THE TROUBLE ON H Street in Northeast started later than the trouble on 7th and 14th, but it came intensely and all at once. Sometime after one p.m., more than a thousand people rushed onto the strip, burning and looting twelve city blocks of commercial businesses, the longest continuous shopping corridor in black D.C. When the riot erupted, only two dozen police were on the scene. H Street in Northeast started later than the trouble on 7th and 14th, but it came intensely and all at once. Sometime after one p.m., more than a thousand people rushed onto the strip, burning and looting twelve city blocks of commercial businesses, the longest continuous shopping corridor in black D.C. When the riot erupted, only two dozen police were on the scene.

Police decided to protect the major stores as all available men from the Ninth Precinct sped to H. Shotgun-wielding cops patrolled the front of the neighborhood Safeway. Patrol cars blocked the front of the area Sears. But they couldn't stop the damage occurring in the form of fire between 3rd and 15th, where H Street met Florida Avenue and Bladensburg Road.

In alleys, looters collected their goods and made further plans of a.s.sault. Molotov c.o.c.ktails were filled and ragged, tossed by men who were no longer interested in stealing liquor or merchandise. These arsonists went methodically from one store to the next, throwing their bombs. In this way, the Morton's clothing store at 7th and H, one of the largest employers of blacks in the area, was destroyed. A teenage boy was later found inside the ruins, charred beyond recognition and never to be identified. At the I-C Furniture Company at 5th, a thirty-year-old man was crushed to death when a burning wall collapsed on him. Police arriving on H did not hesitate to fire gas grenades from launchers into the crowd. It deterred the rioters briefly. But by then, the entire corridor appeared to be on fire.

Kenneth Willis walked down H with purpose. He had left his apartment and gone down to the strip, urging on the young men who were carrying the last of the beer and wine from the liquor store beneath his place, slapping others five who had gathered on the sidewalk. But Willis wasn't interested in liquor or anything that small. He had seen a nice watch, looked like it had diamonds around its face, in the window of this jewelry store up a couple of blocks from where he stayed. Could have been fake diamonds pasted on that watch; he wasn't sure. But a woman in a dark bar wouldn't know the difference. A woman would want to get with a man who wore a watch like that on his wrist.

Willis walked on, hoping these people out here hadn't got to that jewelry store before he could.

EAST OF THE Anacostia River, looting had become widespread. Police from the Eleventh and Fourteenth Precincts, showing less restraint than their fellow officers in other areas of the city, and fearful for their lives, began firing their guns over the heads of looters to scare them off. By the end of the day, in Anacostia, police had shot and killed two young men. Anacostia River, looting had become widespread. Police from the Eleventh and Fourteenth Precincts, showing less restraint than their fellow officers in other areas of the city, and fearful for their lives, began firing their guns over the heads of looters to scare them off. By the end of the day, in Anacostia, police had shot and killed two young men.

Police officials and Mayor Washington conferred with LBJ. Schools were officially closed, as were government offices. Sixty-four District fire-engine companies were deployed or put on alert. A like number of engine companies from Maryland, Virginia, and Pennsylvania headed for D.C. Troops from the Sixth Armored Cavalry were called in from Fort Meade, Maryland, as were the Third Infantry troops of Company D from Fort Meyer, Virginia. The Third would guard the Federal City and police 7th Street; the Sixth would stage at the Old Soldiers' Home on North Capitol and proceed to H and 14th. The 91st Combat Engineer Battalion from Fort Belvoir, Virginia, was ordered into Far Southeast, Anacostia. The D.C. National Guard, now ready at the Armory, headed for Far Northeast.

ALVIN JONES PARKED his Special on 15th Street, along Meridian Hill, and cut through the park to 16th. He headed for a strip of stone-and-brick row houses, apartments, and a few small hotels. Real nice over here on the Avenue of the Presidents. A broad, clean street, lots of trees . . . usually lots of white people, too. But not today. They were all stuck in their vehicles, looking out the windows. Paler than usual, eyes full of fear. his Special on 15th Street, along Meridian Hill, and cut through the park to 16th. He headed for a strip of stone-and-brick row houses, apartments, and a few small hotels. Real nice over here on the Avenue of the Presidents. A broad, clean street, lots of trees . . . usually lots of white people, too. But not today. They were all stuck in their vehicles, looking out the windows. Paler than usual, eyes full of fear.

It had taken Jones a couple of hours to get across town. He realized he would have to leave his car where he had parked it and walk back to Ronnie's crib. He hoped what he was about to do would be worth all this sweat and time.

Jones went up a sidewalk leading to the hotel. Looked like just another house, but it was not. He had cased it a couple of weeks back, walked right up to the registration desk and asked about their rates. Young white boy behind the desk, had doll lips, looked like he took it in his hind parts, had said, "Which type of room are you looking for?" not even thinking to call him "sir." Well, he was gonna show some respect now.

