“You had it rough,” said Strange, “like a whole lot of kids. I’m not gonna deny you that. But you made your own bed, too.”
“I did. Can’t say I’m ashamed of it, either.” Oliver closed his eyes slowly, then opened them again. “Will you work for me?”
“Have your lawyers call my office,” said Strange.
Strange signaled the guard. He left Oliver sitting at the table in chains.
“HOW y’all feel?”
“Fired up!”
“How y’all feel?”
“Fired up!”
“Breakdown.”
“Whoo!”
“Breakdown.”
“Whoo!”
“Breakdown.”
“Whoo!”
The Petworth Panthers had formed a circle beside the Roosevelt field. Prince and Dante Morris were in the center of the circle, leading the Pee Wees in calisthenics. Strange and Blue and Dennis Arrington stood together in conference nearby, going over the roster and positions. Lamar and Lionel tossed a football to each other on the sky blue track.
In the stands, Janine sat with the usual small but vocal group of parents and guardians. Among them were the parents and guardians rooting for the opposing team, the Anacostia Royals.
Arrington noticed a white man and white woman walking slowly across the field, the woman’s arm through the man’s, where two refs stood conferring at the fifty-yard line. Arrington nudged Strange, who looked across the field and smiled.
“Terry,” said Strange, shaking Quinn’s hand as he arrived. “Sue.”
“Hey, Derek,” said Sue Tracy, pulling an errant strand of blond away from her face.
“Runnin’ a little late, aren’t you?” said Strange.
“Had a meeting with my attorney,” said Quinn. His cheek was bandaged. His jaw line was streaked yellow, the bruise there nearly faded away.
“They’re not gonna drop the charge?” said Strange.
“Assault with intent,” said Quinn, nodding. “They got to charge me with something, right?”
“Well,” said Strange, a light in his eyes, “wasn’t like Wilson came to your apartment and kicked your ass.”
“Right,” said Quinn. “But with Stella’s testimony, he’s gonna do some time.”
“Soon as they take those straws out his nose and rewire his jaw.”
“It’ll keep him off the stroll for a while, anyway. As for me, my lawyer says, I get sentenced at all, it’ll be suspended.”
“The authorities don’t want no one mistaking you for a hero.”
“I’m no hero,” said Quinn. “I got a temper on me, is all.”
“You think so?” said Strange. He nodded to Quinn’s cheek. “Still need that bandage, huh?”
“All these scars, I look like Frankenstein.” Quinn grinned, looking ten years older than Strange had ever seen him look before. “I don’t want to scare the kids.”
“Bring it in!” said Blue, and the teams ended their six-inches drill and jogged over to their coaches, where they took a knee.
“Glad you could make it,” said Arrington, looking Quinn over as they met the boys.
“I’m like you,” said Quinn. “I wouldn’t miss it.”
“Just doing God’s work,” said Arrington, and he shook Quinn’s hand.
Quinn and Blue went over positions and told the boys what they expected of them. Arrington led them in a prayer, and Strange stepped in to give them a short talk as Dante, Prince, and Rico, the designated captains, went out to the center of the field.
“Protect your brother,” said Strange. “Protect your brother.”
The game began, and from the start the contest was fierce. Many times when one of the black teams from D.C. played a primarily white suburban team, the contest was over before the first whistle. White boys taught by their parents, indirectly or directly, to fear black boys sometimes gave up and lay down the moment they saw black players running onto the field. That fear of the unknown was the seed of racism itself.
But this was not the case here. Today there were two teams from the inner city, a Northwest-Southeast thing, kids battling not for trophies but for neighborhood pride. You could see it in the charging style of play, in the hard eyes of the defenders, the way it took three kids to bring one kid down. And you could hear it in the ramlike clash of the pads, echoing in the bowl of Roosevelt’s field. By halftime, Strange knew that the game would be decided not by one big play, but by one fatal mistake. With the score tied in the fourth quarter, with the Petworth Panthers controlling the ball and threatening on their own twenty, that was exactly how it went down.
On one, Prince snapped the ball to Dante Morris, who handed off to Rico, a simple Thirty-two play, a halfback run to the two-hole. The Petworth linemen made their blocks and cleared an opening. But Rico positioned his hands wrong for the handoff and bobbled the ball as he tried to hit the hole. He ran past the ball, leaving it in the air, and the fumble was recovered by Anacostia. The play broke the Panthers’ spirit. It took only six running plays for Anacostia to score a touchdown and win the game.
At the whistle, the boys formed a line at center field and congratulated their opponents. To their counterparts, the coaches did the same.
“Take a knee!” said Lydell Blue.
The boys formed a tight group, the parents and guardians, along with Lamar, Lionel, Janine, and Sue Tracy, standing nearby. Blue looked at Arrington, and at Quinn, visibly upset. Quinn chinned in the direction of Strange. Strange stepped up to address the boys.
He looked down into their faces. Turf was embedded in their cages, and some of their helmets were streaked with blue, the color of Anacostia’s helmets. Dante was staring at the ground, Prince on one knee beside him. Rico was crying freely, looking away.
“All right,” said Strange. “We lost. We lost this one game. But we didn’t lose, not really. You don’t have to be ashamed about anything, understand? Not a thing. Look at me, Rico. Son, look at me.”
Rico’s eyes met Strange’s.
“You can hold your head up, young man. You made an error, and you think it cost us the game. But if it wasn’t for your running out there, the courage and the skill you showed, we wouldn’t have even been in this game. That goes for all a y’all.”
Strange looked down at the boys, trying to look at each and every one of them, holding his gaze on them individually, before moving on.
