'Uh-huh.'
'I thought you said there wasn't any trouble.'
'There wasn't.'
'You're good at this,' said Mark. 'I don't want to see you blow it.'
'Thanks for gettin' my back,' said Lorenzo, gently pulling his arm free.
'You need to talk or somethin', you phone me. Anytime.'
'I got to get this call.'
Lorenzo went up the stairs. Cindy told him that she was not his personal secretary, and he passed her without comment or breaking stride. Up in his office, he picked up the phone and took it off hold.
'Nigel?'
'I got it.'
'A home address?'
'Car's not registered to Lee or Miller. Man by the name of Calvin Duke owns it. He stays down around Thirty- fifth, in Northeast. Black's mother say he owns a whole rack of vehicles, according to the computer.'
'What, he got a used-car lot, somethin' like that?'
'Or he rentin' cars out,' said Nigel.
'How you know that?'
'Lawrence Graham keeps his ear to the street on that kind of thing. Says Duke's got a rep in Northeast. Maybe we ought to talk to him. If that BMW is a hack, Duke's got to know the place where he can collect the rent.'
'Right.'
'I'd like to find out where those two are at before I parley with Deacon.'
'Pick me up at my place,' said Lorenzo.
'Now?'
'I need time to change into some street clothes.'
'I'll see you in fifteen minutes.'
'Gimme an hour,' said Lorenzo. 'I gotta walk my dog.'
Lorenzo left without speaking to Irena Tovar. Typically, at the end of his shift, he'd go to her office, sit before her desk, and discuss his cases and how he was coming along on the job. He knew he would not be able to look her in the eye today.
Lorenzo went to his Ventura, parked on Floral Place. He cooked the ignition and headed for Park View.
Nigel Johnson picked up the count from Ricky Young on Morton Street. This was normally DeEric Green's duty, and Nigel had not done it himself for some time. He was mindful of any 4D cruisers or unmarkeds as he drove down the street, past his people and Deacon's, who were standing on hot corners, dealing with the drive-through customers and the walk-up fiends trying to buy on the short. He received the cash from Young in a shoe box through the window of his Lexus. Then he navigated the circle back by the apartments, returned to Georgia, hung a right and another right on Newton, and took it to 6th, where his mother stayed. He was certain he had not been followed.
He took the shoe box, and some Breyers mint chocolate chip he had picked up on his way downtown, and went inside the house.
It smelled like her cooking. This was what he waited for, something he could never get from the phone calls he made to her three, four times a day. That smell. That and her music, which was playing now on the stereo he'd bought for her. It was the
Deborah Johnson came from the kitchen, walking down the high-shag carpet to take him in her arms. She smelled like perfume, the sweet kind she favored.
'Hello, son.'
'Mama.'
Deborah was a big woman, five-foot-ten and up around 260 pounds. She was pretty, with nice skin, looked like deeply burnished wood, and neatly styled hair. She always wore makeup, red lipstick and blue eye shadow, despite the fact that, except for Sundays when she went to church, she rarely left the house. She was fifty-four years old.
'Here you go,' said Nigel. He handed her the shoe box first, then the ice cream.
'Thank you, baby. You got my flavor.'
Nigel nodded. He worried about her heart, but he wasn't going to deny her the treats she loved.
'Let me put this stuff away,' said Deborah.
'All right.'
'You gonna have a plate of somethin'? I've got a nice ham and sweet potatoes to go with it.'
'Little bit, Mama.'
'Ham's cold.'
