“Hey,” said Strange.
“Pop. Rough night, huh?”
“I’m still standin’.”
“Mom kept some food on.”
Strange brought Lionel to him and held him close.
“Don’t stay out here too long, hear?”
Lionel nodded, somewhat embarrassed by the affection, somewhat confused. Strange let him go and walked toward the house, Greco’s nose bumping at his calf. Janine was waiting for him behind the screen door. Strange wondered where he had found the luck to have all this, when others had none at all.
DURHAM and Walker were taken to the Sixth District substation on Pennsylvania Avenue, Southeast, and interviewed separately by homicide detectives working the shootings outside the market. Predictably, both said that they knew nothing about the event. Detective Nathan Grady entered the interview room where Dewayne sat and asked him about the whereabouts of his brother, Mario. Dewayne gave him nothing except for the address of his mother, which he knew they could easily find or already had. There was nothing to hold them on, so Dewayne and Walker were told they could leave. Their car was waiting for them out on Pennsylvania.
Back in the Benz, Dewayne called his mother. She was crying and said that the police had already been to her town house. She told Dewayne that she didn’t know where Mario could be. Their mother was smart enough not to mention Mario’s friend Donut while talking on the cell.
Dewayne Durham told his mother not to worry. He’d stop by later and bring along some sweets that he knew she liked, truffles he could get in a late-night market by her place.
“Drive over to Valley Green, Zu,” Durham said to Walker. “Make sure we don’t get followed.”
Down in Valley Green, near the hospital, they cruised a cluster of streets: Blackney Lane, Varney Street, and Cole Boulevard among them. Durham was looking for Donut’s car, a silver blue Accord, as he didn’t know exactly where Donut lived. But then they saw Mario, wearing that stupid-ass Redskins getup, standing on a street corner up ahead. Mario stood with one hand in his pocket, slouched, just looking around. Looked like he was waiting for something, he didn’t know what. Just like he’d been doin’ his whole sorry life.
“Fool,” said Dewayne under his breath. “Pull over, Bernard.”
Dewayne got out of the car and crossed the street to the corner where Mario stood. Mario kind of puffed out his chest then, like he was one of his brother’s kind. But he saw Dewayne’s eyes and deflated himself quick.
“What you doin’ out here, huh?” said Dewayne.
“Nothin’,” said Mario.
He had some fake crack in his pocket, a whole rack of dummies, but he hadn’t sold a dime’s worth yet. He didn’t think his brother wanted to hear about it now.
“Don’t you know you wanted on a homicide?”
“They found her, huh?”
Dewayne took a deep breath and let it out slow. “Who you stayin’ with? Donut?”
“Uh-huh.”
“Where he live at, man?”
Mario told him.
“You got your cell on you?” said Dewayne. At Mario’s nod, Dewayne said, “Give it to me.”
Mario handed Dewayne his cell. Dewayne dropped it on the concrete and stomped on it savagely, breaking it into pieces. He kicked the various shreds into the worn grass and street.
“They can find you like that, trace your ass right through your phone when you be usin’ it. Don’t you know nothin’?”
Mario looked up into Dewayne’s eyes. “Don’t be mad at me, D.” Dewayne didn’t respond.
Mario said, “You told me the bitch needed to be got.”
“Stupid motherfucker,” said Dewayne. His hand flew up and he slapped Mario’s face.
The blow caught them both by surprise. Mario rubbed his cheek and slowly turned his head back to face Dewayne. Mario’s eyes had welled up with tears and his bottom lip shook.
“Why’d you do me like that?” said Mario, a tremor in his voice. “You my kid brother, man.”
Dewayne brought him into his arms. Mario was right. He had punked his brother, shamed him in front of Walker, who had surely seen it from his spot in the Benz. And that was wrong.
“Come on,” said Dewayne, leading Mario across the street, one arm around his shoulders. “We got to put you underground.”
“Where I’m goin’?”
“To stay with this girl I know who owes me.”
“That gonna be all right with her?”
“It’ll be all right if I tell her it will. C’mon.”
From behind the wheel, Bernard Walker watched as Dewayne led his retard, no-ass, no-job-havin’ brother toward the car. As they neared, Walker noticed the blood-stained shoes on Mario’s feet. Yesterday he had had one “ordan,” and today he had him a whole pair. Walker thinking, That’s progress, to him.