Right as Rain

'It's Terry Qui

'Irish, right?'

'Uh-huh.'

'I never miss. Pride myself on that, too. Hey, you hear about the two Irish gay guys?' Tibbs frowned with theatrical concern. 'You're not gay, are you?'

'Listen-'

'I'm playin' with you, buddy; I can see you're all man. So let me ask you again: you hear about the two Irish gay guys?'

'No.'

'Patrick Fitzgerald and Gerald Fitzpatrick. Ha-ha!' Tibbs cocked his hip. 'You lookin' for somethin' special today, Terry?'

'I need to buy a car.'

'I don't think I can help you, man. Just kiddin'! Ha-ha!'

Qui

'Listen, Tony,' said Qui

Tibbs looked a little hurt and somewhat confused. Places like this were selling financing, not cars, and they were selling it at a rate of over 20 percent. The no-haggle bit seemed to knock Tibbs down a notch, too.

'I understand,' said Tibbs.

'Also, we go in that trailer there, I don't want to buy a service contract. You even mention it, I'm go

'Okay.'

'Good,' said Qui

Nothing stoked Qui

'What are these?' said Qui

'Eddie Rider's pets,' said Tibbs. 'He loves Chevelles, man.'

'They for sale?'

'Sure. He turns them over all the time.' Tibbs saw something in Qui

Tibbs pointed to a red model with black stripes. 'There goes a seventy-two. Got a cowl induction hood and Hooker headers, man.'

'What about that one?' said Qui

'That's a pretty SS right there. Three ninety-six, three hundred and fifty horses. Four-on-the-floor Hurst shifter, got those Flowmaster mufflers on it, too.'

'What year is that?'

'Nineteen sixty-nine.'

'The year I was born.'

'You ain't nothin' but a baby, then.'

'Pop the hood on it, will you?'

Qui

'Clean, right?' said Tibbs. 'You don't smell nothin' burnt on there, do you?'

'It's clean. Can I take it for a ride?'

'I got the keys inside.'

'How much, by the way?'

'I'm go

'How much?'

'Sixty-five hundred. That's grand theft auto right there. Boss finds out I sold it for that, I might have to just go ahead and clean out my desk.'

'Sixty-five hundred is right for this car?'

'Sixty-five?' said Tibbs, pursing his lips and bugging his eyes. 'It's right as rain.'

Qui

'What's so fu

'Nothin',' said Qui

23

Qui

Uniformed and plainclothes police, community activists, businessmen, parishioners, and local residents ate here every morning. The portions were generous and the prices dirt cheap. The staff's cheer and pleasant ma

Qui

A white guy with a friendly smile named Chris O'Shea came over to the table and had a brief conversation with Strange.

'You take it easy now, Derek,' said O'Shea.

'All right then, Chris,' said Strange. 'You do the same.'

Qui

'You ready to go to work?' said Strange, pushing his empty tray aside.

'What've you got lined up?'

'We'll hang out near Ricky Kane's house this morning. He lives with his mother out in Wheaton. If he leaves, we'll follow him, see how he fills up his day. Here.' Strange slipped a cell phone out of his jacket along with a slip of paper. 'Use this, it's Ron's. My number is on there and so is yours.'

'No two-way radios?'

'This is easier, man. And unlike a two-way, no one double-takes you these days if you're walking down the street talking on a phone.'

'Like all the other dickheads, you mean.'

'Uh-huh. You got yourself a car, right?'

Qui

Out in the lot, Strange laughed when he saw the Super Sport Chevelle with the racing wheels.

'Somethin' wrong?' said Qui

'It is pretty.'

'What, then?'

'You youngbloods, always got to be drivin' something says, Look at me. Ron Lattimer's the same way.'

'That Caprice you got looks exactly like a police vehicle. We got less chance of gettin' burned in mine than in yours.'

'Maybe you're right. Anyway, we'll take both of 'em, see how things shake out.'

Ricky Kane's mother owned a small house, brick based with siding, off Viers Mill Road on a street of houses just like it. The builder who'd done the community in the 1960s had showed little ambition and less imagination. From the activity he'd observed in the last hour or so, Strange could see that the residents here were what was left of the original middle-class whites and America's new working-class immigrants: Spanish, Ethiopian, Pakistani, and Korean.

Strange phoned Qui

'You still awake?'

'I got coffee in a thermos,' said Qui

'Bet you gotta pee, too.'

'Now that you mention it.'

'You see our boy when he came out?'

'I saw him.'

'Another little punk with a big dog.'

Kane had walked his tan pit bull halfway down the block an hour earlier while Strange took photographs with his long-lensed AE-1. Kane, medium height, blond, and thin, was wearing a thermal vest under a parka, a knit watch cap, and oversized jeans worn low on his hips. He had a hint of a modified goatee on his bony face.

'Tryin' to be an honorary black man,' said Strange.

'He looks like every other white kid I see in the suburbs these days.'

'Yeah, till they figure out what it means to be a black man in America for real.'

'But this guy's got to be close to my age.'

'Uh-huh. He sure doesn't look like the same guy was on the TV interviews, does he?'

'Check out that car of his, too. Kane got rid of that shit-wagon Toyota.' There was a new red Prelude with shiny rims and a high spoiler sitting in the driveway of Kane's house.