woman, you know he got to come correct. As a matter of fact, I was just then trying to think up the right romantic setting to propose to Cindy when you walked in. What do you think about…”?
A tap at the door stopped Hannibal mid-sentence. Then the door swung open and a young black man walked confidently into the room to stop in front of Hannibal’s desk. He stood right beside Ray, but seemed not to notice him or Sarge at all.
“You, I presume are Mr. Hannibal Jones?”
The newcomer’s precise pronunciation was not the only reason he arrested Hannibal’s attention. His hair was cut military-short. He was medium height and build, but his ramrod posture made him look taller. His bearing seemed at odds with his black pants and vest, and the white shirt with French cuffs.
“I am,” Hannibal said after a moment. “How can I help you, Mister…?”
“Call me Henry, sir,” the newcomer said. “I’m here for Mr. Benjamin Blair. He would like for you to come out to his home this morning to discuss an assignment. He believes you can be of help to him regarding a situation with which he is dealing.”
“This morning?” Hannibal asked. “Must be important. Are you Blair’s personal assistant?”
“I am his butler, sir.”
Sarge barely stifled a chuckle. “Butler. Now there’s an occupation you don’t hear much about these days.”
“Really?” Ray said with a small smile. “I’m a chauffeur, but I don’t know any butlers myself. You lay out his clothes and stuff?”
“That would be a valet,” Henry replied without humor. His eyes never wavered from Hannibal. “I am in charge of Mr. Blair’s household. Mr. Blair is prepared to pay your normal daily fee for a consultation with you this morning. Will ten o’clock be convenient for you?”
Hannibal couldn’t tell if Ray was more amused by this arrogant dude or insulted by his attitude. He turned to Hannibal and said, “I got a limousine service to run, Paco. I’ll leave you with Jeeves here.”
As Ray headed for the door, Hannibal shuffled things on his desk. He knew his schedule was blank for the next week, but he opened his daybook and flipped the page before responding. “Actually, I’d just as soon get out there and meet him right now. Give me the address.”
“No need, sir. If we are to leave now, you can simply follow me.”
Sarge leaned back in his chair, still fighting an inner laugh. “Another job for the world famous troubleshooter? I thought you were taking a few days off.”
“That was the plan,” Hannibal said, standing and pulling on his suit coat. “But when a guy like Benjamin Blair has trouble, it’s usually serious.”
“Ben Blair? Should I know that name?”
“Probably not,” Hannibal said. “He’s one of the guys who started an Internet company during the boom, but made it stick. Tactical Datamation I think is the name of the outfit.”
“If I may sir,” Henry said, acknowledging Sarge for the first time. “Unless the stock market has shifted radically in the last twenty-four hours, Mr. Blair is one of the three wealthiest men in the Washington D.C. area.”
When Hannibal stepped out the front door of the row house he called home in Southeast Washington D.C. he was dressed for business. For him that meant a black suit and tie, thin black gloves and Oakley wraparound sunglasses. His woman called him a throwback, an anachronism, and on less charitable days, desperately out of style. But his style was his own and he saw no reason to change.
He glanced back over his shoulder at the brick building that held his apartment and his office. When he first saw this place it was a crack house occupied by winos, drug addicts and prostitutes. He enlisted the aid of a small band of homeless men to clean it out and, in the process, found a place in a neighborhood that turned out to be a home worth fighting for. Four of those previously homeless men moved into the other apartments, including Ray Santiago and his good friend Sarge.
Henry climbed into a small Honda and Hannibal prepared to follow. His white Volvo 850 GLT glinted in the sunlight. He had her detailed the day before and was quite pleased with the result. Once belted into her white leather seat he fired the engine up and sat for just a second to listen to her growl and then purr as the engine settled into a smooth idle. Lately he’d been thinking about trading her in, but The White Tornado was perhaps his second best friend. He never called her that in front of anybody, of course. The name just came to him one day when he was pushing down I-95 at close to one hundred miles an hour, blowing every other vehicle on the road out of his way. He loved the car, and it was hard for him to consider letting her adopt another driver.
Hannibal eased through the narrow streets of his neighborhood, keeping Henry’s car in sight but still stopping for kids dribbling basketballs or riding skateboards and rollerblades in the Summer streets. People here made do with whatever entertainment did not require money. He’d work his way over to I-66 toward Dulles Airport and within twenty minutes he knew he’d be in a very different neighborhood, where it was all about spending money. With the air conditioner blowing and the smooth jazz of 105.9 FM on the radio, he punched a speed dial button on his car phone. It was time to set the stage.
“Santiago,” she said. To Hannibal, her voice was a melody that fit right in with Pat Metheny’s tune on the radio.
“Good morning, Cindy. You’re in the office way too soon. But then, I’m already on my way to a meeting for a new case. How’s it starting out?”
“Hey, baby!” He could hear Cindy drop a stack of books on her desk. “How sweet of you to call so early. Yes I’m in the groove here already today. Got an important meeting myself in a few minutes. I’ve been given my first Internet business work. One of our clients is opening a new business offering, and I’ve been handling it. My first one from beginning to end, and all the leading indicators say it’s going to be big.”
“Not sure what that means, but I guess congratulations,” Hannibal said, smiling as if she could see him. “You can explain it all to me tonight at dinner. You’re not working late tonight on this important new deal, are you? We are meeting for dinner, right?”
“Oh, thank God you reminded me,” Cindy said. “Of course we are. And it’s wonderful to have you on a Tuesday night. I don’t often get you away from your weekly volunteer work at the homeless shelter. But it’s probably best for me to meet you, rather than you coming to pick me up. I might be at the office just a little bit late. Where are we going?”
“I was thinking something really nice tonight. What do you say to dinner on Nina’s Dandy?”
He could tell by the sound that she was holding the phone to her ear with her shoulder, but despite the shuffling papers in the background, he knew that question got her full attention. “Hannibal, that sounds fantastic. I’d love it, but on one condition.”
“And that is?”
“That you don’t wear black for once. Okay?”
Henry pulled up to the curb and Hannibal parked his Volvo next to the Lexus in Ben Blair’s driveway. The intensity of the late May sunshine gave the world a sharpness and brightness that seemed beyond reality, even through Hannibal’s Oakley’s. He paused on the blacktop for a moment to acclimate himself to his present environment. After all, there are town houses and there are town houses. This one was wider than most, and had a two car garage, but was still only three stories tall. Not the grandest he’d seen, but certainly comfortable. It was an end unit on an immaculate, well-manicured cul-de-sac that was designed to imitate a friendly suburban neighborhood, and largely succeeding. Flowers surrounded several of the mailboxes, and basketball hoops stood guard over many of the driveways, including this one. Then Henry called down the stairs from the front door.
“Mr. Jones. Please come in. I’ll ask you to have a seat, and Mr. Blair will be with you in a moment.”
A three-story townhouse with a formal butler. This spoke volumes to Hannibal.
Inside, everything he saw fit his initial judgment. Too many paintings covered the walls. Globes, sculptures and expensive toys were everywhere. The decor was chrome and wood with functional furniture. This was new money still learning how to behave at this level.
The butler deposited Hannibal in the large eat-in kitchen, handed him a cup of coffee, and disappeared. Hannibal had perhaps two minutes to enjoy the soft jazz piping through the room from some invisible source before a New England spiced voice called his name.
