After waiting through a long enough silence, Cindy asked “What did you tell him?”
“I told him he was going to have to fight me every day until I won. If he won that day, I’d be at his house the next day. Well, he slapped me around a little more, then we just kind of stood there looking at each other for a while. I’ll never forget it. There was blood running out of my nose, blood running out of my mouth, I had this cut over my right eye. You know what he said to me?” Hannibal chuckled at the memory. “He goes `I quit. You got more balls than any nigger I ever seen’ he says. And then I said `Don’t ever call me that again’. And after a minute, he goes `I won’t, and neither will anybody else in this school’.”
Cindy hugged herself to Hannibal then, throwing her leg over both of his. “So you won.”
“Not really,” Hannibal replied, putting his fingers into her thick hair, absorbing her warmth. “I just didn’t lose, because I didn’t give up. A lot of times, the guy that looks like he won, he’s just the guy who was the last to quit.”
“That’s why this happened, I think,” Cindy said, patting the mattress. “You’re a cowboy, and I guess I got a thing for cowboys.”
“A cowboy? Me?”
“Not like a country music fan, but like the old movies. You know, the mysterious stranger who rides in from the west and solves everybody’s problems. Like what you’re doing in this house, chasing the drug crowd out. That’s really noble. And what you did for my papa.”
“What? You mean hiring him?” Hannibal asked.
“You know what I mean. Dealing with the loan shark. He thinks I don’t know, but he couldn’t keep a thing like that from me. I could have given him the money, but what you did was so much better. You preserved his pride. I think I started loving you that first day you came to my house.”
Silence settled on them like a comforter as Hannibal reacted first to Cindy’s knowledge of his secret charity, then to her first use of the “L” word. He was in no way ready to deal with that concept. Cindy tensed, and too late he realized she must have felt his stomach tighten.
Stillness held the room so tightly that they both jumped when the telephone rang. Then they laughed, tension draining from them as Hannibal reached for the lamp. Cindy shielded her eyes, glancing around between her fingers.
“Okay, so where is it?”
Hannibal’s arm snapped out, pointing across the room toward the front of the building. “The phone’s waaaaay out there.”
“Well, since you did all the work this time…” Cindy rolled to her feet, pulled on her shorts and tee shirt, and scampered across the floor into the front room.
At first Hannibal lay back, basking in the warmth of recent sex. He loved that partial dream state, when the body and mind are immersed in the joy that comes when everything works just right in bed. But as the seconds slipped by, time began to erode the afterglow. Cindy was too quiet to be on the phone, and who could it be anyway. He glanced at his watch. It was after eleven, and almost no one had that telephone number.
When Cindy returned, her face drawn and eyes wide, Hannibal was sitting up on the edge of the bed.
“It’s Dan.” She said simpy, wrapping her arms around Hannibal as he stood up. “He’s at Bethesda. Oh, Hannibal, he’s been hurt. Hurt bad. They found this number in his wallet and he’s been asking for you.”
-31-
WEDNESDAY
Not long after midnight, Daniel Balor’s eyes flickered open. They scanned across his wife, then Cindy. Finally they settled on Hannibal, farthest away, leaning against the door. When Balor spoke, it was to him.
“Get the women out of here,” he whispered. Hannibal moved in closer, not sure he understood. “Get them out,” Balor repeated, his eyes pleading. Swallowing hard, Hannibal gently took both women’s arms and led them out the door, closing it behind them.
When he turned, he saw Balor again as if for the first time. The top sheet made his broad form appear to melt into the bed. His thick hair was an unruly gray mop on the pillow. Dark brown eyes were sunk deep in caves beneath excessive eyebrows. Tubes were everywhere, running into his arms, his mouth, his nose. In a corner, some sort of monitor beeped periodically. Despite the odor of alcohol Hannibal could smell dried blood.
Nothing makes a man look as insignificant as lying in a hospital bed, Hannibal thought. Not wearing ballet shoes, not being driven someplace by his woman, not even sitting on the toilet. Cindy must have thought he was being cruel sending his wife away at a time like this, but Hannibal understood. He was embarrassed.
