Finding a parking space on the narrow streets of Georgetown late in the morning challenged even those who lived and worked in the area. Because Hannibal seldom frequented the northwestern quadrant of The District, the search became a major test of his ingenuity. The row houses in Georgetown didn’t seem significantly bigger than the ones in his own neighborhood or anywhere else, nor did they have any more space around or behind them. Yards seemed tiny, and to him a brick front was a brick front. The fact that these places sold for upwards of a million dollars made little sense to him. But he wasn’t there looking for a home. After failing to learn anything about Mantooth from public sources, he was looking for a man who might have access to less official but more valuable information.
It had taken Hannibal a few minutes to calm Sarge down. He had insisted that Sarge stay with Marquita and not go looking for Mantooth on the beach where she had spotted him. He had promised that he would join them that night. Then he headed for The District to find an old acquaintance. He was driving against the major flow of traffic on I-66 at this time of day and had no trouble holding a speed in the sixties. While he drove he contacted the one person he knew in Virginia Beach who might be able to help him.
“Huge Wilson, you are one hard man to talk to on the phone.”
“Well my posse has to protect me from the nut jobs, the local fans, and especially the would-be rappers and hip-hop singers who’ll do anything for an audition,” Wilson replied. His voice’s purity, reminiscent of Eddie Kendricks’ falsetto, always surprised Hannibal.
“Listen, Huge, I can use some help and I think you once said that if I needed anything…”
“Of course,” Huge said, and Hannibal could hear him smiling into the phone at the other end. “In my biz, street cred is very necessary, dog. I said if you ever need anything and I meant it. Now what we talking about?”
“As it happens, it’s your street credibility that will make you so valuable right now,” Hannibal said. “I need to find a guy named Rod Mantooth. He robbed and beat up a sister up here, and I have reliable intel that he’s hanging in Virginia Beach right now. He’s a white guy, but he’s got underworld connections and likes to live large. I figure if he’s making contact with the drug dealer crowd your contacts might spot him.”
“Beat up a sister?” Huge said. “Shit, if he’s on the streets of Virginia Beach my posse will run him down. You want me to take care of this, or just save him for you?”
“Please just locate the fool for me if you can,” Hannibal said. “I’ll be down there tonight and I’d like a shot at recovering the stolen property.”
“You just lay back and leave this one to me,” Huge said. “E-mail me a good description of this asshole and a picture if you’ve got one, and we’ll get down to business.”
That conversation had ended just in time for Hannibal to switch onto Route 29 and let the Key Bridge carry him over the Potomac. That dropped him within a couple of blocks of his destination, Cafe Milano. Still, it came as no surprise that after wandering the claustrophobic warren of one-way streets for a few minutes he ended up parking behind the Shops at Georgetown Park. It was too hot for even a short walk. Hannibal pulled off his suit coat and locked his shoulder holster in the Volvo’s trunk before proceeding. He covered the necessary three blocks with his jacket draped over his arm.
Hannibal had called ahead, knowing that he was likely to find Anthony Ronzini having an early lunch. Freddy, Ronzini’s personal protector, greeted Hannibal at the door. Hannibal knew that square head, thin sandy hair and broken nose. Freddy had the mass of a heavyweight fighter and the light tread one would expect a middleweight to have. Hannibal nodded a greeting and raised his arms for a pat down. They had not met under the best of circumstances.
“No need for that,” Freddy said. “You clean?”
“Of course. I won’t disrespect Mr. Ronzini at a meal.”
Freddy turned to lead Hannibal into the restaurant. On their way to Ronzini’s table they passed three or four familiar faces. Cafe Milano was one of those places that attracted Washington's power elite. Hannibal had his coat back on by the time they reached the patio. Stepping into the glass-fronted area was a quick trip to Europe. Plants and flowers flanked two long rows of tables wearing white tablecloths. The blossoms and leaves looked as if they were catered to as much as the diners. Hannibal guessed the room’s capacity at around a hundred, and he was sure that it was ninety percent full that day.
