Downtown Washington June 27
Twayne Starrell’s uncle asked Clarence Dunne if he belonged to a church. He frowned when Dunne mentioned an Episcopalian house in suburban Maryland. He handed Dunne a flyer for a new church.
“For true Africans,” he said.
Dunne was waiting for Starrell in the uncle’s small office. The uncle had sent Starrell out for rat traps. The city had cut back its rodent office, the winter was mild, and they’re damn well everywhere, the uncle explained to Dunne. He then apologized for cursing. The uncle returned to the paperwork piled on his desk. Dunne pondered the request he had received that morning from Jake Grayton: Please prepare an evaluation of each member of the security detail at the White House. Grayton wanted the report completed tomorrow. That should keep me busy, Dunne said to himself.
Starrell was surprised when he returned and found Dunne in the office. Dunne wanted to shake his head. Starrell was wearing a thick gold chain, a University of Maryland sweatshirt with the sleeves cut off, and the same bad-ass sunglasses from the previous day. Dunne recognized Starrell’s sneakers from a newspaper story. They cost nearly two hundred dollars and young black men were fighting each other—even slaughtering each other—over these shoes.
“Mr. Money Man, the black Clint Eastwood returns to the scene of the crime,” Starrell said. “Wasn’t sure that would happen.”
He handed his uncle the bag of traps.
“We’re going huntin’,” Starrell said to Dunne. “Looking for those ghetto ponies. Ride’em, cowboy. Buffalo cowboys, right, Unc?”
“Buffalo soldiers,” the uncle said.
“Yeah, but after they were done fighting for the Man, they got good jobs, right, Unc? Fancy cowboy jobs, right?”
The uncle ignored the remark.
“Would you mind if I borrowed Mr. Starrell for a few hours, maybe the day?” Dunne asked the uncle.
“Who says I want to be borrowed?” Starrell said. He pressed his hands together and flexed his muscles.
“Here,” Dunne said. He gave Starrell an envelope containing one hundred and fifty dollars.
“Borrowed was a euphemism,” Dunne said. “You’ll be paid.”
“To be a Secret Agent man?” Starrell said and laughed. “A government man? Unc, he tell you where he’s from?”
Dunne turned to the uncle.
“Does he have your permission?” Dunne asked.
“Fuck, I don’t need his permission.”
Dunne stared into the reflective plastic of Starrell’s sunglasses. “You work for him. He’s your uncle. You need his permission.”
“You work for the government?” the uncle asked.
Dunne nodded.
“The white man’s government?”
“Everybody’s government,” he said.
The uncle chuckled in disdain: “Well, I don’t give no nevermind. Take him and give me peace for one day. But tomorrow he better fix the toilet on the fourth floor. We just got one working now. Boy won’t tell you. But he’s good at plumbing, wiring, and building. Only reason why I put up with all that.”
Dunne took that to mean the dress, the attitude, the disrespect.
“He must be good, then,” Dunne said with a smile.
He left the office. Starrell waited several seconds before following. Outside the building, Starrell rousted a homeless man sitting by the entrance.
“Told your skanky HIV-ass to beat it,” Starrell said. He poked the man with his foot. The fellow crawled a few feet, then got up, and moved off. Dunne gently placed a hand on Starrell’s shoulder. Starrell jerked back and waited for Dunne to remonstrate him.
“Any place to get a good burger around here?” Dunne asked.
“Just Mickey D’s. My unc says there used to be all these lunch counters around. Lunch counters, lunch counters. He goes on like it’s a fuckin’ fairy tale. Run by black men. Where black men ate black and talked black. But the chinks squeezed’em out. Now it’s all chink around here.”
“Let’s try this one,” Dunne said.
The two entered a Chinese restaurant and sat in the back.
“Please take off your glasses,” Dunne said.
“What’s it to you?” Starrell shot back.
“I like to see someone’s face when I do business with them.”
Starrell took off the sunglasses and hung them from the collar of his sweatshirt. He had what Dunne called seeing eyes.
A waiter came by, and Dunne said several words to him in Chinese. The waiter nodded and left two menus.
“Whatcha say?” Starrell asked.
“It was just a Chinese greeting.”
“You know Chink?”
“Mandarin, a few words.”
“So what’s the business?” Starrell asked.
“I want you to help me find the guy who rented that office in your building. Raymond.”
“And how am I supposed to do that?”
“I’ve been told where he likes to hang out.”
“Where’s that?”
“Bars.”
“Only a million of those.”
“A certain kind.”
“What kind?”
“I’ll pay you well.”
“You deaf. I said, what kind?”
