Strange found what he was looking for in the small spiral notebook by his side. He phoned Janine and asked her to run the plate numbers from the Mercedes that had tailed him the day before. He had her look into any priors on an Inez Brown, and he gave her the address of the salon and its name so that she could check on who it was, exactly, who held its lease.

“Anything else?” said Janine.

“I got some shirts hangin’ back in my office, need some cleaning.”

“Thanks for the opportunity to serve you. You want those shirts pressed, too?”

“Not too much starch, baby.”

“When you need ’em by?”

“Yesterday.”

“Consider it done. Now, maybe you got something else you want to say to me.”

“You mean about how much I appreciate all your good work?”

“Thought you were just gonna imply it.”

“You don’t give me a chance, all that sarcasm.”

“Okay, go ahead.”

“I do appreciate you. Matter of fact, you’re the backbone of my everything. And I’ve been thinkin’ about you, you know, the other way, too. Haven’t been able to get you out of my mind all day.”

“For real?”

“I wouldn’t lie.”

“You’ll be home for dinner, right?”

“I’ll call you. Me and Terry were gonna stop and have a couple beers.”

“Let me know.”

“I will.”

“I love you, too, Derek.”

Strange picked up Quinn outside the grocery store. They drove out of the lot.

“Everything all right back there?” said Strange.

“Yeah. Guy was wondering how he could join the Terry Quinn fan club. I was, like, giving him the membership requirements. How about you?”

“Well, Tattoo’s sister wasn’t no help. But I did find out a thing or two.”

“Must have been that quality detective work you’re always going on about.”

“Not really. Old man I never even met just went and volunteered all sorts of shit.”

“Good day at Black Rock,” said Quinn.

“It happens once in a while,” said Strange. “I didn’t even have to ask.”

Devra Stokes lived off Good Hope Road in an apartment complex where “Drug-Free Zone” signs were posted on a black wrought-iron fence. Strange pulled into the lot and cut the engine.

“You coming?” said Strange.

“I’m not really into the Free Granville Oliver movement,” said Quinn. “So I think I’ll hang, you don’t mind.”

“I’ll leave the keys,” said Strange, “case you want to listen to some of my music.”

“You got that one about lame men walkin’?”

“It’s in the glove box. Help yourself.”

Quinn watched Strange cross the lot and disappear into a dark stairwell.

JUWAN Stokes sat on the floor of Devra Stokes’s apartment, playing with some action figures, while Strange and Stokes sat at the dining-room table. The apartment, filled with old furniture and new electronics, was in disarray and smelled of marijuana resin and nicotine. Devra apologized, explaining that her roommate, a young woman who worked in another salon, had recently brought an inconsiderate, no-account man into the place against Devra’s wishes. This man was unemployed, liked to burn smoke and drink at all hours, and was responsible for the mess.

“Not too good for the boy, I expect,” said Strange.

“We’re looking to get out.” As she said it, she looked out the apartment’s large window.

“I can help you, short-term.”

“How you gonna do that?”

“Defense has witness relocation capabilities, same as the prosecution.”

“Like Witness Protection?”

“Not really. You don’t change your name, and you don’t have anybody looking after you. Basically, they have funds set aside that can get you into a place, an apartment like this one, in another part of town.”

“The Section Eights, right?”

“Sometimes.”

“I’m not movin’ Juwan into no Section Eights.”

“Maybe we can do better than that. We can try.” Strange leaned forward. “Look, I think you know things that would help out our case. You were with Phil Wood back when the murder of Granville’s uncle went down. Phil must have talked to you about it then.”

“He talked about a lot of things,” said Devra. “But listen, Phil and Granville and their kind, all of ’em been into some serious shit. None of them’s innocent. This is the Lord, now, giving them their due. I don’t want to get in the way of that. I don’t want to be involved.”

“I can subpoena you, Devra.”

“Nah, hold up.” Devra Stokes raised one hand and her lovely eyes lost their light. “I don’t like to be threatened. That’s something you’re gonna find out, you get to know me better. When Phil started taking a hand to me, that’s when we broke up. But it wasn’t the physical thing so much as it was what was coming from his mouth. ‘Bitch, I will do this’ and ‘Bitch, I will do that.’ I was like, Do it, then, motherfucker, but don’t be threatenin’ me. That’s when I filed charges against him. I just got tired of all those threats.”

“But you dropped the charges.”

“He paid me to. And I had no reason to hurt him that bad. It was over for us anyway by then.” Devra looked down at her son. “That life is behind me, forever and for real. I got no reason to go back there. None.”

“Mama,” said Juwan, “look!” He was flying an action figure, some hillbilly wrestler, through the air.

“I see, baby,” said Devra.

“This isn’t personal,” said Strange. “But you need to understand: I am going to do my job.”

“Ain’t personal with me, either. But I’m not lookin’ to get involved, and I’ve told you why. Now, I need to get back to work.”

“Thought Inez gave you the day off.”

“Not the whole day. She told me that it was slow and to take a couple of hours of break and then come back.”

“I see,” said Strange. “Inez doesn’t own that place, does she?”

“No.”

“Do you know who does?”

Devra nodded, cutting her eyes away from Strange’s. “Horace McKinley.”

“McKinley. Wears one of those four-finger rings, got silver on his teeth?”

“Yeah.”

“He’s a drug dealer, right?”

“That ain’t no secret. Plenty of these salons down here got drug money behind them. Same way with the massage parlors all over this city, too.” Devra stood, picked up Juwan, and held him in her arms. “Look, I gotta clean him up and get back to work.”

“There’s plenty you haven’t been telling me, isn’t there?”

“Seems like you’re doing all right without my help.”

“Go ahead and take care of your son,” said Strange. “I’ll walk you out.”

Strange went over to the large window that gave to a view of the lot. A beige Nissan with a spoiler mounted on its rear was driving very slowly behind the Caprice, where Quinn waited in the passenger seat. The bass booming from the vehicle vibrated the apartment window. Strange studied the Nissan, sun gleaming off its roof, as it passed. He knew that car.

IT took Devra a while to get herself and the boy ready. Strange waited for her to do whatever a woman felt she had to do and saw Devra and Juwan to her Taurus. As he walked back to his Caprice, he noticed that the car seemed to be in the general area where he had left it, but there was something off about how it was parked. Strange guessed it was the way it was slanted in its space; he didn’t remember putting it in that way.

Quinn was impassive, leaning against the passenger door as Strange got behind the wheel.

“You see that Nissan,” said Strange, “was cruising slow behind you, little while back?”

“Saw it and heard it,” said Quinn. “They passed by twice. I could see them smiling at me in my side mirror. My pale arm was leaning on the window frame the second time they went by. They must not have liked the look of it or something. That’s when they split.”

“You make the car?”

“Early nineties, Nissan Two Forty SX. The four-banger, if I had to guess.”

“You could hear the engine over the music?”