“‘Monkey Jump,’” said Cook, as an instrumental came strong out of the Wurlitzer. “Junior Walker and the All-Stars.”
“This place is all right,” said Ramone, looking around at the different age groups and types in the room.
“Gus loves all the peoples,” said Holiday.
“Shut up, Doc.”
“One thing about Leo’s, you can meet some ladies in here,” said Holiday. “Just look at that thing right there.”
A young woman came out of the hall and crossed the barroom floor. She was tall and had back on her that many men in the bar were in the process of appreciating.
“I’d kill that,” said Holiday.
“Nice way of puttin it,” said Ramone.
“I’m just a man who likes his licorice. Nothin wrong with that.”
Ramone drank beer down to the waist of the bottle.
“Whatsa matter, Giuseppe, did I offend you? Or is it that you don’t think a woman of color would want to get with a man like me?”
Ramone looked away.
“Gus is married to a sister, he tell you that?” said Holiday to Cook.
“Shut the fuck up, Holiday,” said Ramone in a tired and unthreatening way.
“You say he married your sister?” said Cook, trying to cut the chill.
“My sister’s dead,” said Holiday. “She died of leukemia when she was eleven years old.”
“It’s a joke,” said Ramone to Cook. “He played that one on me when we were in uniform. It wasn’t any funnier then.”
“I’m not joking,” said Holiday.
Ramone and Cook waited for the rest, but nothing came.
Cook cleared his throat. “So, you’re married to a black woman, Gus?”
“Last time I checked.”
“How’s that working out?”
“I guess she’s gonna keep me.”
“No bumps in the road?” said Holiday.
“A few,” said Ramone.
“Just a few?” said Holiday. “Rumor was you were having, what do they call that, fidelity issues a while back.”
“Fuck your rumors. Who told you that, your boy Ramirez?”
“I don’t remember. It could have been him. It was just something that was going around.”
“Bullshit.”
“Johnny said you dropped in on him today at the academy.”
“Yeah, I saw him. Ramirez was wearing his pink belt. Teaching recruits how to block a punch. The proper stance and all that. Another guy who rose to the bottom.”
“You mean like me.”
“I didn’t say that.”
“You could work another twenty and you’d never be the police that I was.”
“You shouldn’t drink so much, Doc. Your mouth overloads your asshole when you do.”
“What’s your excuse?”
“I gotta take a leak,” said Ramone, and he got up out of his chair. He went down the hall.
Cook had watched and listened as they went quietly back and forth through forced smiles and tightened jaws. And now Holiday was relaxed, his hand wrapped loosely around the bottle of beer.
“You were pretty rough on him,” said Cook.
“He’s got thick skin. He can take it.”
“You know his wife?”
“I met her a long time ago. She was police for a short while. Nice-looking woman. Smart. I hear they’ve got a couple of good-looking kids, too.”
“So what’s the problem?”
“There isn’t one. I just like to aggravate him. Guy marries a black woman, he thinks he’s Hubert H. Humphrey and shit.”
“He didn’t bring the subject up. You did.”
“I’m just having a little fun with him,” said Holiday. “That’s all it is.”
Ramone came back from the head but did not sit back down or touch what was left of his beer or shot. He pulled his wallet and dropped twenty-five dollars on the table.
“That ought to cover me,” sad Ramone. “I’m out.”
“I’m just curious,” said Cook. “You never did say if you had any suspects.”
“I don’t know much of anything yet,” said Ramone. “That’s the God’s honest truth. But listen, you guys are done with this, right?”
Holiday and Cook both nodded lamely. It was hardly an oath.
“Pleasure to spend some time with you, Sarge,” said Ramone, reaching out to shake Cook’s hand.
“You, too, Detective.”
Holiday put his hand out. Ramone took it.
“Gus.”
“Doc.”
They watched him walk from the bar, a slight list in his step.
“He knows more than he thinks he knows,” said Cook. “It just hasn’t come to him yet.”