“Took three of those punks to do this.” Balor began, but coughed hard before he could say more.
“Don’t talk.” Hannibal picked up Balor’s chart, hanging at the foot of his bed. “Doc says they cracked a couple ribs.” They had broken no limbs, but they had worked his body over pretty well. He was a mass of bruises, his lip split, his right eye blackened. His nose would need straightening. Overall, he looked a lot like Hannibal had the day he woke up in Cindy’s guestroom.
“God, I’m sorry.” Hannibal hated the room’s alcohol stench, its smell of death. “Look, we better not take this any further. These guys don’t play by any rules. I’ll move my people out and…”
“Bullshit,” Balor whispered. He seemed to be fading into the white sheets, white pillowcase, white walls, white ceiling. “Nobody’s going to run me away from something that belongs to me. Understand? You said you wouldn’t quit until the job was done. You can’t walk out on me now, damn it.”
“All right, all right.” Hannibal moved closer, squeezing the older man’s arm. “Look, this is one time you’re glad you’re a Navy vet. I happen to know this hospital’s got pretty good security. I came here a couple of times with, a man I was protecting on my last job. If you’ll just relax, I’ll get the police to watch your wife. Then I’ll go find the guys responsible for this and send them in to keep you company. Okay?”
Balor smiled. “They better look worse than me when they get here.”
Somehow Hannibal swallowed his rage when he left Balor’s private room. Two people waited in the hall, but only one was expected. Mrs. Balor stood facing her husband’s room, wringing her hands. The other person sat slouched in a chair, but pulled himself up to stare into Hannibal’s eyes arrogantly. “So you’re this Jones guy?”
“Maybe,” Hannibal said, matching the stranger’s stare. “And you are?”
“Denton, Mick Denton.” He was Hannibal’s height, but soft around the middle with thick, stubby legs. He had clearly come here straight from bed. He was unshaven and his breath smelled of leftover beer.
“So you’re the building manager,” Hannibal said conversationally.
“Yeah, and I do my job,” Denton sneered. “I thought you were supposed to help people out of tight spots. I got a look at Balor. Did you help him out of a jam?”
“Well I tried to,” Hannibal said after a deep breath, “but I guess I used a little too much force.”
Then he turned to Mrs. Balor. There was no shortage of steel in her spine. Hannibal guessed she would handle this okay.
“Ma’am, I’m truly sorry.”
“I understand, young man,” she said softly. She took his hand in both of hers and stared up into his eyes. “My husband still thinks he’s the young crusading lawyer. And he doesn’t want me to see him as anything but tough and strong. He just doesn’t understand, that’s the only way I can see him. That’s what he is.”
“He’s very lucky to have you,” Hannibal said in the hushed tones people so often use in a hospital. “Now, ma’am, did you see where…”
“Your young lady went down to the chapel. I think she needs you.”
After the brightness of the halls, it took his eyes a moment to adjust to the dim, somber lighting in the chapel. The silent room held the slightest scent of some incense he could not name. He felt ill at ease in church settings, as if he were always on the verge of doing something wrong in the eyes of the Lord.
Several people
were seated inside, spaced as far apart as possible it seemed. Hannibal walked down the aisle very slowly, hoping not to disturb anyone even as he checked every face. He finally located Cindy at the very right edge of a center pew. Her head was leaned forward, resting on her folded hands on the back of the next pew. Moving as quietly as possible, he walked in from the center to sit beside her. His arm started around her, but then he felt it would be inappropriate there. After a moment of feeling helpless, he rested a hand on her shoulder and leaned in close, almost resting his mouth against her ear.
“Are you all right?”
She turned her tear-streaked face toward him, the corners of her mouth pulled down so far that it distorted her features, so he barely recognized her. “I am so, so sorry,” she said, on the verge of a sob. “Can either of you ever forgive me?”
“What are you talking about?” Hannibal asked. He found his handkerchief and held it to her face. “None of this is your fault. Balor had no way of knowing….”
“No. No. It was me.” She blew her nose quietly, and dabbed at the seemingly endless flow of tears. “I thought I was so smart.”
