Derek relaxed his hands. He hadn't realized he had formed them into fists.

"d.a.m.n," said Jones, "we ain't mean to upset upset you, little man. What, you want to steal me, somethin' like that? Come over here, then, you got a mind to. I'll let you have a free swing." you, little man. What, you want to steal me, somethin' like that? Come over here, then, you got a mind to. I'll let you have a free swing."

Derek felt Dennis's arm come around his shoulder. He felt Dennis pull him in.

"He's all right," said Dennis, making a head motion toward the Cadillac. "C'mon, let's go."

"You bring that gage with you, man?" said Willis.

"Shut up, Kenneth," said Dennis, losing the pleasant tone he had been trying to maintain. "Ain't you got no sense?"

Jones and Willis laughed.

Dennis turned to Derek. "Go on, Young D."

"Why you got to go with them?" said Derek, not caring if Willis and Jones could hear.

"I won't be late. There go Lydell, lookin' for you."

Derek glanced up the block, where Lydell Blue was coming down the sidewalk from the direction of Park View Elementary, two cane poles resting on his shoulder. Derek walked north and met his friend. They shook hands, then tapped fists to their own chests.

"Us," said Derek.

"Us," said Lydell.

Lydell, stocky and muscled, with the beginnings of a mustache, handed Derek one of the poles. They were headed up to the Old Soldiers' Home, where they would jump the fence that surrounded the property and fish the pond on the wooded grounds. They hardly ever got a bite, but no one bothered them there, and it was a nice place to sit and talk. Lydell was Derek's boy going back to kindergarten. He had always been his tightest friend.

"You all right?" said Lydell, studying Derek's troubled face as they walked up the street.

"What is gage, Ly?"

"That's marijuana, man. Don't you know nothin'?"

"I knew," said Derek, feeling a drop in his chest. "I was just wonderin' if you you knew, is all." knew, is all."

Derek turned his head, watched as his brother and the other two went toward the old Cadillac, watched Dennis put his hand to the handle of the back door.

Don't get in that car.

Derek Strange heard doors open and slam shut, and then the ignition of an engine. He and Lydell Blue walked east through the last of golden time as dusk settled on the street.

STEWART AND HESS went over to Mighty Mo's, a drive-in with car-side service at the intersection of New Hampshire Avenue and 410. It had been built in '58 and was the hangout for their crew and others. This was where they went to plot out the action for the rest of the night. Hot rods and lowriders with names like "Little Dipper," "Little Sleeper," and "Also Ran" were scattered about the lot. Rock and roll came from the open windows of the rides, their freshly waxed bodies gleaming under the lights. went over to Mighty Mo's, a drive-in with car-side service at the intersection of New Hampshire Avenue and 410. It had been built in '58 and was the hangout for their crew and others. This was where they went to plot out the action for the rest of the night. Hot rods and lowriders with names like "Little Dipper," "Little Sleeper," and "Also Ran" were scattered about the lot. Rock and roll came from the open windows of the rides, their freshly waxed bodies gleaming under the lights.

Stewart and Hess hooked up with their friends. They ordered the signature burgers and onion rings through speakers, and were served by waitresses who ran the food from the kitchens out to the cars. The young men and women washed it down with beer. The night went on like that, engine talk and boasts and eye contact with the girlfriends of others, and soon enough the buzz of alcohol and deep night had come. It was time to go out and run the cars.

Hess and several others began to drive out of Mo's. In a corner of the lot, apart from the younger ones, stood Billy Griffith, Mike Anastasi, and Tommy Hanc.o.c.k, all leaning on their cars. These were the most feared, bada.s.s white boys in the area. For sport they frequently went into D.C. and picked fights with groups of coloreds. The most famous fight had started at the Hot Shoppes down at Georgia and Hamilton and continued on to the Little Tavern across the street. It was said that Griffith, Anastasi, and Hanc.o.c.k took on ten coloreds and beat the living s.h.i.t out of them. As the story got around, the coloreds numbered twenty.