Jones put the stocking over his face right before he stepped through the door. He had the gun out of his pocket two steps in. A woman sitting in a chair in the lobby got a look at him and said, "Oh!" in a loud voice.

"Shut up, b.i.t.c.h," said Jones. She made no further sound.

Wasn't anyone else in the lobby. Jones walked right up to the desk where that boy with the doll lips stood. He had put his hands up in the air. They were already shaking before Jones spoke. Boy wore one of those shirts with the flaps and bra.s.s b.u.t.tons on the shoulders, like he was an admiral in the navy, sums.h.i.t like that. Figured that this one would be wearing a sailor suit.

"You know what this is, motherf.u.c.ker," said Jones, pointing the .38 at the white boy's chest. "Give it up."

Jones looked through the lobby window to the street as the desk boy extracted some bills from the cash drawer and placed them on the counter. Wasn't anyone out there except those who were jammed up in their cars. The guests who were staying in the hotel were probably all upstairs, holed up in their rooms.

"You got a safe in this piece?" said Jones.

"Yes, but -"

"Open it, slim."

"It will take a few minutes."

"It'll take a few minutes, sir. sir."

"Sir," said the young man, his lips trembling.

Jones smiled through the mask. "I got time."

Fifteen minutes later he was walking east, his gun in one pocket, eight hundred dollars in the other, smiling occasionally at nothing at all, thinking on what a good day it had been, dreaming of a white El Dorado with red interior and electric windows and seats.

Here I go, thought Jones. No more police on my a.s.s or women with babies trying to bust on my groove. I will be out of this motherf.u.c.ker tonight. And: I am rich.

FRANK VAUGHN PARKED his Polara in a Howard University lot and walked with his shoulders squared into the fray on 7th. He had removed his badge from his case and pinned it on his lapel. his Polara in a Howard University lot and walked with his shoulders squared into the fray on 7th. He had removed his badge from his case and pinned it on his lapel.

Everything around him was burning. Ladder trucks, now topped with plywood and wrapped with chicken-wire cages to protect the firemen, attempted to move through the crowds. White-helmeted riot police hung on the sides. Vaughn had not seen anything like this on the soil of his own country. It reminded him of the last days of the war.

He cut left down past P. Rats, fleeing the flames, smoke, and heat, scurried across the street. A couple of blocks in, he pa.s.sed a corner market that had been looted and tossed, all its windows shattered. He had Criss-Crossed the phone number to the apartment and found the building, a common row house, where Alvin Jones's cousin Ronnie Moses had his place. Vaughn went into a small foyer and up a flight of stairs.

He knocked on the door several times. He knocked again. He said, "Police," just to have said it, and then he drew his service revolver and kicked in the door at the k.n.o.b. He walked into Moses's apartment and closed the door behind him.

Vaughn went from room to room. He found nudie magazines and women's clothing in the bedroom. He found a Polaroid camera next to a photo alb.u.m and an open duffel bag holding clothing and shaving equipment dropped beside the shredded couch in the living room. These items told him that Ronnie Moses was a gash-hound and that he was currently hosting a male guest.

Vaughn went back down to the street.

ON H STREET, the Sixth Armored Cavalry arrived in jeeps and trucks and blocked both ends of the shopping district. The soldiers wore yellow kerchiefs around their necks and black gas masks over their faces. They marched in combat formation down the center of the street, carrying M14s with sheathed bayonets, thrusting them at looters, throwing tear gas grenades liberally. Paddy wagons and police officers followed them, making arrests. the Sixth Armored Cavalry arrived in jeeps and trucks and blocked both ends of the shopping district. The soldiers wore yellow kerchiefs around their necks and black gas masks over their faces. They marched in combat formation down the center of the street, carrying M14s with sheathed bayonets, thrusting them at looters, throwing tear gas grenades liberally. Paddy wagons and police officers followed them, making arrests.

Kenneth Willis pushed a drunk down to the sidewalk as he made his way home, going by the big Western Auto store at 9th, completely in flames. There were plenty of drunks on the street, stumbling and laughing, feeling the effects of the liquor they had stolen.

Willis had gotten lucky. He had found that watch in the jewelry store, though it was not in the window where he had expected it to be; there was no window anymore, or anything behind it on display. The watch had been knocked to the floor and kicked by someone toward the back of the shop. The face was scratched some, but Willis knew that a little toothpaste would remove the marks. Willis wore the watch now on his wrist.

He neared his building. Firemen were spraying water into the liquor store and the units above. The fire had engulfed the apartments. The building was completely aflame.

Willis stood there frozen, watching. He had lost his job, for sure. He was up on a felony gun charge. In the last few days he had taken multiple beat-downs from various police. Now everything he owned was carbon and smoke.

