The Cut (Spero Lucas) by George P. Pelecanos Page A

walked toward the house where the old woman still stood near her garden. The owner of record was Leonard Woods. The home had been purchased for well under a hundred grand and was assessed at six times that today.
    Lucas stood at the foot of the concrete steps looking up at the woman, shapeless in her dress. Her hair was white, thin, and uncombed. Even from this distance he could see that her face was dotted with raised moles.
    “Afternoon,” Lucas called out.
    “Just about,” said the woman. Her tone did not invite further conversation, but it did not deter him.
    “Nice garden,” he said. “Is the ground cover there, the purple flowers, is that phlox?”
    “Creeping phlox, yeah,” she said sourly. “You selling somethin? Cause if you are, I don’t talk to solicitors. I got a sign right up there on the door says the same.”
    “No, ma’am,” said Lucas.
    “Well?”
    “I’m an investigator. I’m looking into the disappearance of a package from the porch of a home on this street.”
    “Investigator for who?”
    “I represent a client.”
    “Who is it?”
    “Unfortunately, that’s confidential.”
    “Well then, we got nothing to talk about.”
    “I’m attempting to retrieve my client’s lost property.”
    “An
in
surance thing,” she said with something close to disgust.
    “Is it Miss Woods?”
    “Young man, you don’t know me. Don’t even be so bold as to call me by my name.”
    “I apologize,” said Lucas, knowing that the conversation was completely blown. “Maybe we’ll talk again when it’s a better time.”
    “Ain’t gonna be a better time,” said the woman. “Go on, now.” She made a shoo-away motion with the hand that held the trowel. “Before I call my son at his job. You do not want
that
.”
    “Sorry to trouble you,” said Lucas, bowing his head slightly and walking back to his car. When he got in it, he looked at her house. She had gone inside. He didn’t blame her for being ornery. She was somebody’s mother, probably a nice person when she wasn’t being bothered by a stranger. He was sorry he had spoiled her peaceful day.
    SHADOWS SHRANK and disappeared. They grew elsewhere as the sun moved across the sky.
    A late-middle-aged man with a large belly came out of a row house. He was wearing old khakis, a long polo shirt, and a Redskins hat. He walked down the sidewalk in the direction of Lucas’s Jeep. He was softly singing a song, a slo-jam that Lucas was familiar with but could not identify.
    “ ‘Make me say it again, girl,’ ” sang the man.
    In his notebook, Lucas checked the diagram of the street.
    The man neared, and Lucas, his arm resting on the lip of the open window, said, “Mr. Houghton?”
    “Huh?” The man stopped walking. He seemed momentarily dazed. Then he looked back over his shoulder at the house he’d come from.
    “Mr. Houghton, is it?” said Lucas.
    “Nah, that’s not me,” said the man genially. “Mr. Houghton’s deceased. His daughter stays there now. I was just visiting.”
    “Oh,” said Lucas. “Look, I don’t mean to bother you, but I’m looking into a theft on this block.”
    “You police?”
    “I’m an investigator,” said Lucas. It didn’t answer the question exactly, and it wasn’t a lie. “A package went missing from the porch of a home across from your friend’s house. About a week and a half ago.” Lucas told him the exact day.
    “I ain’t been to this street but twice in the last year. And my lady friend wasn’t around then. She just got back from a three-week cruise, no lie.”
    “Got it.” Lucas pointed his chin up at the man’s hat. “ ’Skins gonna do it this year?”
    “Not
this
year.”
    “I like Donovan.”
    “The fans in Philly treated him like dirt.”
    “Yeah, I know. I hope when we play the Eagles we shove it up their asses.”
    “We’ll play up. But we ain’t got that full squad yet that can compete at the next level. Wasn’t anything wrong withJason Campbell. They never did give