“Cindy, please tell me what this is all about,” Hannibal said, almost pleading.
“Oh Hannibal, I could have gotten you both killed. I just wanted to do something.” She squeezed his hand hard and he let her, waiting quietly, letting her work out whatever it was she wanted to tell him.
“I knew about that building in Anacostia,” she went on after a moment. “At first, he said he’d fix it up and get nice people in there. I convinced him to do that. I thought it was a chance for him to do something positive, to make a difference. I just knew it would save that neighborhood if he did.”
“Come on,” Hannibal said. “That was a sound business decision that would have had a nice side effect.”
“But he never really tried to get those drug dealers out of there,” Cindy said, shaking her head. “He was ready to drop the project and take the loss. Then you came along.”
She stopped to blow her nose again, giving Hannibal time to put it together. Still, he knew she wanted to say it all without interruption.
“That night, while I watched your apartment house burn, it all just seemed so right, like a gift from above. You were a hero, like the cowboy, you know?”
“Yeah.” Hannibal could not help but smile. “I was the guy who rides into town looking for work the day the sheriff gets shot.”
“I knew Dan’s other properties were all about full,” Cindy said, looking at her shoes, or her hands, or anything else that kept her eyes away from his face. “And here you were, a specialist in solving other people’s problems. I knew if I took you up there to talk about an apartment…” she shoved her face into his chest and sobbed.
“You scheming, manipulative little minx,” he said, but with a smile in his voice.
“Oh, Hannibal, I’m so sorry. I did manipulate you both, and now you’ve had to pay. And poor Dan, at his age, to get…”
“Now that’s enough of that.” Hannibal lifted her face and kissed away the two most recent tears. “I’m sure he didn’t do anything he didn’t want to do. You brought us together, but you didn’t make me take the job. I snapped at it. This is no more dangerous than anything else I’ve done to make a living all my life. Now, I don’t want to hear any more guilt tripping out of you. I’m really grateful to you for giving me the chance to do this.”
“You…you mean it?”
“Of course,” Hannibal said. He retrieved the handkerchief, trying hard to dry her face. “And Balor’s beating’s probably his own fault. He shouldn’t have blabbed his good intentions all over town.”
Cindy sat up, her eyes wide and her mouth forming a circle. “But he didn’t. I think he was embarrassed by it. It’s like all the charity work the firm does. “They do it all anonymously. I think he believes it’s not charitable if anyone knows who did it. That’s how I know this wasn’t just a business decision to him. He swore us all to secrecy about what you were doing.”
“Well I never mentioned his name in this,” Hannibal said. Someone behind them shushed him, and he realized he had been a little too loud. More quietly he said, “Got to go,” and kissed her softly on the mouth. He suddenly realized he had some arrangements to make before sunrise.
-32-
Mick Denton squinted against the early morning light as he pushed his office door open. He looked as if he had not slept much, his naturally unkempt hair spiking on all sides. His tread was heavy and his breathing labored. He was three steps into the small, darkened office before he froze, as if his legs were late getting the message something was wrong. Hannibal Jones was sitting in his chair, behind his desk. He wore black leather pants, jacket, and gloves. Very dark wraparound sunglasses only accented his light skin.
“Come on in, Mick,” Hannibal said, slowly standing up. “We need to talk.”
Hannibal doubted if Denton’s fight or flight reflex ever knew confusion, considering how quickly the flight reaction took command. Denton turned before Hannibal’s sentence was finished, just as Sarge slammed the door shut. Sarge had been standing behind the door with his Louisville Slugger.
“ Pretty proud of yourself, aren’t you Mick?” Hannibal asked, walking around the desk. “I’ll bet it was worth it being up so late just to see the look on my face, wasn’t it? Well that’s okay. You got me good.”
“What the hell are you talking about?” Mick stuttered out.
Hannibal sighed. “Look, we can do this the easy way if you like, Mick. Just tell me who ordered the stomping. I don’t think it was Sal, but, who knows?”
“How would I know?” Denton howled. “I don’t know nothing.”
