Damaged Goods (23 page)

“Hey, you gonna be catching up with Huge?” Monte asked, following Hannibal up the stairs.

Hannibal stopped just inside the door, sensing a variety of elements dropping into place. “Actually, Monte, I will be checking in with him. How'd you like to meet him?”

Monte took in a giant breath, and word rushed out of him like water over a cascade. “Are you for real? You think I could meet him, in person, like shake his hand and actually talk to him? Man I'd give anything for a chance like that.”

“Maybe,” Hannibal said, unlocking his apartment door. “What's it worth to you?”

“Huh?”

“I'm ready to make you a deal.”

Monte backed off as Hannibal entered his place, perhaps sensing that he was about to step into a trap. “What kind of a deal.”

“A book every two weeks.”

“What?” Monte said, his voice rising higher.

“Like I said, you read a book every two weeks for the rest of the summer, you bring me a nicely written report of said book, and I'll see if your grandmother will let me take you with me to spend some time at Huge's studio.”

Monte stomped in a small circle in the hall, and Hannibal wondered what kept his pants from falling down. They were already several inches below his waist. “That's the deal,” Hannibal said. “Take it or leave it. I have to get packed right now. It's a three and a half hour drive and I'd like to be there before sundown.”

Marquita greeted Hannibal at the door with a strong hug. Although caught by surprise, Hannibal returned the embrace before guiding her to the sofa.

“Hey, little bro,” Sarge said to Monte while pouring four sodas. “Didn't expect you to be coming along.”

“It was a last minute decision,” Hannibal said. “I filled him in on the bare bones of the case on the way down.”

“Well, Hannibal, I'm damned glad to see you, brother,” Sarge said. “Markie has been a wreck since this morning, but I knew you getting here would make her feel better.”

Sarge had splurged on a comfortable condo within sight of the ocean in the city's resort area. The great room was set up for entertaining. The kitchenette had everything they could need for meals, the table would seat six, and the living room area held a television, stereo, a comfortable wicker love seat and two chairs. Fresh flowers dotted the whole space and, even at six o'clock, sunlight flooded the room through the sliding glass doors. The balcony beyond them offered a wide
view of the Atlantic, but watching the waves was not Hannibal's priority.

“I'm sure Marquita feels quite safe with you around, Sarge,” Hannibal said, settling into one of the wicker chairs.

“Sarge will never leave my side,” Marquita said, her feet tucked beneath her on the couch as if she wanted to protect them. “I know he will look after me, but you, Mr. Jones, you can go out and find this man and do something.”

“You gonna hunt this guy down and terminate him?” Monte asked with a grin.

“I'm not terminating anybody,” Hannibal said with a stern look in Monte's direction. Then he turned to Marquita. The air conditioner was blowing hard and must have been for quite a while. It gave Hannibal a slight chill and made Marquita's nipples press into her lightweight tank top in a way that seemed somehow inappropriate to Hannibal. “Now, Marquita, tell me what you saw.”

“I saw him,” she all but shouted. “It was Rod, right out there on the beach.”

“Alone?” Hannibal asked. “Just walking down the beach in his flip flops?”

Marquita ran fingers through her long platinum hair and curled her lips inward. Sarge sat beside her and stretched out an arm to wrap around her but she shrugged it away. Her thin form shook with ragged breaths and her hands covered her eyes. After a few seconds of silence she was able to look at Hannibal.

“I'm sorry. We were down the beach from here, maybe a mile or so. There is this lovely boardwalk with cute little shops full of useless trinkets and soft ice cream cones.”

“We were just walking along,” Sarge said. “Not really paying attention to where we were, you know? We turned off from the beach on a whim and wandered a block or two up a lane of houses.”

“That's when they went by,” Marquita said.

“They?” Hannibal asked, prompting her on.

“It was a red Jeep, or one of those four wheel drive things,” Marquita said. “The top was off and it was just open. And
there he sat in the front passenger seat. I swear he looked right through me without seeing me. I just screamed.”

“You're sure it was him?” Hannibal asked.

Marquita sat forward, her fawn eyes locking onto Hannibal's. “I could never forget that face.”

“Sarge, what did you do?” Hannibal glanced at Monte, who sat with eyes wide. He could see that the lady was badly shaken but he had sense enough to stay quiet. Sarge was quiet at first too, but not for the same reason.

“Worthless,” Sarge said under his breath. “Never even saw the man. All I knew was, Markie was screaming. By the time I knew why, the car was long gone.”

“But you know what this guy looks like, right?” Monte sounded anxious to help. “We can just hit the street and cover the area. Nobody ever notices me so I could follow him and come get you.”

“Appreciate the offer, Monte,” Hannibal said. “But let's collect a little more data first. Marquita, you said Rod was in the passenger seat. Who was driving?”

Marquita's brows closed together, as if she had never considered the question before. “He wasn't alone,” she said as if surprised by the revelation. “There was a younger man driving. Tall, beach boy type, blonde, like a body builder. And the three girls crammed into the back seat. Wait, one of them I had seen before. Yes. It was the witch called Mariah.”

“Wearing?”

“Who knows?” Marquita said, waving a hand.

“You do,” Hannibal said in a harder voice. “Just recall the scene. Picture it in your mind.”

Marquita closed her eyes and despite the cool breeze in the room perspiration broke through the skin on her face. “The boy was bare-chested. Rod wore a Hawaiian shirt. The girls wore bikinis, all three. Solid colors, like three Italian icees. Cherry, lemon and lime.”

Hannibal broke into a grin. “Now that's a picture that will be hard to miss. I've also got a couple of other leads to follow up on. But it's getting late and I feel like I spent the whole day in the car. How about I take everyone to dinner?”

