He gathered up the rest of the dummies, and some cash to make change, and dropped the vials in a pocket of his Tommys. He fitted his knit Redskins cap on his head, adjusting it in the mirror so it was cocked just right, and left the apartment.
Mario walked down the darkened street to the corner where the market was still open and the streetlight stood. It was quiet out now. He didn’t wear a wristwatch and hadn’t thought to check the time. But he knew it must be late.
He stood on the corner, one hand in his pocket, his posture slouched.
A car came and went, and it was nothing. Then another came, five minutes later, and slowed down. The driver rolled his window down and Mario went there and they caught a rap. It was even easier this time, knowing when to listen and what to say. He was busy selling the driver a couple of dimes, so he didn’t notice the old gray Toyota as it passed.
Mario did his business and the car drove away. He pocketed two twenties for a double dime and walked back to the corner and stood under the light. He put one hand in his pocket and jiggled the vials he had left. He looked furtively around the street.
Mario heard light footsteps behind him. Before he could turn, he felt something hard and metallic pressed against the base of his skull.
He didn’t hear the shot or anything else. The bullet blew his brains and some of his face out onto the street.
Chapter 33
“SO you got no idea where your boy is,” said Strange.
“None,” said Donut, sitting on the couch, his knees scissoring back and forth. “I told the other cop all this already. How many of y’all they gonna send over before someone believes what I got to say?”
Quinn was standing by the shelf holding Donut’s video collection. He picked
“Hey, Derek, you know Carl Eller starred in a movie?”
“Like a
“Except they didn’t need seven. Eller counted as two.”
“Don’t mess with that,” said Donut. “Please.”
Quinn returned the tape to its space. He was just killing time while Strange worked the ugly little man. It had taken them a while to find his apartment. This time of night, Donut’s neighbors had been reluctant to answer the knocks on their doors. But an old man on the first floor had given them Donut’s unit number.
“Donut,” said Strange. “You don’t mind I call you by your nickname, do you?”
“Ain’t nobody call me anything else.”
“We’ll leave right now, you tell us where Mario is.”
“Believe me, if I knew, I would.”
Strange stared down at him, all sweat and nerves. “Maybe you could put us up with his brother.”
“That wouldn’t be such a good idea.”
“We got time. We could sit around here, see if the phone rings. Mario calls you, we’d all know you been lying to us. That’s obstruction in a homicide. I’m guessing, and it’s just a guess, mind you, that you might have some priors.”
“Shit, y’all just enjoy fuckin’ with a man, don’t you?”
“Dewayne’s number?”
“I got it somewhere in this mess,” said Donut. “But don’t tell him where you got it from, hear?”
After they’d left, Donut watched from his window as the salt-and-pepper team walked across the parking lot.
Donut smiled, pleased with himself. All these police trying to get him to talk, and not one of them had. He could hardly wait for Mario to call him, so he could tell his boy that he hadn’t gave him up.
STRANGE and Quinn walked toward their cars.
“Surprised he even let us in,” said Strange.
“You impersonating a police officer had something to do with it.”
“I only told him I was with the police. As in, I’m
“Okay. You gonna call Dewayne?”
“I don’t know what I’ll say to him. But I can’t think of anything else to do.”
Strange’s cell rang. He unclipped it from his belt. The caller ID read “Unknown.”
“Derek Strange here.”
“It’s Nathan Grady. Where you at?”
“Southeast.”
“Mario Durham’s been shot to death. I’m at the crime scene right now. Thought you and your partner would want to know.”
“Damn.”
“He went cleaner than the Elliot girl. You can come over if you want to have a look at him. I’m gonna be here awhile.”
“Give me the directions,” said Strange.
Strange told Quinn the news, then followed him into Far Northeast.
DEWAYNE Durham was sleeping on the mattress in the second-floor bedroom when his cell rang and woke him. He had not heard or even been subconsciously aware of the two shots McKinley had fired out in the alley. Durham had been in a very deep sleep, and he had been dreaming. As he reached for the phone, he tried to bring back pieces of his dream. Something about his mother, but he couldn’t recall what it was.
That homicide detective, Grady, was on the phone. He was calling to tell Dewayne that his brother, Mario, had been shot dead over in Northeast. One bullet to the head, close range. “What kind of gun?” said Dewayne. Grady found the question odd but told him that it had most likely been a.45, as a spent shell casing had been found near Mario’s body. Dewayne asked him how they knew it was Mario, and Grady described his Redskins getup, telling him that the clothing description coming over the radio was what had sent him to the scene.
Dewayne shook his head. Fool never even thought to change his shit.
Grady told Dewayne that he’d called him first as a courtesy. That he would call his mother next if he wanted him to. Dewayne said he’d prefer to go to her place, give her the news in person. Then he could come to the scene and identify the body if that was what the detective wanted him to do. Grady said fine, and not to rush, since the ME crew and photographers would be there for some time. He gave Dewayne the address and cut the line without saying good-bye.
Dewayne Durham sat on the edge of the mattress and rubbed at his face. If he was gonna cry, then now would be the time. Get it done up here, alone, then go down and tell Zulu what was going on. But he couldn’t even will himself to cry.
He’d shed tears with his mother later on, he supposed. Seeing her cry, that would be
