Soul Circus(31)

Strange went down to his basement and did three sets of ab crunches, lying on a mat. He then did a dumbbell workout and put in fifteen minutes on the heavy bag with a pair of twelve-ounce gloves, more than enough to break a good sweat. Then he showered, fed Greco, and went on up to the second floor to his office.

He tore the shrink-wrap off a couple of soundtrack CDs he had purchased through the Internet that had just come to this address in the mail today. A Morricone import called Spaghetti Western, which held six tracks from the film A Gun for Ringo, among others, had arrived in the shipment. He slipped the CD into the CPU of his computer and sat down behind his desk. The music came through the Yamaha speakers on his desktop, and he nodded his head. This was exactly what he had hoped it would be. He had been looking for this particular soundtrack for some time.

Strange filed that day’s Xeroxed records on the Granville Oliver case into the cabinets that supported the rectangle of kitchen-counter laminate that served as his desktop. He did some bills, killed more time listening to his CD, and then went looking for Greco, who was lying by the front door and ready to go. Strange grabbed some cruising music, locked the house down, and walked with Greco to his free-time vehicle, a black-over-black ’91 Cadillac Brougham with a chromed-up grille.

He popped some Blue Magic into the dash deck and drove north on Georgia Avenue. The school year had not quite ended, and night had fallen, but there were plenty of kids out, hanging on corners and walking the streets. In fact, he had seen his young employee, Lamar, heading on foot toward the Capitol City Pavilion, a go-go venue the young ones called the Black Hole, on a recent evening. Strange wondered, as he always did, what these kids were doing out so late, and he wondered about the adults who were responsible for them, why they had let them out of their sight.

Janine’s house was a clapboard colonial, pale lavender, set on a short, quiet, leafy street called Quintana, around the corner from the Fourth District police station in Manor Park. Lionel’s car, a Chevy beater he had recently purchased, was out front, and Janine’s late-model Buick was in the drive. Strange used his key to open the front door. He entered the house with Greco beside him, his nub of a tail twitching back and forth.

“It is me,” said Strange, his voice raised, not yet used to letting himself into Janine’s house.

“That you, Derek?” said Janine from back in the kitchen.

“Nah, it’s Billy Dee,” said Strange.

“Getting’ to look like him, too,” said Lionel, tall and filled out, coming down the center-hall stairs and patting his head, which barely had any hair on it at all.

“I know,” said Strange. “Didn’t have a chance to get that taken care of today. Gonna get to it tomorrow.”

“You know that album you got, has those guys with the big ratty Afros hanging out by the subway platform, talkin’ about, ‘do it till you’re satisfied’?”

“B.T. Express.”

“Yeah, them. You’re lookin’ like the whole B.T. Express put together.”

“Said I was gonna take care of it.”

Lionel reached his hand out as he hit the foot of the stairs. Strange took it, then brought him in for the forearm-to-chest hug.

“How you doin,’ boy?”

“I’m good,” said Lionel. “You gonna watch the game with me tonight?”

“You know it. What’s your mom got on the stove?”

“I think she made a roast or somethin’.”

“Was wonderin’ what it was,” said Strange, “smelled so good.”

“Smells like home,” said Lionel with a shrug.

Couldn’t put my finger on it, thought Strange. But, yeah, there it is.

They ate in the dining room after Strange said grace, and the food was delicious. Lionel was graduating from Coolidge High, and the ceremony was coming up soon. He had been accepted to Maryland University in College Park and would start there in the fall. He had been down on the fact that he would not be able to afford to live on campus, but Strange had bought the old Chevy for him, his first car, and that had somewhat offset his disappointment.

“How’s that car running?” said Strange.

“Good,” said Lionel. “I took it up to the detail place and had them brighten up the wheels.”

“You check the oil?”

“Uh, yeah.”

“’Cause you got to do that,” said Strange. “You need to change that oil every three or four months, at the outside.”

“Okay.”

“You want that car to last you, hear?”

“I said okay.”

“You don’t change the oil, it’s like gettin’ on with a woman without giving her a kiss.”