“Still wouldn’t mind beating him to it,” said Holiday.
“Well, we didn’t exactly say we’d stay out of it.”
“Did he ask a question? I was just nodding my head to the music.”
“So was I.”
“You want another beer?”
“I’ve had my limit,” said Cook, watching the same woman Holiday had remarked upon, now talking to a man at the bar. “You go on. I’ll just sit here and dream.”
RAMONE NEGOTIATED THE SIDE streets leading to his home. He drove the Tahoe a little recklessly, taking turns abruptly, going way too fast. Some were more careful when they had a few beers and liquor in their system, but Ramone on alcohol had always been both aggressive and sloppy. Fuck it, let some 4D uniform pull him over. He’d badge him and go.
Ramone wasn’t angry at Holiday. The comments about his wife were weird and cheap, but they hadn’t been directed toward Regina. Rather, he’d been insinuating that Ramone had married a black woman to make some kind of statement. Which couldn’t have been more off the mark. He’d fallen in love with Regina by accident. They had been lucky in their compatibility, like any couple who made it, and their marriage had survived.
Ramone hadn’t even thought too deeply about their color difference in a long time, certainly not since the birth of their children. Diego and Alana had erased anything having to do with that. It wasn’t that Ramone didn’t “see color,” that most ridiculous of claims that some white people felt they had to make. It was just that he didn’t notice it in his kids. Except, of course, to notice how handsome they were in their skin.
It was true that in the late ’80s, when they had married, they had run into some of that old negativity at holiday gatherings and around town. Early on, Ramone and Regina had agreed to jettison any family members and so-called friends who gave off that vibe, neither of them having any desire to reach out to or “understand” folks who were still that way.
Not that the two of them were untainted. Ramone freely admitted to having remnants of racial prejudice inside him that would never go away, as did Regina. They were products of their upbringing and time. But they also knew that the upcoming generation would be much more liberated of those prejudices, and because of that it was likely that their family would be strong and fine. And it seemed to be so. It was rare for Ramone to catch anyone in the D.C. area double-taking him when he was out with his wife and kids. And when they did, it didn’t dawn on him immediately that his family was being noticed because of their different shades. His first thought was, Is my zipper down? or, Do I have something stuck between my teeth?
It didn’t mean his kids weren’t going to face racism out in the world. He saw evidence of it damn near every day. It was hard for him to sit on his hands when his son got slighted due to his blackness or the way he dressed. Because what could you do, put every convenience store clerk up against a wall who had told his son to get out the shop, or threaten every township-quality cop who tried to bust Diego down? You had to choose your spots. Otherwise you’d go crazy behind the rage.
Ramone wasn’t trying to make any statements. It was difficult enough just to get through his day-to-day.
He pulled to a stop in front of his house. Regina’s Volvo was parked in the driveway, and she
had left the porch light on as well as the light in the upstairs hall. Alana slept better knowing the hall was lit. He looked up at the light in Diego’s window. Diego was probably still awake, lying in his bed with his headphones on, listening to music. Thinking of a girl he liked or daydreaming of catching the long ball as the seconds ticked off the clock. All was good.
He sat behind the wheel of the SUV. He was close to drunk and as confused as he had ever been about Asa’s death. He had seen something that day, or heard it in an interview. It was glancing at him like a flirtatious woman. Now Ramone was waiting on the kiss.
His cell phone sounded. He read the name on the caller ID. Ramone hit “talk” and put the phone to his ear.
“What’s goin on, Rhonda?”
“Got something, Gus. You know that ballistics test I ordered?”
“Talk about it.”
“The markings on the slugs recovered from the bodies of Asa Johnson and Jamal White are a match.”
“You sayin —”
“Yeah,” said Rhonda. “They came from the same gun.”
