' said Lorenzo, and Shirley smiled.
Rachel shook out the filtered ends of a few cigarettes, and Shirley drew one from the pack. Rachel handed her a matchbook from the hotel she'd been at the night before and told her to keep it. Shirley lodged the cigarette behind her ear as Sarge passed them on foot.
'Hey, Sarge,' said Shirley. 'Where you headed?'
'Back to my efficiency,' said Sarge, not breaking stride. 'What you think?'
'You need someone to walk with you?'
'I don't need it,' said Sarge, still moving, but slowing down. 'But if you got a mind to, I ain't gonna try and stop you.'
'He ain't all that tough,' said Shirley. She looked at Rachel and then at Lorenzo. 'You two have a blessed day.'
'You also,' said Rachel.
Shirley joined Sarge by the shelter.
'I need to get back to work,' said Rachel.
'I do too,' said Lorenzo.
'You been to the clinic yet?'
'I haven't had the chance.'
'Better do it.'
'I will.'
Rachel touched his arm. 'Thank you, Lorenzo.'
'Ain't no thing.'
Rachel walked to her vehicle; Lorenzo went to his.
CHAPTER 19
'That was Deacon,' said Melvin Lee. He
closed the cover of his Samsung cell and
placed the phone on the table by his chair.
'Figured it was,' said Rico Miller. 'He ain't happy, huh?'
Lee did not answer. Instead he rubbed at his face.
They were in the living area of Melvin Lee's apartment, on the third floor of a row house on Sherman Avenue, near Irving Street, in Columbia Heights. The house had been subdivided into six apartments, two on each floor. It was not far from where Lee had been raised.
The apartment's decor reflected Lee's solitary lifestyle. The few pieces of furniture were secondhand. Only the electronics, a thirty-six-inch high-definition Sony television with theater sound and an Xbox video game system, were new. Lee rarely watched movies or programs, not even sports, on television. He preferred to sit on his threadbare couch for hours on end, playing Counter-Strike, Brute Force, and Project Gotham. Anything with guns or