He looked at the watch on his wrist. He saw that one of the diamonds circling the face had come loose. He picked it out and squeezed it between his thumb and forefinger. It turned to dust.

Rhinestones, thought Willis. He found this funny, and he laughed.

STRANGE HAD USED his nightstick and muscle to make some arrests. He had chased several kids off the corridor, into alleys and onto side streets, hoping they would stay off the main drag. He was doing what he could. his nightstick and muscle to make some arrests. He had chased several kids off the corridor, into alleys and onto side streets, hoping they would stay off the main drag. He was doing what he could.

He walked down 7th at Q. An apartment house over a clothing store was burning. A man was screaming at firemen, telling them that his mother, too slow to get down the stairs, was trapped in the blaze. Newspapers would later report that the woman, who died of smoke inhalation, had weighed over four hundred pounds. Her son had begged arsonists not to set the building afire, but they had ignored his pleas.

Strange pa.s.sed a small furniture store with a plate-gla.s.s display window that had not been looted or burned. A white man sat in a rocking chair in the window with a double-barreled shotgun cradled in his arms, a cigar wedged between his lips. The man winked at Strange.

Strange walked by a black man wearing fatigues and shades, pleading with a group of young men to get off the streets, invoking the teachings of Dr. King. Strange knew this was an undercover officer, a man trained in counterrioting techniques. He was not having much success today.

Strange wiped tears from his face. His throat was raw and his eyes stung mercilessly from the gas. His exposed skin felt seared from the heat. Seventh Street was burning down all around him.

Third Infantry soldiers had arrived on 7th and begun to teargas and pursue looters. They protected firemen whose hoses had been cut as they were sh.e.l.led by bricks and beer bottles from all directions. The soldiers had also begun to make ma.s.sive arrests. The worst appeared to be over. But there was little left of the street.

"Young man," said a voice behind Strange.

He turned. It was Vaughn. His face was smudged, and his hair had darkened from the soot drifting in the air.

"Detective," said Strange.

"I went to Ronnie Moses's place," said Vaughn, "looking for Alvin Jones."

"And?"

"Jones is staying there, I think," said Vaughn. "He's not in . . . yet."

"So?"

"You want want him, don't you?" him, don't you?"

Strange nodded tightly.

"I just spoke to a lieutenant down here," said Vaughn. "The powers that be are about to announce a curfew. They're gonna have this under control eventually. All these folks out here, they're gonna have to get back to where they live."

"What are you sayin'?" said Strange, raising his voice above the burglar alarms and shouts around him.

"Let's get outta here for a minute," said Vaughn. "All this bulls.h.i.t, I can't hear myself think."

Vaughn and Strange cut down P, stepping around a steel girder that was glowing red in the street.

MAYOR WASHINGTON, in consultation with Police Chief John Layton, Director of Public Safety Patrick Murphy, and President Johnson, imposed a strict curfew on the District of Columbia to be in effect from 5:30 p.m. Friday evening to 6:30 a.m. the following morning. Police, firemen, doctors, nurses, and sanitation workers were excepted. Beer, wine, and liquor sales were forbidden. Gas would only be sold to motorists who were dispensing it directly into their cars. in consultation with Police Chief John Layton, Director of Public Safety Patrick Murphy, and President Johnson, imposed a strict curfew on the District of Columbia to be in effect from 5:30 p.m. Friday evening to 6:30 a.m. the following morning. Police, firemen, doctors, nurses, and sanitation workers were excepted. Beer, wine, and liquor sales were forbidden. Gas would only be sold to motorists who were dispensing it directly into their cars.

Sixth Cavalry troops had arrived late in the afternoon on 14th Street. They a.s.sembled down at S and moved north in columns, chanting "March, march, march," in cadence. They threw tear gas canisters liberally and, with police, made sweeping arrests. They secured the top and lower ends of the corridor with two 700-man battalions.

As on 7th and H Streets, there was little left to protect.

Lydell Blue sat on the bed of a four-ton army truck, eating a peanut-b.u.t.ter-and-jelly sandwich and drinking water from a canteen. A woman from the neighborhood had come with sandwiches to feed police and soldiers on a needed break.

Blue's uniform had taken on the color of charcoal. His back ached, and he could have slept where he sat. He had coughed up blood into his hands moments earlier.

With all of that, he felt good.

In the middle of it, at its worst, as he was protecting his city and his people, he had come to the realization of who he was and what he would always be. He was a black man, through and through. And he was police. The one didn't cancel out the other. He could be both, and be both with pride.