Stewart nodded at Billy Griffith, the most demented of the three, as he and Hess drove by. Griffith had a legendary rep. Men of all ages talked about him in bars and quieted when he walked into a room. Buzz Stewart could only hope that people would someday see him that way, too.

STEWART AND HESS drove out Route 29 to the area around Fairland Road. It was not far from downtown Silver Spring, maybe five miles on the odometer, but it was country. By ten o'clock there was little traffic, and those who were parked along the shoulders were there for fun. drove out Route 29 to the area around Fairland Road. It was not far from downtown Silver Spring, maybe five miles on the odometer, but it was country. By ten o'clock there was little traffic, and those who were parked along the shoulders were there for fun.

A quarter mile had been marked off. Small bets had been made back at Mo's and at other area hangouts. Hess pulled over near a group of their friends and watched a race between a Chevy and a Dodge. Then a guy arrived towing a trailer holding a '31 Ford sedan without tags.

"Man claims it's got a five-twelve rear, dad," said Hess.

"What he claims," said Stewart.

The driver of the Ford dragged a hopped-up '50 Studebaker and blew its doors off.

"Whew," said Hess. "He wasn't braggin'."

They watched more races and drank more beer. Stewart saw a peroxide blonde named Suzie who he had dry-f.u.c.ked one time in the back of his car when both of them were falling down on gin and c.o.ke. He couldn't remember nothin' about her except the smell she'd left in his car. He started toward her but changed his mind. He could have that any old day, he wanted it. What he wanted tonight was a different kind of action. Three beers had been whispering to him, and now four talked in his ear, telling him to kick somebody's a.s.s.

But Hess wanted to take a run at some s.n.a.t.c.h, so they went over and talked to a couple of tough girls they recognized, one who was okay, one who looked like a pimply duck. Both of them were wearing tight jeans. They got the girls into the car and after they'd switched to boy-girl and he'd gotten everyone to take off their shoes, Hess drove them through some farmer's cornfield for laughs. The girls were as drunk as they were, and soon they found a place to park. Stewart took a walk with the okay girl while Hess stayed in the car with the pimply duck. Later, after they had dropped the girls at a field party off Peach Orchard Road, Stewart admitted that he hadn't gotten anything off his girl, not even t.i.t. Hess claimed he got his fingers wet and with an outstretched hand offered Stewart a smell.

"Get that s.h.i.t outta my face, Shorty," said Stewart.

Hess cackled like a witch. "You ready to go sportin', Buzz?"

"Yeah. Let's pick up my ride."

They switched cars at the doughnut shop, bought more beer down below the line, and drove into the District, looking for something or someone to f.u.c.k up.

Their next stop was the Rendezvous, down on 10th Street in Northwest. The bar was jammed with rough old boys, bikers, and women who liked their type. The place smelled like alcohol and sweat. Link Wray and his Raymen were up on the bandstand. Link was wearing leather and rocking the house.

Stewart and Hess stepped up to the bar and ordered a couple of drafts. Stewart got a man's size and Hess ordered a fifteen-center. It looked like a girl's gla.s.s, but Hess didn't care. The fifteen-cent gla.s.s was tall, fragile, and skinny. You could break the head off it easy, if you had to, and use the jagged edge to open up some joker's face. Hess had a sip and put his back to the bar.

The band did a number with sometime vocalist Bobby Howard, then another. The Raymen were at their most raucous on their instrumentals, but Howard had a good voice for this kind of rock. It was known that Link couldn't sing. He had caught TB overseas when he was in the service, and the doctors had removed one of his lungs.

"Here he goes," said Stewart happily, and they watched Link use a pen to punch a couple of holes in the bands' speakers. It was how he got that fuzz tone out of his ax, and it was a signal that the band was about to lift off.

Which is how it went as the band kicked into "The Swag" and then an extended version of "Rawhide." It was a sound that no one else could seem to get, a primal, blood-kicking kind of rock and roll, and it energized the room. People were dancing into one another, and soon punches were thrown, and many of the people who were fighting still had smiles on their faces. Link himself was said to be a peaceable man, but sometimes his music incited righteous violence.