When he reached Ronzini’s table, Hannibal looked around slowly, wondering how many of the men nearby were in Ronzini’s employ. While not a major force in the local crime scene, Ronzini was a player and was not without influence. His round Italian face turned toward Hannibal and offered a congenial smile.
“Sit, Mr. Jones. Have you had lunch? At least have an espresso with me.” Ronzini raised his left hand and a waiter stepped toward them.
Hannibal lowered himself into the seat facing Ronzini, who sat behind a huge salad filled with things Hannibal wasn’t sure he could name. He saw eggplant, peppers, tomatoes and the fake lettuce Cindy called arugula. The other stuff hardly looked like food, although some of it might be cheese of some sort.
“Thank you, Mr. Ronzini,” Hannibal said, more for Freddy’s benefit than his host’s. “I wasn’t expecting so warm a welcome.”
Ronzini stabbed the salad, raising the sour cheese odor. “Hey, you’ve held up your end of the deal. I wasn’t so sure.”
“I never doubted you,” Hannibal replied. “We had an understanding. I had less faith in your son, but there haven’t been any problems.” Ronzini’s son had been running a crack house until Hannibal was hired to chase the bad element out of that building. Hannibal declared the building and the neighbors on its block, to be under his personal protection. Ronzini had been drawn into the conflict and overstepped his son to end it by making an agreement with Hannibal. He would keep his son’s drug business out of Hannibal’s neighborhood, and Hannibal would take no further action against the young drug dealer. The agreement created a relationship between the two men based on honor and mutual respect. And after fighting for the building Hannibal decided to make it both his home and his place of business.
“And what brings you to see me now?” Ronzini asked between bites of his antipasto. “I’m thinking this isn’t a social call.”
Hannibal bit back his pride and forced a less arrogant expression onto his face. “Actually, I’m here to ask for a favor,” Hannibal said.
“Of course you are.”
“I have no idea how I might repay you for this favor.”
“We will not speak of such things,” Ronzini said. “I know what you will and will not do. At some time I may need a favor and you will do the right thing.” Then, to the waiter, “Please bring my friend here a cup of espresso, no lemon I think.” Then his eyes returned to Hannibal. They were the eyes of a fox, incisive, dissecting Hannibal as he spoke.
“I’m looking for a man,” Hannibal said, choosing his words with care. “This man has beaten and abused women. He also stole something important from one of these women. I need to get it back. I may also want this man to pay for his treatment of these women. Unfortunately, I haven’t been able to find out anything about this man through the normal avenues.”
“And you think I should know something of this man?”
“This man has a criminal history and I believe he may have connections, important connections you might know about.” Hannibal said. Two nearby diners’ eyes flicked toward him, and Hannibal knew they were Ronzini’s men. “The more I know about my quarry, the easier it will be to locate and deal with him. And before I take this man down, I’d like to know what kind of enemies I might be making. This man’s name is Rod Mantooth.”
Ronzini continued through his antipasto. No hint of recognition showed on his face. Just before he finished his food, the waiter reappeared with espresso for Hannibal and pasta for Ronzini. Freddy, at the next table, didn’t seem to eat. Hannibal’s face showed his surprise at Ronzini’s food.
“You should have ordered.” Ronzini said.
“Not hungry. Just never seen ravioli in a cream sauce like that.”
“When it’s round we call it cappellacci,” Ronzini said, spreading a clean napkin across his lap to protect what had to be a two thousand dollar wool suit. “These are filled with spinach and ricotta. A wonderful flavor. And I know this man, Mantooth. At least, I know of him. He’s from the old neighborhood, Bensonhurst.”
“Really? I had the impression he was a low life,” Hannibal sipped his espresso. It was very hot, and maybe the strongest he had tasted. He smiled and took another sip before putting his cup down.
“Yeah, ten years ago he was busting into banks. Five or six years ago he got busted, but I think he’s on the streets again.”
“Can you tell me who he’s working for, or with?” Hannibal asked.
