I’m working.”
“We know what we’re doin,” said Tavon, and he looked over the backseat at Edwin, their eyes meeting meaningfully. Lucas had the feeling that they wanted to defend themselves, give him some kind of explanation or excuse for the loss of the packages. But the moment passed and a tangible silence fell inside the car.
“You into Black Uhuru?” said Lucas, nodding at Tavon’s T-shirt, breaking the quiet.
“They’re tight,” said Tavon. “Don’t tell me you know somethin about Uhuru.”
“I got some of their music. The Puma, Duckie, and Michael lineup is the best. I’m talking about the records Sly and Robbie produced. The roots stuff. ‘Leaving to Zion’ is the shit.”
“Ho,” said Tavon with surprise. “How you up with that?”
“I had a buddy in the Marine Corps who turned me on to reggae.”
“Jamaican dude?”
“White dude from Louisiana,” said Lucas, remembering his friend, that high-pitched laugh he had, the way he ducked his head when he smiled. Jamie Burdette, buried now in Metairie.
“You go to the dance halls and shit?”
“Nah,” said Lucas. “I wouldn’t know where to go, and I doubt I’d feel comfortable if I did. There was a place called Kilimanjaro, down in Adams Morgan, when I was a kid. It’s been closed for a long time.”
“I go sometimes,” said Tavon. “They got this warehouse out there in Maryland, off Colesville Road, where they be havin shows? But you need to be careful. The Rastas come to have fun, but then you got the rude boys mixed in the crowd. If things pop off, ain’t gonna be just a fistfight. Someone’s about to get shot.”
“That not your thing,” said Lucas.
“I’m a man of peace. A lover.”
“They got the best girls at Twenty Four,” said Edwin, speaking on the big club off Bladensburg Road, near New York Avenue in Northeast. “Them dance hall girls stink.”
“So do your drawers.”
“Your father’s.”
“Edwin likes the VIP room,” said Tavon.
“I just like the women.”
“You mean, like, the one I seen you with the other night? One they call Precious?”
“That’s her name,” said Edwin defensively.
“She look like that beast, too.”
“Go ahead, Tay.”
“Too bad you can’t satisfy the girls like I do,” said Tavon.
“I don’t need to. When I gyrate, they bug.”
“You
know
they call me the Cobra.”
“Now you gonna brag on your tongue,” said Edwin.
“When you break a woman off,” said Tavon, “you got to break her off proper.”
“If I can’t buy it at the Shoppers Food Warehouse,” said Edwin, “I don’t eat it.”
“Look there,” said Lucas, stopping them, because if he didn’t they would go on. “You guys see that old lady up by her house, with the shovel in her hand?”
“So?” said Edwin.
“That little garden she’s got, looks like it’s her pride. At her age, you know she’s not working. This time of year, I bet she’s out there every day, tending to her flowers.”
“You sayin she might have seen something?” said Tavon.
“She’d be someone I would try to talk to,” said Lucas.
“Don’t let us stop you.”
“I’m just giving you an idea of how I work.”
“We don’t need to be schooled on that,” said Tavon. “That’s your specialty. That’s why Anwan hired
you
. We’ll stick to our thing.”
“Matter of fact, we gotta bounce,” said Edwin, seeing something on his phone screen and putting his hand on Tavon’s shoulder.
“Y’all got a pickup?” said Lucas.
“A’ight, Spero,” said Tavon, pointedly ignoring the question. “You know how to get up with us if you need us.”
“You guys be safe,” said Lucas.
They left the Jeep and walked back toward Clifton and their SS. Lucas watched them in the side-view mirror, cracking on each other, laughing. He liked them both. He also felt they were in way over their heads.
LUCAS CHECKED his notebook, got out of his Cherokee, crossed the street to the east side of 12th, and
“We know what we’re doin,” said Tavon, and he looked over the backseat at Edwin, their eyes meeting meaningfully. Lucas had the feeling that they wanted to defend themselves, give him some kind of explanation or excuse for the loss of the packages. But the moment passed and a tangible silence fell inside the car.
“You into Black Uhuru?” said Lucas, nodding at Tavon’s T-shirt, breaking the quiet.
“They’re tight,” said Tavon. “Don’t tell me you know somethin about Uhuru.”
“I got some of their music. The Puma, Duckie, and Michael lineup is the best. I’m talking about the records Sly and Robbie produced. The roots stuff. ‘Leaving to Zion’ is the shit.”
“Ho,” said Tavon with surprise. “How you up with that?”
“I had a buddy in the Marine Corps who turned me on to reggae.”
“Jamaican dude?”
“White dude from Louisiana,” said Lucas, remembering his friend, that high-pitched laugh he had, the way he ducked his head when he smiled. Jamie Burdette, buried now in Metairie.
“You go to the dance halls and shit?”
“Nah,” said Lucas. “I wouldn’t know where to go, and I doubt I’d feel comfortable if I did. There was a place called Kilimanjaro, down in Adams Morgan, when I was a kid. It’s been closed for a long time.”
“I go sometimes,” said Tavon. “They got this warehouse out there in Maryland, off Colesville Road, where they be havin shows? But you need to be careful. The Rastas come to have fun, but then you got the rude boys mixed in the crowd. If things pop off, ain’t gonna be just a fistfight. Someone’s about to get shot.”
“That not your thing,” said Lucas.
“I’m a man of peace. A lover.”
“They got the best girls at Twenty Four,” said Edwin, speaking on the big club off Bladensburg Road, near New York Avenue in Northeast. “Them dance hall girls stink.”
“So do your drawers.”
“Your father’s.”
“Edwin likes the VIP room,” said Tavon.
“I just like the women.”
“You mean, like, the one I seen you with the other night? One they call Precious?”
“That’s her name,” said Edwin defensively.
“She look like that beast, too.”
“Go ahead, Tay.”
“Too bad you can’t satisfy the girls like I do,” said Tavon.
“I don’t need to. When I gyrate, they bug.”
“You
know
they call me the Cobra.”
“Now you gonna brag on your tongue,” said Edwin.
“When you break a woman off,” said Tavon, “you got to break her off proper.”
“If I can’t buy it at the Shoppers Food Warehouse,” said Edwin, “I don’t eat it.”
“Look there,” said Lucas, stopping them, because if he didn’t they would go on. “You guys see that old lady up by her house, with the shovel in her hand?”
“So?” said Edwin.
“That little garden she’s got, looks like it’s her pride. At her age, you know she’s not working. This time of year, I bet she’s out there every day, tending to her flowers.”
“You sayin she might have seen something?” said Tavon.
“She’d be someone I would try to talk to,” said Lucas.
“Don’t let us stop you.”
“I’m just giving you an idea of how I work.”
“We don’t need to be schooled on that,” said Tavon. “That’s your specialty. That’s why Anwan hired
you
. We’ll stick to our thing.”
“Matter of fact, we gotta bounce,” said Edwin, seeing something on his phone screen and putting his hand on Tavon’s shoulder.
“Y’all got a pickup?” said Lucas.
“A’ight, Spero,” said Tavon, pointedly ignoring the question. “You know how to get up with us if you need us.”
“You guys be safe,” said Lucas.
They left the Jeep and walked back toward Clifton and their SS. Lucas watched them in the side-view mirror, cracking on each other, laughing. He liked them both. He also felt they were in way over their heads.
LUCAS CHECKED his notebook, got out of his Cherokee, crossed the street to the east side of 12th, and
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