"You in?" said Hess, his eyes on a fight that was building in numbers on the edge of the room.

"Nah," said Stewart, who just wanted to enjoy the music for now. "I'm good."

Hess put his gla.s.s down on the bar, made his way into the crowd, and started swinging. His first punch met the temple of some guy who turned his head right into it, knocking him clean off his feet. Hess thinking, Some nights you just get luckier than s.h.i.t, right before some other guy, looked like Richard Boone, up and split his lip with a straight right.

AN HOUR LATER they were parked up on 14th Street, way north of Columbia Road, drinking beers and huffing cigarettes. "The Girl Can't Help It" was playing on the radio, and Stewart was tapping his finger in time on the steering wheel. they were parked up on 14th Street, way north of Columbia Road, drinking beers and huffing cigarettes. "The Girl Can't Help It" was playing on the radio, and Stewart was tapping his finger in time on the steering wheel.

Both of them were drunk stupid but still adrenalized from the fight. Stewart had waded in after Hess had caught that right and they had cleaned house from there on in. The most prideful thing about it was they weren't even tossed. In fact, they had walked out on their own two feet as the band played "Rumble" to their backs. Stewart would always remember the way that felt, like Link was playing that song for him. They should have been satisfied, but they still had energy to burn and felt that the night was not yet done.

"What you figure he's doin'?" said Hess, looking down the street to where a young colored guy stood by himself.

"Pretty obvious he's waitin' on a bus," said Stewart, thinking, as he did sometimes, that someone had taken a scalpel to Shorty's brain. h.e.l.l, the boy was right there at the D.C. Transit stop.

Hess touched at his lip. The blood had congealed some, but it still seeped out occasionally, as the split was deep. He put his cigarette in the other side of his mouth and had a drag.

"What you gonna do?" said Hess.

"What you mean?"

"Like, with your life?"

"I don't know." Stewart hadn't weighed it much. don't know." Stewart hadn't weighed it much.

"I'm thinking of enlisting in the Corps."

"Think they'll take you, huh?"

"Why wouldn't they?"

"Ain't you never heard of a Section Eight?"

Hess rubbed at his crotch, thinking of the duck-looking girl he'd had. She'd fought him some when he jammed his fingers down those panties of hers. Maybe he had been a little rough with her, but s.h.i.t, they said don't, you knew knew they meant do. they meant do.

"You know that girl I had tonight?" said Hess.

"I seen her on You Bet Your Life. You Bet Your Life. She dropped down from the ceiling and almost hit Groucho." She dropped down from the ceiling and almost hit Groucho."

"Stop it. That girl was the most, man."

"The most ugly. Had to be to get with you."

The two friends laughed. And then Hess's eyes narrowed as he tried to focus on the colored boy down the street.

"Let's try and peg that c.o.o.n, Stubie. You wanna?"

"Sure," said Stewart. "Why not?"

Stewart hit the ignition and cruised slowly down the street. He kept the headlights off.

"He's watchin' us," said Hess. "He's trying not to, but he is."

Hess reached over to the radio and turned it way up, Little Richard's wail of release hitting the night. The colored boy turned his head in the direction of the Ford.

"Now we got his attention," said Hess.

Buzz Stewart drove his car up on the sidewalk and punched the gas. The colored boy took off.

"Run, n.i.g.g.e.r, run," said Hess.

"How many points if I hit him?"

"Say five."

Stewart laughed as they closed in on him. The boy leaped off the sidewalk and hit the street. Hess cackled as Stewart cut left, jumped the curb, and felt his four wheels find asphalt. At the last moment, when they got dangerously close, Stewart braked to a stop.

They watched the boy hotfoot it down the street. They laughed about it on the ride home.