Marquita showed a sudden burst of energy, bouncing to her feet and heading for the refrigerator. “Oh, I was going to make my special Jambalaya for Archie. See, I bought everything I need. I'm sure I can make enough for the four of us. Believe me, it will be better than anything you could get at a restaurant.”

She ended with a nervous laugh. The men sat quiet. After a moment she turned toward them, one side of her smile gone but the other side still bravely holding up.

“I really just don't want to go outside again so soon,” she said. “If we can just stay inside this one evening?”

“Of course,” Hannibal said. “It sounds wonderful.”

“Sure,” Sarge added. “We can rent a movie or something. Make an evening of it. You guys know how to play tonk?”

Monte gave Sarge a sidelong look and raised a tentative eyebrow. “Archie?”

Hannibal took a deep breath as he stepped out of his motel, for no other reason than that he loved the salty fresh smell of the ocean. He had booked a room in the Best Western Oceanfront. True to the name, his room did have a pleasant oceanfront view, despite the fact that the motel faced the even less impressive Budget Lodge and stood practically in the shadow of an Econolodge. But the view didn't move him, in either direction. It was the smell of the seashore that made him smile.

It was clear that location meant nothing to Monte. He was hopping around like the dancing hamsters on the internet as they stepped out into the flashbulb-bright early morning sunshine. Hannibal wondered if he would be bouncing off the ceiling in the car.

“You know where you're going, right?” Monte asked as they got underway.

“I have the address and the streets are numbered sequentially. I think I can find it.”

From 11
^th
to 21
^st
street was not far, but it would take them a while. Traffic wasn't the only reason for their slow progress, although the streets were packed with both cars and foot traffic. Hannibal reflected that, geography aside, Washington D.C. was at heart a northern town, at least from a
cultural perspective. The vast variety of restaurants, museums, and theater options hinted at that fact, but the true giveaway was the pace. People in The District had someplace to go and wanted to get there.

Virginia Beach, on the other hand, was a true Southern city. It was the biggest city in the state, but it still behaved and thought like a small town. That made the traffic very similar to driving conditions in Miami. Drivers were too busy looking at the people and shops they passed, and of course watching the ocean when they could spot it between the towering hotels, to be concerned with speed. It was as if there were no local residents, and everyone in town was on vacation.

As he headed up 21
^st
it occurred to Hannibal that every seaside city must have been designed by a New Englander. The style of the buildings never changed. Then he passed Peabody's, which had “the biggest dance floor in Virginia Beach” if their sign was to be believed. This was a bit more modern than the rest of its surroundings, but still had an air of that quaint small town feeling.

A few blocks later he pulled into a small parking lot behind a squat, unassuming building that could have been a residence that was just a little bigger than its neighbors. When they left the car Monte raced to the door, back to Hannibal and back to the door. Hannibal tried to remember what it was like to be a pre-teen boy. His memory failed him.

A tap at the door brought a very large, well-tattooed fellow to the door. He was perhaps twenty years old, with a huge forehead, dreadlocks and a questioning expression on his face.

“Hannibal Jones to see Huge Wilson. He's expecting me.”

The doorman's head moved backward on his neck. “You the nigger laid out Hard Dog?” Hannibal nodded. “Dayum!” He offered Hannibal a handshake that jumped into a series of movements, a more complex process than Hannibal could follow. It ended with the doorman pressing a fist forward. That part Hannibal recognized. He punched into the man's fist and they all went inside.

Dim lights, dark carpet and plentiful mirrors promoted the illusion that the building was bigger inside than it was outside. The doorman led them through a narrow hall to a wider control room area. Hannibal recognized the large mixing boards that lined one side of the room and wondered how anyone could master the vast array of switches, knobs and slider pots. The board faced a glass wall, beyond which a solitary Black woman in a jogging suit and headphones stood speaking into a hanging microphone, reading from a sheaf of paper.

Monte saw none of this. He saw only one of the two men behind the board, a slight man with close cut hair and two armfuls of tattoos showing below the sleeves of his vintage tee shirt.

“Huge!” Monte said leaping forward. When the man turned toward him he switched to, “Mister Wilson. Holy shit it's really you! Oh my God.”

“Chill out, man,” Huge said in his natural falsetto. “We're working on something here. Give me just a minute.”

Huge was also wearing headphones and Hannibal realized he was hearing the woman's words while the rest of the room was in silence. They stood watching the silent performance for another two minutes, until Huge raised a hand to signal the woman to stop.

“That was off the hook, Delicia,” he said into a microphone. “Now take five while I chat to a couple of visitors for a minute.” The woman smiled and left the recording room by a second entrance. Monte's eyes were riveted on her impressive rear end.

“So this is your little friend you wanted me to meet,” Huge said to Hannibal. “He's got a good eye for talent. Monte, right?”

“Ohmygodican'tbelieveit.”

Huge sat back in his rolling black leather chair. “Hannibal told me you were a hustler. Said you got your name from running a three card monte game and that the day he met you, you took him for a bundle. That true?”

“Well, yeah,” Monte said.

“Well you sure don't look like a hustler to me. Why don't you sit here for a bit and let T.L. here give you a quick rundown on what we're doing here today. Delicia is going to be the next Missy Elliot. While you do that, Hannibal and me got some business.”

Huge stood, took Hannibal's arm, and led him out of the room. They moved down the darkened hall to a small conference room. There was barely enough space for the simple cherry wood table and the eight chairs around it. As they entered Hannibal was struck by two conflicting sensations: the sight of a half-full coffee pot, and the smell of leftover marijuana smoke. Huge started pouring coffee before he noticed Hannibal's reaction.