Ronzini chewed a pocket of pasta, shaking his head slowly, either at how good the food was or at how silly Hannibal’s question was. “What you really want to know is, who is this guy and what kind of friends does he make. Do you know where this man is?”
“I’ve tracked him to Virginia Beach,” Hannibal said. “I intend to confront him there. Our meeting could get messy.”
Ronzini laughed out loud. “Really? Well, wait twenty-four hours and let me check into Mantooth. It shouldn’t be hard to find out what you want to know.”
“Thank you, Mr. Ronzini.” Hannibal said, swallowing the last of his espresso. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to get on this bastard’s trail. I’ll wait until tomorrow and call you.”
“No,” Ronzini said, in a stern voice that made Hannibal stop half way to standing up. “You won’t contact me again. I’ll call you when I have information for you.”
The smell of fine Italian cuisine had accentuated the one lie Hannibal had told Ronzini. His stomach was growling for food. As soon as he reached his car he headed for the nearest Wendy’s drive through. The drive home was a lot more pleasant with a burger on his lap and a container of French fries in his door’s map pocket. By the time he pulled into his parking space lunch was a memory and Hannibal’s mind was focused on packing for a long drive south. His thoughts shifted only when Monte met him on the sidewalk.
“What’s up, Hannibal. Still working a hot case?”
“As a matter of fact, I still am,” Hannibal said, “and I have to take off for Virginia Beach this afternoon.”
“Hey, you gonna be catching up with Huge?” Monte asked, following Hannibal up the stairs.
Hannibal stopped just inside the door, sensing a variety of elements dropping into place. “Actually, Monte, I will be checking in with him. How’d you like to meet him?”
Monte took in a giant breath, and word rushed out of him like water over a cascade. “Are you for real? You think I could meet him, in person, like shake his hand and actually talk to him? Man I’d give anything for a chance like that.”
“Maybe,” Hannibal said, unlocking his apartment door. “What’s it worth to you?”
“Huh?”
“I’m ready to make you a deal.”
Monte backed off as Hannibal entered his place, perhaps sensing that he was about to step into a trap. “What kind of a deal.”
“A book every two weeks.”
“What?” Monte said, his voice rising higher.
“Like I said, you read a book every two weeks for the rest of the summer, you bring me a nicely written report of said book, and I’ll see if your grandmother will let me take you with me to spend some time at Huge’s studio.”
Monte stomped in a small circle in the hall, and Hannibal wondered what kept his pants from falling down. They were already several inches below his waist. “That’s the deal,” Hannibal said. “Take it or leave it. I have to get packed right now. It’s a three and a half hour drive and I’d like to be there before sundown.”
Marquita greeted Hannibal at the door with a strong hug. Although caught by surprise, Hannibal returned the embrace before guiding her to the sofa.
“Hey, little bro,” Sarge said to Monte while pouring four sodas. “Didn’t expect you to be coming along.”
“It was a last minute decision,” Hannibal said. “I filled him in on the bare bones of the case on the way down.”
“Well, Hannibal, I’m damned glad to see you, brother,” Sarge said. “Markie has been a wreck since this morning, but I knew you getting here would make her feel better.”
Sarge had splurged on a comfortable condo within sight of the ocean in the city’s resort area. The great room was set up for entertaining. The kitchenette had everything they could need for meals, the table would seat six, and the living room area held a television, stereo, a comfortable wicker love seat and two chairs. Fresh flowers dotted the whole space and, even at six o’clock, sunlight flooded the room through the sliding glass doors. The balcony beyond them offered a wide view of the Atlantic, but watching the waves was not Hannibal’s priority.
“I’m sure Marquita feels quite safe with you around, Sarge,” Hannibal said, settling into one of the wicker chairs.
“Sarge will never leave my side,” Marquita said, her feet tucked beneath her on the couch as if she wanted to protect them. “I know he will look after me, but you, Mr. Jones, you can go out and find this man and do something.”
