Troubleshooter Page 7

  Mrs. Washington raised an eyebrow and pointed toward the kitchen. “Go on, son, call your woman.”

  Not wanting to argue, he simply got up and went to the kitchen. The linoleum was chipped beneath his feet, and the lighting was dim, but like the rest of the house, the kitchen was sparkling clean. The sweet aroma of freshly baked fruit made his stomach ache for a taste of home. Only a homemade apple pie could smell so good. He dialed the wall phone, and one and a half rings later, heard Ray say “Hello!”

  “Ray? Hannibal. Things didn’t go too good. No, I’m all right. Yeah, but I didn’t get far. In fact, I’m less than a block away from the house. Yeah. No, no. Well, because I don’t know how alert the bunch in the house is and I don’t want anybody to see me coming out of here. No, the car’s too conspicuous. Just wait right there. I’ll give it about fifteen minutes and I’ll jog on up, okay? Right. Out.” As he hung up the phone he found a small round face staring up at him.

  “You got a backup man, don’t you?” Monty asked. Hannibal smiled and nodded on his way back to the sofa. Monty followed like a kid behind the ice cream truck.

  “I didn’t think you were on this job alone,” Monty said. He waited until his grandmother passed them to go into the kitchen herself before he continued. “See, I spotted your ride parked around the way. I bet your partner’s in there. You a fed?”

  “Gabriel!” his grandmother snapped from the kitchen, embarrassed by his question.

  “No, son, I’m not a fed,” Hannibal said. “I’m just a guy who wants those drug dealers out of that house.”

  “Praise the Lord.” Mother Washington walked past him to set a slice of pie and a steaming cup on the coffee table. “Now you sit down here and eat something.”

  “Mother Washington, I’ve got to…”

  “Sit!” she ordered. Hannibal dropped onto the sofa behind his plate. Mother Washington slowly lowered herself into an armchair. She moved as if her feet bothered her, or perhaps her knees.

  “Young man, there’s some decent, God fearing people live around here,” she said. “They’s poor and they’s loud and sometimes they gets out of control, but mostly, they’s good people. Now them people with they drugs, just come in here and took over. What we got to do, we got to take our street back. Somehow.” Her conversation had built into preaching, but dropped off with the last word.

  “Well, maybe I can help a little,” he said around a bite of pie. “Really, though, I don’t think this kind of thing will ever really go away unless everybody around here just stops buying drugs.” He stood up, still just a little dizzy. To his dazed vision, the house wore poverty like a drape, but beneath it, a certain nobility lay hidden. “Again, I thank you for everything, but I really must go. I’ll be back tomorrow and if you like, I’ll stop by. Now, can I use your back door?”

  Mother Washington raised her hand as if giving Hannibal a benediction. He nodded and moved back through the house. As he reached for the knob, Monty tugged on his jacket. “You coming back to mess with The Man?”

  “Well…yeah. He’s got to leave that house.”

  “What you going to do?” Monty asked, backing away with hands spread wide. “You ain’t no fed. They ran you off the road.”

  “Gabriel, leave the man alone, now,” Mother Washington called from her chair.

  After a brief hesitation, Hannibal dropped onto his haunches, closer to Monty’s eye level. “Look, pal, I know it looks like the biggest guy always wins, but I’m telling you it ain’t like that. Look.” He had the boy’s attention now, but what could he tell those wide, cynical brown eyes?

  “Look,” he began again, “When I was your age I was in a lot of fights. Not gang action, like the kids do these days, but one on one. What I found out back then is, the winner isn’t necessarily the biggest guy, or the strongest. It’s the guy who won’t give up. If you don’t quit, you can’t lose. I don’t quit. And I’ll take that house back. You’ll see.” He stood up and was about to call goodnight to Mother Washington, but she was very still with her eyes closed. Asleep in her chair, he thought. Or praying.

  Hannibal slipped outside and the night swallowed him. He hurried through the tiny backyard down the narrow alley. When he reached the street he scanned it with all his senses. He saw no one on the street, if you didn’t count the single wino moving unsteadily on the sidewalk. After a deep breath Hannibal began a slow jog toward the corner, staying close to the buildings. The cool air cut into his lungs, each inhalation shocking him awake.