“I ain’t got time to dance with you, Mick.” Hannibal wrapped one gloved hand around Denton’s chin, fingers pushing into the man’s fleshy cheeks. Twisting Denton’s face, Hannibal turned his back to the desk. “I’m betting it was your idea, wasn’t it? Stop messing with servants, right? Go to the source. Yep, you’re the finger man. I just need to know who you report to, dig? Now, easy or hard?”
Hannibal knew that fear could bring the fight out, even in the most dedicated coward. He watched Denton take three deep breaths to screw up his courage. Then, as expected, Denton swung his best right for Hannibal’s jaw. Hannibal effortlessly caught the punch with his right hand, spun to clamp the arm under his own shoulder and slammed Denton face down onto the desk with his free arm outstretched along its surface.
“I never told anybody who I was working for, Mick,” Hannibal said, looking over his shoulder at Denton. “Kept wondering how they fingered Balor. He didn’t tell anybody, and neither did anyone else at his office. Then you walked right up to me last night and repeated word for word what I said to Balor in his office. You know, about how I help people out of tight spots. You left the speaker phone open, didn’t you?”
“I didn’t do nothing,” Denton whined. “I swear it.”
“Guess we’ll do this the hard way.” Hannibal nodded toward Sarge, who walked around the desk, making sure Denton could see him. At the far end, he raised his bat over his head. With a burst of energy, Denton struggled to free himself, but Hannibal leaned back, locking him in place.
Denton gave a gargled scream as the bat came down. A loud crack sound reverberated in the room as the bat crashed into the desk five inches from Denton’s fingers. Hannibal could actually smell Denton’s fear, and he was afraid he smelled something else the man had released. The only consolation was that he knew Denton smelled it too.
“Who’d you talk to, Mick?” Hannibal asked again.
“Oh, God, let me go,” Denton whined. His mouth sounded as dry as sandpaper and his eyes bulged as he watched the bat rise again. He curled his right hand into a fist, trying to hide his fingers. Sarge grunted with the swing and this time the crashing impact was only two inches from Denton’s hand.
“Last chance, Mick,” Hannibal said through clenched teeth. “You talk to Sal Ronzini? Huh? Or one of his
flunkies?” Sarge raised the bat again. Hannibal looked at his friend and said, “Okay, break something.”
“No,” Denton shouted, shaking his head and smearing the desk top with sweat. “It was the old man.”
Hannibal was stunned enough to smile. “Well, what do you know. Sarge, I feel like I found a diamond in a Crackerjack box.” He eased the pressure, and Denton pulled himself free.
“If you ain’t lying, you might come out of this in one piece, slime ball,” Hannibal told Denton who cowered at the other end of the room. “You just give me the phone number and we’ll be on our way.”
“But…but I don’t have a number,” Denton choked out. Sarge rushed toward him, ball bat upraised, but Hannibal put a hand on his chest.
“You meet him somewhere?” Hannibal asked.
“Yeah, that’s right. There’s this place he goes to have a drink. I just answer questions and he takes care of me. Lots of guys go there and tell him things.”
“You report to him?” Hannibal asked.
“He just likes to know what’s going on around town is all,” Denton said.
Hannibal turned his smile on Sarge, who shared it. “I think Mick here will ride with us today, just so he doesn’t get himself in any trouble. And tonight, maybe we can get to meet the big guy.”
Denton was docile when Sarge took his arm. They all went outside, and Hannibal made sure the office was locked behind them. Ray had been waiting for them in Hannibal’s car with the engine running. Hannibal slid in beside him, but neither man spoke. Sarge pushed Denton into the back seat and sat beside him. Denton jumped when Ray pushed the button that locked all the doors.
Denton continued to sweat despite the air conditioner’s breeze. Ray constantly checked the rearview mirrors as he moved the Volvo through cross-town traffic toward the Capitol. Hannibal sensed his nervousness, but purposely said nothing. He did not want to get into a conversation about the relative morality of what was undeniably a kidnapping. Projecting as much calm as possible, he pushed buttons on his telephone. When it stopped ringing he asked for Ms. Santiago, and then waited patiently for her to answer.
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