“Twice as much as those sneakers.”
“What is it?”
“Gay bars.”
“NFW, man. You think I’m cruisin’ in and out of the bender joints, looking for a fuckin’’mo? That stuff makes me sick.”
Dunne pointed to the sneakers: “Three times as much.”
“Shit, I can do that by truckin’ a paper bag’cross the street.”
“But you don’t. Do you?”
Starrell took his sunglasses and tapped them against the Formica tabletop.
“Why not?” Dunne asked.
“’Cause.”
“Because why?”
“Just’cause.”
“Bullshit. You scared?”
“You want a fuckin’ reason. I’ll give you a fuckin’ reason. Willie’s little brother, Marco. You want more?”
Starrell was shouting, and the waiters were staring.
“I’ll give you more. Steven Reeves. Macky Dobb’s sister. Ty Forrest. Hitch Blackwell. Tamika’s brother Wendell. My cousin Barry. Ask my unc about him.”
“All dead?”
“You’re a fuckin’ genius,” Starrell muttered.
Dunne called over the waiter and ordered for both of them.
“I hate this slop,” Starrell said.
“It won’t be too hard. You go to the bars, you look around, you ask for Raymond. You know what he looks like. And if anyone asks why, you tell them he left stuff behind when he moved his office and you have it.”
“Why don’t you go lookin’ for the fag?”
“If I go looking for him, people will wonder why. I’m a little more visible than you. My picture’s been in the papers a lot this week.”
“’Cause of the blow-away at the White House?”
“Yeah, the blow-away.”
“And what if any of my buds catches my ass going into an ass-fuckers hole?”
“Tell them Raymond owes your uncle money and you’re looking for his sorry ass.”
“And how I’m supposed to know where to be going?”
“I have a list.”
Starrell raised an eyebrow.
“Consulted with a friend,” Dunne said.
“If one of those pussies fuckin’ looks at me—”
Dunne leaned in close to Starrell.
“You do nothing,” Dunne said, his voice steely. “You walk away, and you keep looking for Raymond. This is a job. If you can’t do it straight up, then screw it.”
“How much?”
“The sneaks times three. That’s for today. After that, we’ll negotiate the additional pay.”
“Rockford got five C’s a day. And that was a long-ass time ago. Before fuckin’ cable.”
“Prove to me you’re worth it.”
“I’m fuckin’ worth it.”
“Just like you got to prove it to Tamika.”
Starrell frowned; he crossed his arms.
“Don’t you ever …”
Can’t finish that sentence, can you? Dunne thought.
“Don’t,” Starrell said.
The food came. Dunne started in on the chow fung noodles. Starrell pushed aside his plate.
“Told you,” he said.
Dunne poured tea into the two cups on the table.
“Okay,” Starrell said, “but you got to tell me one thing.”
“What’s that?” Dunne asked.
“Why you’re looking for that squirrel-face.”
“Can’t.” Dunne spooned out hot chilies over the noodles.
“Then you don’t got nobody to chase your cocksucker.”
“Okay. And you go back to the toilet. Without six hundred dollars. And don’t forget to tell Tamika what you turned down. So be it.”
“So be your Tommin’ ass.”
Starrell slid back his chair, as if he were preparing to stand.
“It’s about Big Man being dropped at the White House?”
“Can’t say, Mr. Starrell. You want them to wrap this up for you? Maybe for your uncle?”
“You know what he says. He calls it white-on-white violence. That’s fuckin’ funny. Why should I fuckin’ care he got popped?”
“You don’t have to care. No one has to care.”
Starrell remained in an about-to-stand position.
“Go on,” Dunne said. “Don’t give a damn. Go clear the shit out of the pipes. This is honest work”—Dunne wondered to himself as he said this—“and if your head is too hard or your heart is too scared to do it and pocket a week’s pay in a day, then get going. This only works if I can trust you.”
Starrell leaned forward.
“And if I trust you,” he said.
“That’s right. Two hundred up front, the rest at the end of the run. Deal?”
“But, you know, I’m just doin’ this for my unc. Don’t want nobody running out on him. And it’s three at the start.”
“Two-fifty,” Dunne said. He put out his hand. Starrell traced his fingers against Dunne’s.
“This shit taste any better if you put that on it?” Starrell pointed at the hot chili.
“Yes, but go light. And we’ve got to do something about your clothes.”
“Fuck that,” Starrell said. He scooped up a large spoonful of the chilies and dumped it on his noodles. He took a bite and winced. Starrell said nothing. He looked Dunne in the eye, chewed, and swallowed.