Five minutes later, Ramone entered his house. He locked up his badge and gun, went up the stairs, checked on Alana and Diego, and then walked into his bedroom, locking the door behind him. He went to the bathroom, gargled mouthwash, brushed his teeth, and swallowed a couple of aspirin. Back in his bedroom, he stumbled while taking off his pants and heard Regina stir in bed. He removed his boxers as well and dropped them on the floor. He turned off the bedside lamp and slipped naked under the sheets. He got close to Regina and kissed her behind her ear. In the darkness, he kissed her neck.
“Where you been, Gus?”
“Place called Leo’s.”
“You drunk?”
“A little.”
Ramone slid his hand under the elastic band of Regina’s pajama bottoms. She did not resist him. He began to stroke her and she guided his fingers to a better place, and when he found it she made a small sound and opened her mouth. Ramone kissed her cool lips. She pulled her bottoms down further and kicked them away. He got up on one elbow, facing her, and she took him in her hand and rubbed him against her inner thigh and as she turned into him she pressed the head of his cock onto her warm, flat belly.
“Remember me?” said Ramone.
“You do feel familiar.”
That night, they made love intensely.
TWENTY-SIX
THE NEXT MORNING saw a buzz of activity in the VCB offices. Two bodies had dropped overnight, and assignments and pairings were being discussed. Also, it was Friday, so detectives were preparing for the increase in fatalities that came naturally with the weekend. Added to that was the fact that it was both a government payday and welfare check day, which meant higher alcohol and drug intake in the evening, which generally resulted in an uptick in violent crime.
Ramone, Bo Green, and Bill Wilkins stood around Rhonda Willis, seated at her desk like the queen bee.
“How’d you know?” said Wilkins.
“I didn’t,” said Rhonda. “It was a long shot, but hey. I’ll take it.”
“I don’t see what connects Asa Johnson to Jamal White,” said Ramone. “Dominique Lyons had motive with the White killing, but why would he do Asa?”
They thought about it without conjecture. They stared at Rhonda’s desktop and up at the drop ceiling.
“Twenty-four hours between the two killings,” said Green. “Could be two different shooters.”
“Like the gun got passed on or sold,” said Wilkins.
“Or it was a hack,” said Green. “Whoever killed Asa Johnson rented it to Lyons.”
“It happens,” said Wilkins.
Ramone looked at Rhonda.
“Well, we need to find Mr. Lyons, regardless,” said Rhonda. “Then it will all become more clear.”
“Any action on W Street?” said Ramone.
“He hasn’t posted at the apartment yet. Neither has Darcia.”
“What’s your day plan?”
“I’m gonna go call on Darcia’s mother over in Petworth. See if she can scare up her daughter or point me to her. I don’t know, maybe lean on Darcia’s friend Shaylene a little harder. Just do a little door-knockin, Gus.”
“The old-fashioned way,” said Wilkins.
“Y’all?” said Rhonda.
“Bill’s gonna get into Asa’s computer,” said Ramone. “I’ll be up in the neighborhood. I’m not done there.”
“You want some company?” said Bo Green to Rhonda.
“Always nice to have some size with me,” said Rhonda, nodding at Green’s huge frame. “Gives me confidence.”
“Stay in touch,” said Ramone.
BILL WILKINS AND RAMONE split up in the lot, agreeing to keep in contact during the day. Ramone found a blue Taurus that he knew ran reasonably well, then drove to a Starbucks at 8th and Penn and bought a coffee. He was feeling poorly and thought the caffeine might cure him.
He phoned Cynthia Best, the principal of Asa’s middle school, on his way uptown.
“Ronald and Richard Spriggs,” said Ramone.
“The twins,” said Best. “I know them well.”
“I was hoping to pull them out of class for a few minutes, with your permission. I’d like to speak with them if I can.”
“Just a minute.” Principal Best put him on hold and soon came back on the line. “They took a long weekend, apparently.”
“Sick?”
“Don’t know. We called their mother at work when they didn’t show up for first period and informed her of their absence. It’s standard procedure. We’ve found it’s the best deterrent to truancy.”
“Do the twins miss much school?”
“I wouldn’t describe them as model students, Detective.”
“I know where they live, but I need an apartment number. Could you give it to me?”