DETECTIVE FRANK VAUGHN checked in with his lieutenant down at the Sixth Precinct house and changed over to a black Ford. He drove around town, talked with his informants, and interviewed potential witnesses on a recent homicide involving a liquor store messenger who was lured to an address by a phone call, then robbed and shot dead. He had a few bourbons at a bar near Colorado Avenue and didn't pay for one. While there, he phoned a divorcee he knew who lived in an apartment on 16th, near the bridge with the lions. He and the divorcee, a tall, curvy brunette named Linda, had a couple of c.o.c.ktails at her place and some loose conversation before he f.u.c.ked her on her queen-size bed. An hour after he had entered her apartment, he was back on the job. checked in with his lieutenant down at the Sixth Precinct house and changed over to a black Ford. He drove around town, talked with his informants, and interviewed potential witnesses on a recent homicide involving a liquor store messenger who was lured to an address by a phone call, then robbed and shot dead. He had a few bourbons at a bar near Colorado Avenue and didn't pay for one. While there, he phoned a divorcee he knew who lived in an apartment on 16th, near the bridge with the lions. He and the divorcee, a tall, curvy brunette named Linda, had a couple of c.o.c.ktails at her place and some loose conversation before he f.u.c.ked her on her queen-size bed. An hour after he had entered her apartment, he was back on the job.

Late that night he was called to the scene of a murder on Crittenden Street, down near Sherman Circle. The colored kid who'd bought it, eighteen years old, had been stabbed in the neck and chest. Uniforms had begun to canva.s.s the neighbors but had turned up nothing yet.

Vaughn would do his job in a methodical, unhurried way. There wouldn't be much pressure from the white shirts to make a quick arrest. A dead colored boy was not a high priority. h.e.l.l, it would barely make the papers.

The mother of the victim had arrived on the scene and was crying hysterically. The sound of her grief turned Vaughn's thoughts to his maid, Alethea Strange. She had two sons, one the same age as Ricky, the other about the same age as the dead kid lying on the street. He'd met them once, and her husband, when he'd driven her home in a hard summer rain.

He shook off the thought. Every murder was a tragedy to someone, after all.

DEREK STRANGE LAY in his bed, listening to a scratching sound. The wind was moving the branches and leaves of the tree outside his window. A dog was making noise out there, too. Had to be the Broadnaxes' shepherd, barking in the alley that ran behind the house. That's all it was. A tree he climbed regular and a dog who always licked his outstretched hand. in his bed, listening to a scratching sound. The wind was moving the branches and leaves of the tree outside his window. A dog was making noise out there, too. Had to be the Broadnaxes' shepherd, barking in the alley that ran behind the house. That's all it was. A tree he climbed regular and a dog who always licked his outstretched hand.

Dennis was still out with his friends. Their parents had returned from the movie and gone to bed.

Derek felt his blood pulsing hard inside him. He wanted Dennis to come back home. He wanted him under the same roof as his mother and father. It was safe here when they were all together in this house.

He got up, went to Dennis's bed, and slipped underneath the sheets and blanket. His brother wouldn't mind that he'd switched. Derek smiled, smelling Dennis in the bed, knowing then that he could rest. He closed his eyes and fell asleep.

As he slept, shadows crept across the wall.

PART 2.

Spring 1968

EIGHT.

COMING OUT OF Sunday school at St. Sophia Greek Orthodox Cathedral, a boy heard a slow, carefully enunciated voice echoing from outdoor speakers. The voice was commanding and somehow welcoming. The boy walked down the front steps of his church and headed in the direction of the voice. Sunday school at St. Sophia Greek Orthodox Cathedral, a boy heard a slow, carefully enunciated voice echoing from outdoor speakers. The voice was commanding and somehow welcoming. The boy walked down the front steps of his church and headed in the direction of the voice.

Around him, fathers were gathering their wives and children. Men were laughing with one another and smoking after-service cigarettes. The day was pleasantly cool. The smell of tobacco smoke and the scent of dogwood and magnolia blossoms were in the air.

The boy neared a big man with a friendly, wide-open face, scarred on one cheek, who was on the sidewalk talking to another aging Greek. The big man smiled at the eleven-year-old boy, who had curly brown hair and wore a blue blazer with an attendance pin fixed to its lapel.

"You ready, Niko? Niko?"

"Not yet, Papou. Papou. Soon." Soon."

"Where you goin'?"