fair.
Hannibal freed his arms from Isaac’s unconscious form and pulled himself to his knees, swallowing and panting a bit. Pain pulsed from the center of his back outward in all directions. His arms ached from sustaining pressure against Isaac’s throat long enough to knock the big man out, and his throat was a little raw from Isaac’s thumbs digging into it, but at least he had managed to end this conflict without either of them getting badly hurt. He suspected that would answer the first question he’d hear when he got outside.
As he closed the front door he saw Janet Ingersoll watching him. She was leaning against his white Volvo 850 GLT, her arms wrapped very tightly around her son. As he approached her he didn’t avoid her eyes. Instead he explored them under the street lamp for what they could tell him. He saw desperate fear there, but relief and curiosity hung close behind that. When he opened the passenger door and waved her inside. She only held her boy tighter.
“He’ll be after us,” Janet said.
“No he won’t. Not for a while. Get in the car.”
“Is he okay?” Now her face showed more concern. She still loved him.
“He’s asleep, but not hurt. Please get in the car.”
“You’re not the police,” Janet said. “Police don’t act like that. Who are you?”
“I’ll tell you in the car,” Hannibal said. When Janet didn’t move, Monty squeezed past Hannibal and squirmed into the back seat. He pulled Nicky in behind him, out of Janet’s embrace. She looked more confused now, as if her son was her touchstone with reality. Eyes darting left and right, she finally dropped into the front seat. Hannibal closed her door, hurried around the car and got behind the wheel. His eyes clamped shut as he sat back and swallowed a gasp of pain.
“You’re hurt,” Janet said.
Hannibal nodded and started the car. “Not bad. This really went better than I expected from what Monty told me when he called me from your kitchen.”
“What now?” Janet asked as Hannibal guided his car away from the curb and down the darkened streets of Southeast Washington, DC. “I can’t just leave.” She turned in her seat and Hannibal wished he could see what passed between mother and son. Then she turned back to Hannibal and her voice was different.
“I didn’t say thank you,” she said, wiping the wetness from her blackened eyes. “Thank you. Now, who are you and why did you become involved with us?” She didn’t attack him for interfering in her personal life. That meant Monty had been right. She was ready for the torture to end.
“My name is Hannibal Jones and I’m a professional troubleshooter.”
Janet ran her fingers through her short-cropped blonde hair, momentarily scratching at its darker brown roots. “Troubleshooter? Like a private eye or something?”
“Well, I do have a private investigator's license, but I don’t do much P.I. work. I make my living helping people in trouble, whatever kind of trouble they can’t get help with otherwise. And sometimes,” he glanced back at Monty, “sometimes I do it as a favor for a special friend.”
Janet sat silent for a moment, as if considering his words and how she might qualify as a person in trouble. And as each block passed separating her more and more from her husband, Hannibal could see her shoulders rise and straighten a little more. He wasn’t sure what had kept her in that house with that dangerous man, but he began to believe she would not be going back. When she seemed to have it all neatly in order in her mind, she looked at him again.
“Okay, back to my original question. What now? Where are we going? Some halfway house or something?”
“For now I’ll take you to the safest place I know. Monty’s house. Actually the home of his grandmother, Mother Washington. I imagine you’ll come to the barbecue I’m giving tomorrow, and then we can decide what you want to do from there. The important thing is for you to be in a safe environment for a little while and have time to think.”
Hannibal’s explanation brought the first word he heard from Nicky, who leaned forward between the front seats and said, “Barbecue?”
2
Sunday
Hannibal loved the smell of a charcoal fire. And there in his building’s backyard, behind the three story brick he called home, he hovered close enough to his round Weber kettle grill to absorb the smoke of the coals and mesquite chips into his pores. He leaned back, filling his lungs with the sweet scent of steaks and ribs dripping with Mother Washington’s dark red sauce, and stared up at the clear blue sky. Nature had sent him a perfect crisp autumn day and he was enjoying it to the fullest.
For most folks, the middle of Columbus Day weekend was a bit late in the season for cooking out, but this was Hannibal’s idea of a good time, and the neighbors who wandered in and out seemed to agree. He scanned the yard, an almost square patch of green a little wider than the building. A dozen or so of his closest friends and neighbors occupied folding chairs, lawn chairs, and the occasional kitchen chair dragged outside for the event. Three picnic tables groaned under the contributions so many guests had brought: potato, macaroni, green and cold pasta salads, plus coleslaw and baked beans.
Everyone who lived in Hannibal’s building had turned out. Virgil, Quaker and Sarge had even invited ladies. Ray was hunkered down over a big plate of ribs across the table from his daughter Cindy. While Hannibal watched, she looked up, perhaps deciding that she had spent enough time on family, and headed for Hannibal over at the grill.
Cindy’s form still made Hannibal’s breath catch in his throat. She was tall and svelte, with a broad inviting smile and eyes the color of dark sweet chocolate. She wrapped an arm around his waist, pressed her ample bosom into his chest, and brushed her lips across his.
“Why don’t you grab a plate and come enjoy some of this party? All work and no play you know.”
“This from the lady I had to pry loose from putting in a full day at the law firm, like she does most Sundays?” Hannibal asked. He was teasing, but they both knew that he had long since given up trying to resist Cindy’s suggestions. He laid the last of the meat on a serving plate and covered the grill, but hung behind a few inches so he could watch the seductive sway of her hips as she headed for the tables. He waited for her to sit to make sure he got a seat facing her. Virgil poked at the boom box two tables away, and the Crusaders filled the yard with their unique smooth jazz sound. That music and sociable laughter filled Hannibal’s mind as he stared deep into Cindy’s eyes and filled his mouth with sweet, tender rib meat. A soft breeze flipped the collar of his knit shirt against his cheek. Hannibal said a silent prayer that if he was slick enough to talk his way into heaven it would be just like this.
Janet Ingersoll stood out painfully when she stepped through Hannibal’s back door into the yard. Not because she and her son were white. After all, Quaker and his date were too, not that anyone present cared. In fact, as Monty led them in, he and Nicky darted for the food and in seconds became part of the festivities. Nor was it her conservative skirt and low heels that made her stand out. All the men were in jeans, but some of the ladies had arrived straight from church and hadn’t bothered to change. No, Janet stood out because Hannibal was swimming in a sea of smiles, and hers was the only face in the place not lightened by the joy of the moment.
Hannibal waved Janet over to his table, and Cindy slid aside to make space for her facing Hannibal. Janet seemed overwhelmed by this small kindness shown by a stranger, as if it were something she was not used to. Hannibal stood long enough for Janet to be seated.
“Cindy, this is Janet Ingersoll, the lady I drove over to Mother Washington’s last night. Mrs. Ingersoll, I want you to meet Cindy Santiago, the only attorney foolish enough to hang around with the likes of me.”
Janet shook the tips of Cindy’s fingers and nodded. When she turned to Hannibal he noticed how different she looked from the night before. Her face and hair glowed from scrubbing. She had done her nails and applied light but attractive makeup, almost concealing her bruises. When she spoke she flashed small, even, perfect teeth. The fact that one of her incisors was chipped was a jarring reminder of the previous evening.