“I’ll transfer you to someone who can.”
The Spriggs twins lived on 9th, between Peabody and Missouri, in a group of brick apartments surrounded by a black iron, spear-topped fence. Across the street was another community garden, and in sight was the former Paul Junior High, now a charter school still carrying the name. An Eiffel-like radio tower behind the 4th District police station, and a smaller one beside it on the same side of 9th as the apartment house, were the neighborhood landmarks.
Ramone found the Spriggs unit and knocked on the door. Ronald Spriggs opened it, wearing a T-shirt with a character drawn on it in permanent glitter, a guy in a sideways baseball cap holding what looked to be a ray gun. The sleeves had been cut into thin strips at the shoulder and braided tightly, ending in tiny balls, the kind of ornamental touch found on a lampshade. Ronald had talent as an artist and an eye for design, and Diego owned a few of his custom T-shirts. It was Ronald’s hand that had drawn the “Dago” logo on Diego’s caps.
“What I do, Mr. Gus? Jaywalk or somethin?”
“Nothing that serious. I just wanted to talk with you and your brother about Asa.”
“Come on in,” said Ronald.
They went down the hall. In the living room, the blinds had been drawn and the air was still. Richard was sitting on a worn couch in the dim light, playing Madden 2006 on Xbox. Ramone recognized the game, as the sound track was often running in his own house.
“Richard, Mr. Gus is here.”
Richard Spriggs didn’t turn his head. “Hold up.” His finger worked the controller with dexterity.
“Put it on pause,” said Ronald. “So I can come back and punish you later on.”
Richard continued to play. They had programmed a Broncos-Eagles matchup. An animated version of Champ Bailey intercepted a Donovan McNabb toss intended for TO.
“Shit,” said Richard.
“That’s a blower,” said Ronald mockingly.
“I’m ’a smash you, Ronald.”
“Yeah?” said Ronald. “When?”
Richard locked the game on pause, and the television screen went blue. Ramone had a seat on an armchair facing a coff
ee table where the Xbox unit and controllers were, along with an empty Doritos bag and several open cans of soda. Ronald sat on the couch beside his brother. Richard wore long shorts fray-cut at the bottom, something like Dogpatch by way of D.C. Ramone guessed that these were another of Ronald’s creations.
“What, both of you guys caught the bug or somethin?” said Ramone.
“Half day,” said Ronald.
“They had those teachers’ meetings,” said Richard with a smile.
“They transfer you to truant squad, Mr. Gus?”
“Not my department. I’ll let your mother deal with it.”
“She was tweakin after the school called,” said Ronald.
“We told her we were sick,” said Richard. “Musta ate somethin bad, ’cause both of us got a stomach thing.”
Ramone just nodded his head. He’d known these two most of their lives. They weren’t bad kids. They could handle themselves if they had to, but they weren’t into violence or provocation. They lived with their mother, who was busy with both a full-time and a part-time job, working to support them and also to give them electronics, games, and things with labels that other boys had. It was a struggle to earn the money needed to buy Nike, North Face, and Lacoste products for her sons, and it kept her away from the apartment and further from their lives. Ramone and Regina, capable of making the same mistakes as anyone else, felt the pressure to do the same for their kids, and often succumbed to it, knowing it was wrong.
In their mother’s absence, and in the complete absence of a father, the Spriggs twins were beginning to find trouble. Their actions were not different or more serious than the minor thefts and vandalism Ramone and his friends had perpetrated when he was their age. They were boys with adrenaline, burning it off the wrong way.
The Spriggs twins knew things, as they spent a lot of time out on the street. When Diego’s bike had been stolen out of their yard, Ramone had turned to Ronald and Richard, who had returned it without comment that night. Ramone hadn’t asked them how they had retrieved the bicycle, nor had he forgotten what they’d done. This past winter, Richard and Ronald had been taken into the 4D station for boosting items off the porches of nearby homes. Ramone had gone there with their mother and got them off without charges.
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