Hell To Pay

Anyway, that kind of music, it sure didn’t speak to the world Lamar was living in right now.

“You thinkin’ of Joe?” said Strange.

“Yeah.”

“It’s okay. I was, too.”

Lamar shifted in his seat. “That boy was just good. I never thought he’d die. You’d think he’d be the last one living in my complex who’d go out like that.”

“Just because he was a good boy? You know better than that. I’ve told you before, you always got to be aware of what’s going on around you, living where you do.”

“I know. But I don’t mean that, see? Word was, Joe was protected. Even the ones liked to step to everybody, they kept their hands off that boy. I mean, he was a tough little kid and all. But the word was out; everybody knew not to fuck with Joe.”

Strange started to correct Lamar from using the curse word, but he let it pass. “Why you think that was?”

“No idea. Was like, people got the idea in their heads he was connected to someone you didn’t want to cross. It was just one of those things got around, and you knew.”

“I saw some fellas at his funeral,” said Strange, “had to be drug boys.”

“I saw ’em, too,” said Lamar.

“Any idea why they were paying their respects?”

“Uh-uh.”

“Was his mother involved with those people?”

“Not so I knew.”

“What about that car she came in?”

“Everybody drivin’ a nice car these days, seems like. Don’t make you in the game.”

“True. But you never saw her hangin’ with people you thought were in the life?”

“No. There was these young boys, was lookin’ for her one night. They rolled up on me when I was walkin’ through the complex. Said they owed her money. I didn’t tell ’em where she lived, though. They didn’t look right.”

Strange looked over at Lamar. “How did they look?”

“I don’t recall, you want the truth. Don’t mind tellin’ you, Mr. Derek, I was scared.”

“Did one of them have cornrows?”

“I don’t remember. Look, I didn’t even want to meet their eyes, much less study on ’em. I only remember this one boy in the backseat, ’cause he was, like, goofy lookin’. Had a nose on him like one of those anteaters and shit.”

“What about their car?”

“It was white,” said Lamar. “Square, old. That’s all that registered in my mind. That’s all I know.”

“You did right not to meet their eyes, Lamar. You did good.”

“Yeah.” Lamar snorted cynically. “It’s all good. Good to be livin’ in a place where you can’t even be lookin’ at anyone long for fear you’re gonna get downed.”

Strange pulled into Park Morton and went slowly down its narrow road.

“You got be positive, Lamar. You got to focus on doing the things that will get you to a better place.”

Lamar looked Strange over. His lip twitched before he spoke. “How I’m gonna do that, huh? I can’t read all that good, and I’m barely gonna graduate high school. I got no kinda grades to get me into any kind of college. Only job I ever had was dustin’ your office and taking out your trash.”

“There’s plenty of things you can do. There’s night school and there’s trade school . . . whole lotta things you can do, hear?”

“Yessir,” said Lamar, his voice devoid of enthusiasm. He pointed to the road going alongside the playground in the courtyard. “You can drop me right here.”

Strange stopped the car. “Listen, you been good to me, Lamar. Conscientious and efficient, and I’m not gonna forget it. I’ll help you in any way I can. I’m not going to give up on you, young man, you hear me?”

Lamar nodded. “I’m just all messed up over Joe right now, I guess. I miss that boy.”

“I miss him, too,” said Strange.

He watched Lamar cross the courtyard, pushing on a rusted swing as he walked past the set. Strange thought about the description that Lamar had just given him: the white car, and the kid with the long nose. Juarez, the ice- cream-parlor employee, had described the Plymouth’s driver as having a nose “like a beak.”

Strange had the strong suspicion that this was not a coincidence. He knew he should phone Lydell Blue right now and give him the information he had just received. But he had already decided to keep Lamar’s story to himself.

Strange was not proud of his decision, but he had to be honest with himself now. He was hoping to find the murderers of Joe Wilder before they were picked up by the police. He knew that if these little pieces were coming to him, a private cop, it would not be long before the police, fully mobilized, would have suspects in custody. He was wondering how much time he had before they took the killers in. Wondering, too, what he would do to them if he found them first.

STRANGE hit the heavy bag in his basement, showered and dressed, fed Greco, and locked down his row house. He drove uptown toward the District line. In his rearview