A BROTHER ON the street warned Jones about the curfew. Now Jones knew that he would have to travel with extra care across the city. His plan was to stay below Ma.s.sachusetts Avenue, keeping close to the downtown buildings, in the shadows, out of sight of the soldiers and police. Then head east to 6th and up to his cousin's crib. Grab his duffel bag, which held his few possessions, and reverse his path. He could do it, the darker it got. All he had to do was reach his Buick, over there on 15th, and he'd be southern bound and stone free. the street warned Jones about the curfew. Now Jones knew that he would have to travel with extra care across the city. His plan was to stay below Ma.s.sachusetts Avenue, keeping close to the downtown buildings, in the shadows, out of sight of the soldiers and police. Then head east to 6th and up to his cousin's crib. Grab his duffel bag, which held his few possessions, and reverse his path. He could do it, the darker it got. All he had to do was reach his Buick, over there on 15th, and he'd be southern bound and stone free.

It took a while, but he reached 6th without incident and went north and east until he came to the block of Ronnie's apartment. He went by the gutted market on the corner, keeping his head low, and crossed the street. He entered the row house where his cousin had his place on the second floor.

Back in the depths of the market, looking through the s.p.a.ce where the front window had been, Frank Vaughn stroked the wheel of his Zippo, got flame, and lit a cigarette. He snapped the lid shut.

Little black man with light, almost yellow-colored skin. Just as Strange had said, he was wearing a black hat with a gold band. Now all Vaughn had to do was look up at the window of Ronnie Moses's apartment. Watch for Strange's sign and wait.

Vaughn hit his L&M. Its ember flared, faintly illuminating the ruined market. The only light in there now was the dying light of dusk. There was little inventory remaining on the shelves. Paperback novels, boxes of cake mix and flour strewn about the tiles. Water dripped loudly from a busted pipe. A heap of half-burned newspapers sat piled in the middle of the shop. Someone had set the papers on fire, but the fire had not spread. The smell of carbon was strong in the sh.e.l.l of the store.

Vaughn stepped forward, close to the doorway. From here he could see Ronnie Moses's apartment on the second floor.

"Make him talk and let him go," Vaughn had told Strange. "Flash a light in the window if he confesses. I'll do the rest."

"Do what?" Strange had said.

Vaughn hadn't needed to spell it out for the rookie. He would let the young man make the decision himself.

Vaughn dragged deeply on his cigarette.

SOON AS HE had got to the landing, Jones could tell someone had busted through his cousin's apartment door. It opened, too, with just a little push. Someone had broke into his cousin's crib, that was plain, 'cause he remembered clearly that he'd locked the door. But Jones reasoned that the break-in was just part of the general mayhem of the day. Kids being kids. had got to the landing, Jones could tell someone had busted through his cousin's apartment door. It opened, too, with just a little push. Someone had broke into his cousin's crib, that was plain, 'cause he remembered clearly that he'd locked the door. But Jones reasoned that the break-in was just part of the general mayhem of the day. Kids being kids.

He drew his gun from his slacks just the same. He stepped inside.

Strange came from behind the open door and put his service revolver to the back of Jones's head.

"Don't say nothin'," said Strange. "Let go of that gun and drop it to the floor."

"Gun could dis discharge like that," said Jones, not moving, not turning his head.

"Do it," said Strange.

Jones dropped the old revolver. It hit the hardwood with a hollow thud.

"Now move over there to the center of the room," said Strange, "and turn around."

Jones obeyed the command. Strange kept the gun trained on Jones and closed the door with his foot.

Jones smiled a little as he turned around and took in Strange.

"Lawman," said Jones. "Heard you were lookin' for me."

Strange said nothing.

"This about your brother, right?"

Strange did not reply.

"I heard he got hisself dead. My cousin Kenneth told me, man. d.a.m.n shame."

"Yes," Strange heard himself say, looking into the odd golden eyes of Alvin Jones.

"I don't know nothin' about it," said Jones. "I mean, if that's why you been huntin' me down, I'm just sayin' . . . I was with a woman the night he was killed." Jones chuckled. "The whole whole night. b.i.t.c.h would not night. b.i.t.c.h would not let let me out the bed, you hear what I'm sayin'? I could give you her phone number, you want it. She'll tell you." me out the bed, you hear what I'm sayin'? I could give you her phone number, you want it. She'll tell you."

"I don't want any phone numbers," said Strange.

"What, then? You standing there holdin' a gun on me. Tell me what you want. I told you I don't know nothin', man. I don't know what else to do." then? You standing there holdin' a gun on me. Tell me what you want. I told you I don't know nothin', man. I don't know what else to do."

Strange stared at Jones.

"If you think I cut him," said Jones, "you are wrong. It wasn't me."

I didn't say anybody cut him. I didn't tell Willis he died that way. The newspapers, they didn't print it . . . so how could you know?

Strange lowered his gun.

"There you go," said Jones, smiling. "Now you seein' things clear. No hard feelings, blood. I can understand you bein' upset."

"Get out of here," said Strange, very softly.

Jones went to the side of the couch, bent down, zipped his duffel bag shut, and s.n.a.t.c.hed it off the floor.

"I'm gone," said Jones.