“You gonna hunt this guy down and terminate him?” Monte asked with a grin.
“I’m not terminating anybody,” Hannibal said with a stern look in Monte’s direction. Then he turned to Marquita. The air conditioner was blowing hard and must have been for quite a while. It gave Hannibal a slight chill and made Marquita’s nipples press into her lightweight tank top in a way that seemed somehow inappropriate to Hannibal. “Now, Marquita, tell me what you saw.”
“I saw him,” she all but shouted. “It was Rod, right out there on the beach.”
“Alone?” Hannibal asked. “Just walking down the beach in his flip flops?”
Marquita ran fingers through her long platinum hair and curled her lips inward. Sarge sat beside her and stretched out an arm to wrap around her but she shrugged it away. Her thin form shook with ragged breaths and her hands covered her eyes. After a few seconds of silence she was able to look at Hannibal.
“I’m sorry. We were down the beach from here, maybe a mile or so. There is this lovely boardwalk with cute little shops full of useless trinkets and soft ice cream cones.”
“We were just walking along,” Sarge said. “Not really paying attention to where we were, you know? We turned off from the beach on a whim and wandered a block or two up a lane of houses.”
“That’s when they went by,” Marquita said.
“They?” Hannibal asked, prompting her on.
“It was a red Jeep, or one of those four wheel drive things,” Marquita said. “The top was off and it was just open. And there he sat in the front passenger seat. I swear he looked right through me without seeing me. I just screamed.”
“You’re sure it was him?” Hannibal asked.
Marquita sat forward, her fawn eyes locking onto Hannibal’s. “I could never forget that face.”
“Sarge, what did you do?” Hannibal glanced at Monte, who sat with eyes wide. He could see that the lady was badly shaken but he had sense enough to stay quiet. Sarge was quiet at first too, but not for the same reason.
“Worthless,” Sarge said under his breath. “Never even saw the man. All I knew was, Markie was screaming. By the time I knew why, the car was long gone.”
“But you know what this guy looks like, right?” Monte sounded anxious to help. “We can just hit the street and cover the area. Nobody ever notices me so I could follow him and come get you.”
“Appreciate the offer, Monte,” Hannibal said. “But let’s collect a little more data first. Marquita, you said Rod was in the passenger seat. Who was driving?”
Marquita’s brows closed together, as if she had never considered the question before. “He wasn’t alone,” she said as if surprised by the revelation. “There was a younger man driving. Tall, beach boy type, blonde, like a body builder. And the three girls crammed into the back seat. Wait, one of them I had seen before. Yes. It was the witch called Mariah.”
“Wearing?”
“Who knows?” Marquita said, waving a hand.
“You do,” Hannibal said in a harder voice. “Just recall the scene. Picture it in your mind.”
Marquita closed her eyes and despite the cool breeze in the room perspiration broke through the skin on her face. “The boy was bare-chested. Rod wore a Hawaiian shirt. The girls wore bikinis, all three. Solid colors, like three Italian icees. Cherry, lemon and lime.”
Hannibal broke into a grin. “Now that’s a picture that will be hard to miss. I’ve also got a couple of other leads to follow up on. But it’s getting late and I feel like I spent the whole day in the car. How about I take everyone to dinner?”
Marquita showed a sudden burst of energy, bouncing to her feet and heading for the refrigerator. “Oh, I was going to make my special Jambalaya for Archie. See, I bought everything I need. I’m sure I can make enough for the four of us. Believe me, it will be better than anything you could get at a restaurant.”
She ended with a nervous laugh. The men sat quiet. After a moment she turned toward them, one side of her smile gone but the other side still bravely holding up.
“I really just don’t want to go outside again so soon,” she said. “If we can just stay inside this one evening?”
“Of course,” Hannibal said. “It sounds wonderful.”
“Sure,” Sarge added. “We can rent a movie or something. Make an evening of it. You guys know how to play tonk?”
Monte gave Sarge a sidelong look and raised a tentative eyebrow. “Archie?”