Strange lowered his binoculars. Was this McKinley’s drug connect? Probably not. Most of the major quantities sold down here came from out of town. But this here looked like more than a backyard barbecue. The muscleman was selling something.

Strange stepped back about twenty yards and phoned Quinn. He told him to park beside the Citgo station, and where he could find him, approximately, in the woods.

HORACE McKinley shook the hand of Ulysses Foreman, taking the pliers-like strength of his grip, Foreman always eager to show off what he had.

“Damn, big man, you ain’t lost nothin’.”

“You the big man, dawg,” said Foreman, nodding at Mike Montgomery but not bothering to shake his hand.

McKinley wondered where that white rhino of Foreman’s was. She was usually here to greet them, too, trying to talk like a black girl, coming off like some strand-walking ho, showin’ off her big pockmarked ass cheeks.

“Where your woman at?” said McKinley.

Foreman dragged on his cigar. “She went off to see her daddy down in southern Maryland.”

“I’ll catch her next time, then. You got somethin’ for me?”

“C’mon in.”

McKinley and Montgomery went up the steps to where the young man and woman stood. It was crowded up there, and the woman backed up as McKinley introduced himself, extending his hand to her, ignoring the man.

“Couple of associates of mine,” said Foreman from behind them, not bothering to state their names.

“Horace McKinley. Pleased to meet you, baby.” Horace turned to the young man, then made a gesture to the Avalon with the Virginia plates parked in the drive.

“That you?”

“Yeah,” said the young man, smiling with pride.

“Why don’t you get you a real car? Avalon ain’t nothin’ but a Camry with some trim on it, and a Camry ain’t nothin’ but shit.”

The young man didn’t know how to react. He had been disrespected in front of the girl, but he wasn’t going to step to this Horace McKinley. Probably a dealer, ’cause that’s who Foreman did business with. Looking at him, wasn’t no probably about it; with all that ice, the four-finger ring and the necklace, he was a drug dealer for sure. Wouldn’t do any good to his health to show the fat man any kind of defiance.

“I got my eye on a Benz I like,” said the young man, but McKinley had already moved his attention back to Foreman, standing at the bottom of the steps.

“Where we goin’?” said McKinley.

“Down to the rec room,” said Foreman.

“Nah,” said McKinley. “Nice day like this? Why don’t you get me one of them good cigars you smokin’, and a cold beer or two, and meet us out on the back deck. We can do our business out there.”

“Fine. Go on through the house and I’ll see y’all out there.”

McKinley and Montgomery went into the house. Foreman came up to the porch, reached into his jeans, and extracted a roll of bills. He peeled some money off and handed it to the young man.

“Let me give this to you now,” said Foreman, “lighten up this wad I got.”

“What you want me to get?” said the young man, taking the money and slipping it into his khakis.

“I got to think on it,” said Foreman. “Come down to the basement while I take care of him. You and your girl can kick back and shoot some pool, or just watch some TV, while I’m working things out with the fat man.”

The young man grinned sheepishly. “Can I get one of them cigars, too?”

“THAT didn’t take long,” said Strange.

“I followed your scent,” said Quinn. “Fill me in.”

“Nothin’ for a while now.” Strange looked at the house. “Dude with muscles, between your age and mine, lives there. He met McKinley and his boy out front. That’s their Benz, the one followed me the other day. The Toyota with the chrome on it belongs to a young man, has a nice-looking girl with him.”

“And?”

“Muscled-up dude gave the young man some cash and they all went into the house. I moved around some and saw McKinley on the back deck. Came back here to meet you so you wouldn’t get lost. You remember the path you took?”

“I dropped some bread crumbs on the ground on my way in, just in case.” Quinn reached for Strange’s binoculars, took them, and looked at the house through the glasses. “You get what you needed from Stokes?”

“Yeah. Right after I talked to her I went to the post office and mailed the tape to Ives. Then I drove over to Yuma, the six hundred block, and watched this shit-hole-lookin’ house where McKinley hangs.”

“Stokes gonna be okay?”

“Long as we keep an eye on McKinley.” Strange gave Quinn the details of McKinley’s assault on Devra Stokes.

“Guy’s a real gentleman.”

“Man does that to a woman is a coward. I’d like to get him alone and see how he holds up.”

“Maybe you’ll get your chance.”

Strange looked Quinn over. “Nice work finding that boy Donut.”

“Like your boy Stefanos said, just hang out and listen.” He handed the binoculars back to Strange. “What do you think’s up with all this?”

“They got me all curious now,” said Strange. “Let me get closer and take the plate numbers off that Caddy and the Avalon. You got a pen on you, something to write on?”

“Yeah.”

“I’ll read the numbers out to you, unless you want to read ’em off to me.”

“Your eyes are better than mine.”

“I know that, man. Just didn’t want you feeling like my lackey, is all.”

When Strange had gotten the numbers off the plates closer in, they moved back to their spot in the woods.

“Now let’s move around to that place I found before,” said Strange. “Get a better look at that deck.”

WHILE the young man shot some pool, smoked a cigar, and tried to impress his girl, Foreman put some red felt over one of those trays he used to rest his food on while he watched TV. Then he laid the rest of his inventory, the Sig Sauer.45, the Heckler amp; Koch.9, and the Calico M-110, atop the tray. He placed bricks of corresponding ammunition above the guns, a couple of beers with pilsner glasses on the side, and two cigars laid out just so. Presentation was everything in this business. It was his trademark, setting him apart from the other arms dealers in town.

“Don’t be drinkin’ none of my beer while I’m gone,” said Foreman to the young man. “I want you together when you go down to that store.”

“I don’t drink no beer nohow,” said the young man, winking at the girl. “My drink is Cris.”

Foreman could have guessed. These young studio gangsters were all the same. “I won’t be too long, hear?”

Foreman carried the tray up the stairs and out through the sliding doors to the back deck. McKinley had made himself comfortable on one of the deck chairs, came with two others and a lounger, recently purchased at one of those outdoor-furniture stores. Looked like McKinley was testing the weight limit on it, the way the cushion was riding low. Montgomery stood with his back against the wooden rail.

“Here we go,” said Foreman, placing the tray on a circular glass table Ashley had insisted they buy with the set.

McKinley managed to get himself out of the chair. Foreman handed him a cigar and lit it for him, holding the flame so that McKinley could get a good draw. He offered a cigar to Montgomery, who declined. Foreman almost double taked checking out Montgomery’s arms. Boy was a knuckle-draggin’ motherfucker. Wasn’t no mystery why they called him Monkey Mike.

“Let’s see what you got,” said McKinley.

Foreman lifted the Heckler amp; Koch off the tray and handed it butt out to McKinley.

“H and K nine,” said Foreman. “Ten-shot magazine, stainless, got a roughed-up stock so it don’t slip out your hand. German engineering.”

“Like my car.”

“High quality. You know how they do.”

“How much?”

“Seven fifty.”

McKinley returned the gun to Foreman. “Let me see that other one right there.”