Hannibal pulled into his parking space and killed the engine of his white Volvo 850 GLT. There were no markings, no sign or label, but the space was universally recognized as his.
He was on the move since early Saturday morning and his long day ended with a bar fight and a half-hour drive down to Anacostia and home. Weary as he was, Hannibal scanned the area before he opened his door. The cone of a street light covered his car’s hood and peeked in through its windshield. His street looked quiet as he eased out of his white leather seat and set his anti-theft device. He smiled at his neighborhood’s split personality. He had come home at a rare quiet moment, too early for the hip folks to be coming home from the party, or for the church crowd to be heading out.
His rubber soles fell silently on the red sandstone steps leading up to the front door of his red brick, three-story building. He used two keys to open the outer door. Once in the hall, he faced the central staircase but instead of turning left to his own flat he veered right. The front room of this apartment was his office. His heavy oak desk faced the door, flanked by a pair of file cabinets. A smaller desk stood beside the door on his left. He stepped across the oval broadloom rug, but before he could even riffle through the papers in his IN box he heard footsteps from the far end of the railroad flat.
Her perfume preceded her, the sharp sting of Patchouli. “Did you talk to him?” Jewel asked in a nasal New Jersey accent. Her high-pitched voice always sounded to Hannibal as if she were about to cry.
“I took care of it, on condition you stay off the street,” Hannibal said, but his casual response did not remove the fear from Jewel’s cat-like eyes. She was Hannibal’s height, model thin and very black, a Nubian princess whose beauty was marred by the wear showing at the corners of her eyes. A thoroughbred, Hannibal thought, passed through too many owners and broken down by being ridden by too many jockeys.
“You won’t go back on our deal?” she asked, smoothing a hand down her straight black hair. “You said if I was nervous I could stay here a few days.”
“Jewel, I’m a businessman and you know my rates. If you’re willing to go the fee you can stay right there in my guest room until you feel safe. I just don’t think…”
“Well I do.” Her fingers pressed into his right arm with disturbing familiarity. “You don’t know Floyd. Anyway, I got plenty of money stashed away and I don’t mind spending it staying alive until I figure out where I’m going. You want cash?”
“Any way you want to pay,” Hannibal said, dropping his messages back into his IN box. Nothing pressing. He would file these and check for email messages in the morning. His eyes were starting to droop.
“Any way?” Jewel asked, pressing her thumping heart against his. Hannibal stared into her frightened eyes, and they dropped closed, even as her lips parted, inviting his tongue in. His tired mind reeled. She was beautiful, exotic, and certainly talented. She was also a client.
“Let’s stick to negotiable currency.” He gently pushed her shoulders away with his index fingers. “Something I can put on my books. Besides, it’s so late it’s early and I’m beat. Why don’t we call it a night?”
Across the hall, Hannibal walked back to the fourth door from the front and unlocked it. Loud beeps reminded him to cross his living room, reach around the bathroom door and punch in his four digit code, disabling his alarm system. Too tired to think further, he walked through his flat to the front room, dropped his clothes in a pile and crawled into bed. He silently thanked God it was Sunday morning before his eyes slid shut.