  He homed in on the only white car shining in the dim moonlight. He heard the car’s door lock click open just as he reached for the handle. Ray must have been watching for him. He dropped heavily onto the seat, breathing hard. The short run had done him good, filling his lungs and getting his heart going, but the dizziness had come back. Mild concussion for sure, he concluded. He had something to tell Ray, something that seemed important but he could not recall it right then. Maybe if he just lay back in the seat for a minute.

  -15-

  FRIDAY

  “Coffee.” Before he had really thought it, Hannibal had said it. He awoke needing some, like every day. His next thought was that he wasn’t at home. Where he was did not feel like his apartment. Then he remembered he no longer had an apartment. But it did not smell like a hotel room either. He cracked his eyelids, suppressing the headache and glanced around. He lay in double bed, in a strange room. A pleasant, clean, neutral room. He saw prints on the walls, the kind of pictures that end up in calendars, but no photos on the furniture, no cigarettes or magazines. A guest room.

  Swinging his feet to the floor made him feel a little better. He wore only briefs, but a terry robe lay across the foot of the bed. Despite some soreness, he managed to squirm into it. Then he reached for the doorknob, figuring there must be a kitchen and in it he could find some…

  “Coffee?” Cindy met him at the door holding a large mug toward him. Its aroma was heaven, making all his senses predisposed to happiness. Perhaps that’s why she looked so good to him. She wore her hair down, with the slightest curl at the bottom. It was a completely natural look that must have taken her hours to achieve. She wore her skirt and blouse just tight enough to leave room for his imagination. He smiled like an idiot, accepted the cup and gulped down a third of it.

  “Good morning,” he said when he came up for air. “Thank you. Why am I here?” He tried to be gracious, but as he spoke it sounded rude to him.

  “You were hurt,” Cindy replied, her smile flipping over into a pout. “I couldn’t let him take you to some hotel.”

  “Him is your father, I assume.” He stepped past her to sit on the couch. “Where is he? Come to think of it, that must be his room. Where’d he sleep?”

  “Oh, he took the couch.” She sat beside him. She was being far too sweet and he wanted to be mad.

  “That wasn’t necessary.” He took another big gulp of coffee.

  “You were hurt.” She was playing with him, and he did not know how to react. “Come in the kitchen and join us for some breakfast. Then you can drop me at work, then go get checked out by a good doctor.”

  His Seiko told him it was nine-thirty. “Aren’t you late?”

  “I’m an attorney,” Cindy replied in her haughtiest voice. “I told them I’d be in when I got in. I wanted to wait until you were up. Now there’s juice and toast and bacon and juevos rancheros in there, you know what that is? Good. Anything else you want?”

  “Yeah. I want my pants.” But she had managed to make him smile.

  The Hannibal Jones who walked into Balor’s office was all business. Hannibal had waited fifteen minutes for a client to leave, but he showed no signs of impatience. This Hannibal wore the same dark glasses and gloves he had worn during his earlier visit, but now he was dressed in black jeans and a pullover, running shoes, and a black shell windbreaker. He presented a very different image from the dapper young man who had walked into Balor’s office three days before. Balor looked closely at the abrasion on Hanni
bal’s face. Hannibal hoped it wasn’t a show of weakness, but rather that it would emphasize his tougher image.

  “Morning,” Balor said, taking a seat. “That’s not a rash on your cheek, is it? Things get rough over there in Anacostia?”

  “Yeah,” Hannibal replied, continuing to stand.

  “Uh-huh.” Balor nodded with resignation. “And now you come to tell me you want out.”

  “Not a chance.” Hannibal saw in Balor’s eyes that he had overreacted, and toned his voice down a notch. “I come to tell you things are going to get rougher. You got to stay behind me, no matter what, you understand? I’ll clear that place out tonight. In a week, you’ll be able to start renting it. First, I got to prove to the squatters that they can’t come back. When they settle somewhere else, then I’m off the case.”

  Balor leaned back, taking a long hard look at the man in front of him. He focused on Hannibal’s dark glasses, as if he wanted a better look at his eyes.