“We had a tough season. In more ways than one, it was so tough. You lost one of your fellow warriors, a true brother. And still you went on. What I’m trying to tell you is, every so often, every day, you are going to lose. Nobody is going to give you anything out here, and you will be knocked down. But you got to stand back up again and keep moving forward. That’s what life is. Picking yourself up and living to fight, and win, another day. And you have done that. You’ve shown me what kind of strong character you have, time and time again.”
Strange looked over at Lionel. “You know, I never did have a son of my own. But I know what it is to love one like he was mine.”
Strange’s eyes caught Janine’s as he returned his attention to the team kneeling before him.
“You are like my own.”
Rico ran the back of his hand over his face. Dante held his chin up, and Prince managed a smile.
“I am so proud of you boys,” said Strange.
STRANGE left Prince, Lamar, and Janine sitting in his Cadillac, said good-bye to Blue and Arrington, and walked toward Quinn, who was beside Sue Tracy, leaning on his Chevelle. Leaves blew across Roosevelt’s parking lot, pushed by a cool late-afternoon wind that had come in out of the north.
Strange greeted Tracy and kissed her on the cheek. “Sorry I didn’t get to talk to you much today.”
“You had your hands full,” said Tracy.
“So,” said Strange. “You gonna throw us any more work?”
“I had the impression,” said Tracy, “you didn’t want to get involved with this prostitution thing.”
Strang
e looked at Quinn, back at Tracy. “Yeah, well, I had some personal issues I had to take care of with regards to that subject. I believe I’ve got it worked out.”
“There’s always work,” said Tracy. “We did get Stella back to her home in Pittsburgh. We’ll see how long that lasts.”
“What about the one you snatched away from Wilson?” said Strange.
“Jennifer Marshall. She left home again, and she’s missing. So far, she hasn’t turned up.”
“Gotta make you wonder sometimes, why you keep trying,” said Strange.
“Like you told the kids,” said Tracy. “Live to fight another day.”
“We’re getting a beer, Derek,” said Quinn. “You and Janine want to join us?”
“Thank you,” said Strange. “But I need to get up with her alone on something, you don’t mind.”
“Some other time.”
Strange shook Quinn’s hand. “It was a good season, Terry. Thanks for all your help.”
“We did the best we could.”
“I’ll call you tomorrow. Looks like I’m picking up a big case, and I might need your help. You gonna be at the bookstore?”
“I’ll be there,” said Quinn.
They watched Strange cross the lot and climb into his Brougham.
“I told Karen, the first time we met him,” said Tracy, “that he was gonna work out fine.”
Quinn put his arms around Tracy, drew her in, and kissed her on the mouth. He held the kiss, then pulled back and touched her cheek.
“What was that for?” said Tracy.
“For being here,” said Quinn. “For sticking around.”
AFTER dropping Prince and Lamar, Strange stopped by Buchanan, going into his house to pick up Greco while Janine waited in the car. They drove up to Missouri Avenue, turned left, and continued on to Military Road. Strange parked in a small lot on the eastern edge of Rock Creek Park.
Strange leashed Greco and the three of them walked onto the Valley Trail, up a rise along the creek. Strange held Janine’s arm and told her about his meeting with Granville Oliver while Greco ran the woods through bars of light. They returned to the car as the weak November sun dropped behind the trees. Greco got onto his red pillow in the backseat and fell asleep.
Strange kept the power on in the car so they could listen to music. He played some seventies soul, and kept it low.
“You going to take the Oliver case?” said Janine.
“I am,” said Strange.
“He represents most everything you’re against.”
“I know he does. But I owe him.”
“For what he did with Potter and them?”
“Not just that. The way I see it, most all the problems we got out here, it’s got to do with a few simple things. There’s straight-up racism, ain’t no gettin’ around it, it goes back hundreds of years. And the straight line connected to that is poverty. Whatever you want to say about that, these are elements that have been out of our hands. But the last thing, taking responsibility for your own, this is something we have the power to do something about. I see it every day and I’m convinced. Kids living with these disadvantages already, they need parents, two parents, to guide them. Granville Oliver was a kid once, too.”
Strange stared through the windshield at the darkening landscape. “What I’m saying is, Oliver, he came out of the gate three steps behind. His mother was a junkie. He never did know his father. And I had something to do with that, Janine.”
“What are you talking about?”
“I knew the man,” said Strange. “I killed his father, thirty-two years ago.”
Strange told Janine about his life in the 1960s. He told her about his mother and father, and brother. He recounted his year as a uniformed cop on the streets of D.C., and the fires of April 1968. When he was done, gray had settled on the park.
Strange pushed a cassette tape into the deck. The first quiet notes of Al Green’s “Simply Beautiful” came forward.
“Terry gave me this record,” said Strange. “This here has got to be the prettiest song Al ever recorded.”
“It’s nice,” said Janine, slipping her hand into Strange’s.
“So anyway, that’s my story.”
“That’s why you brought me here?”
“Well, there’s this, too.” Strange pulled a small green jewelry box from his leather and handed it to Janine. “Go on, take a look at it. It’s for you.”
Janine opened the box. A thin gold ring sat inside, a diamond in its center. At Strange’s gesture, she removed the ring and tried it on.
“It was my mother’s,” said Strange. “Gonna be a little big for you, but we can fix that.”
“You planning to ask me something, Derek?”
Strange turned to face her. “Please marry me, Janine. Lionel needs a father. And I need you.”
Janine squeezed his hand, answering with her eyes. They kissed.
Strange kept her hand in his. They sat there quietly in the Cadillac, listening to the song. Strange thought of Janine and of her heart. He thought of Joe Wilder, who had fallen, and of all the kids who were still standing. Outside the windows of the car, the last leaves of autumn drifted down in the dusk.
Deep fall had come to the city. It was Strange’s favorite time of year in D.C.
George Pelecanos
***
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Hell To Pay Page 30