  “You know, I pride myself on being able to read people,” Balor said. “I don’t really know you, but I can read your body language all right. Your whole attitude tells me you’re serious. You really are just getting started, aren’t you? Okay, what can I do to help?”

  “That’s easy,” Hannibal said. “You can turn the place on.”

  “What? I don’t…”

  “Turn it on.” He rested his hands on Balor’s desk. “The lights, the gas, the phone. All of it. And be prepared for the cost of those renovations you said you planned to do. Oh, and I need you to whip up a dummy lease for me.”

  “You moving in?” Balor asked with a smile.

  “You couldn’t pay me to live in that place for real. But for right now, the only way to keep those junkies and winos out is to be there to chase them away.”

  “Kind of an elitist attitude, isn’t it Mister Jones?” Balor picked up a cigar, but never flicked his lighter because he saw Hannibal stiffen at his remark.

  “You know, I’ve heard that stuff all my life. Man wants to stay in his slum, that means he don’t want to get ahead. Man wants to leave the slums behind, he’s got an attitude, betraying somebody. Just you remember you’re fighting this battle long distance, Bro. I’m the hose flushing that place out.”

  -16-

  Raul’s body language told Hannibal that he recognized the white Volvo 850 GLT when it pulled up to the curb, and after a moment he clearly recognized the driver. While Hannibal stepped out of the back seat, Ray slouched up front, as if trying to disappear. Hannibal stepped up to Raul, staring up into his tiny pig eyes. The bright sunshine glinting off the car behind Hannibal might have been the cause of Raul’s squint, but Hannibal doubted it.

  “Adolfo’s expecting me,” he said, holding a neutral expression. Then he kept his movements slow and easy on his way down the stairs and into the office. The two front bruisers sat at one desk playing cards. He walked past, ignoring them.

  Adolfo Espino was pushing a forkful of taco salad into his face when Hannibal leaned one hip up on the desk and pulled a roll of bills from his pocket. While staring off in another direction, he peeled off a pair of hundred dollar bills and dropped them on the desk.

  “What do you know,” Espino said around a mouthful of food. “And it ain’t even noon yet.” He returned his attention to his food but looked up a few seconds later when he realized that Hannibal was still there.

  “So, Adolfo,” Hannibal looked down as if he had not heard what the other man said, “you know this guy Sal who runs a little business over in Southeast?”

  Espino slowed his eating and pushed back slightly from the desk. “I might know him.”

  “Well, between you and me, he’s a punk, you know?” Hannibal smiled, but behind his Oakley’s his eyes were cold. “He must have some heavy backing to keep from getting squished.”

  “So?”

  “So, who?”

  Espino shook his head and shoved fingers into his greasy hair. “Boy, I don’t know how you walk, you got so much balls. What you want to mess with little Sal for?”

  Hannibal spread his hands. “Hey, what do you care? It’s business. I just want to know what I’m getting into.” Espino stood up, turned and paced to the back of the room. He came back with his hands in his pockets, shaking his head again. The only sound in the room was the slap of pasteboards on a desk at the front of the office. Eventually the silence shook something loose.

  “I’m going to do you a favor, Paco. You’re right about this boy Sal. He’s just playing. Nobody messes with him, because of his old man.”

  “Yeah?” Hannibal dropped to his feet to pace with Espino. “Who’s he?”

  Espino stared up into Hannibal’s glasses. “Mr. Ronzini could crush you like an ant under his thumb.”

  “Think he cares about what Sal does down in Southeast?”

  “Care?” Espino laughed. “He probably don’t even know. But he won’t let anybody mess with his only boy. Bet your ass on that.”

  “Okay, Adolfo, thanks.” Hannibal slapped the little man’s shoulder. “See you next week.”

  “I can’t wait. Oh, by the way, about your friend.”

  Hannibal stopped, turning with one eyebrow cocked above his glasses. “My friend?”

  “Yeah. Santiago, Raymond. The guy you paying the bill for. Word got to me that he told his bookie he’s working again. He’s already looking for credit. Them guys play rougher than me, you know. Hate to see this become a full time job for you, know what I mean?”

  A pensive Hannibal returned to his car and directed Ray to head south. He had some gear to pick up from a very specialized supplier. It didn’t take long for the urbanized Washington landscape to give way to the tree-lined Virginia countryside. A forty-five minute drive took them to the Woodbridge exit off I-95. On the way they found a Popeye’s fast food restaurant with a drive through. Ray negotiated the vicious Northern Virginia traffic with a soda between his legs and curly fries in his door’s map pocket. He talked around bites of chicken.

  “You know, Hannibal, Cindy asked me if you were coming back tonight. She makes a good breakfast, eh?”

  Hannibal, also biting into chicken pieces, had covered himself with napkins. “Don’t worry, bro, I’m not planning to take your bed.”

  “Hey, I wouldn’t mind.”

  “I don’t think it’s a good idea for me to just move in.” He was trying to be gentle. “Besides, I’m sleeping at twenty-three thirteen tonight.”

  There was a pause while Ray chewed and swallowed. “You sleeping with them druggies?”

  “No,” Hannibal said, “they’re sleeping elsewhere. I’m going to evict them.”

  “And just how you going to do that, tough guy?” Ray slowed down to look in his rearview mirror at Hannibal.

  “That’s what this trip’s for, bro. To get the gear I need to exterminate the place. Now hit the CD player, will you?”

  “Where is it?” Ray asked, staring at the dashboard radio.

  “Never mind.” Hannibal reached between the front bucket seats and poked buttons. David Sanborn oozed smoothly from eight speakers. Hannibal did not feel he needed to explain that the compact disc player was in the trunk, loaded with a six pack.

  The snappy jazz of Sanborn’s horn followed them away from the highway and into the lush green of Virginia’s countryside. Soon Hannibal directed Ray to a solid looking two-story house with no visible neighbors, built back against a hill. It was an older home, unusual enough in this bedroom community that was merely a distant suburb of Washington. A well cared for lawn lay behind a short stone wall. Ray turned onto the gravel driveway and stopped in front of the garage. Hannibal climbed out of the car and stretched his legs while he inhaled the fresh-mown atmosphere. He thought the house had character. Maybe it was the stone chimney rising on one end. The same stones made up the front wall and the path leading to the front door.

  “Come on in,” he called to Ray, waving him on. “You’ll like Frasier. He’s wild.” He pushed the bell and stood starin
g ahead. He could feel the eyes on the other side of the tiny peephole examining him. If someone had taken him there under duress he had a signal he would give involving scratching his nose and looking to the right, then left. Eddy Frasier was a very careful man.

  When the door flew open, a stocky man in aviator glasses grabbed Hannibal’s arms and lifted him inside. Words poured forth, rapid fire and high energy.

  “Hannibal Jones, how the hell are you? I ain’t seen you in a dog’s age. Whatdoyousay, pal? This business or pleasure? Who’s your friend?”

  “Take a breath, bro,” Hannibal said. “Eddy Frasier, this is Ray Santiago.” The men shook hands. Ray fidgeted, clearly uncomfortable under Frasier’s wild-eyed gaze.

  “Ray works with me,” Hannibal said while Frasier went to the bar in the living room and set out three fluted glasses. “He’s a great wheel man. Ray, Frasier here used to be DIA. Now he helps independents like me with outfitting.”

  “I just like to play with the toys.” Frasier stood three bottles of Samuel Adams beside the glasses and opened one. “Take a look at this, Hannibal.” Frasier held out his left wrist while his right hand poured beer.

  “Okay, a quartz digital watch.” Hannibal sipped at his own beer glass. “So does it blow up or something?”

  “Camera.” Frasier wiped his lips with a napkin. “Uses seven exposure cartridges. Takes thirty-five millimeter black and whites. And the watch works, timer, alarm, the whole bit.”

  “He serious?” Ray asked quietly.

  “Oh yeah,” Hannibal said. “When it comes to the toys, Frasier is always serious.” Turning to Frasier, he asked, “How much?”

  “For you? A thousand bucks, and I’ll throw in the developing kit.”

  “How about for somebody else?” Hannibal asked.

  “A thousand bucks.”

  Hannibal shook his head. “Maybe next time. Today I’m looking for something special.”

  “Should have called.” Frasier emptied his glass. “I’m not a warehouse, you know.”