Right as Rain

'You did good.'

'So did you.' Strange looked over at Qui

'I heard about it,' said Qui

'Yeah, the department's played the press pretty good on this whole thing. But what else they go

'They didn't get anything out of you and me.'

'No.' Strange studied Qui

'I'm doin' all right.'

'You out of that funk you were in?'

'I guess I am,' said Qui

'I guess, workin' in that bookstore over there, with Lewis and all them, you have plenty of time for meditation.'

'Yeah, Derek, I've got nothin' but time.'

'I was thinkin', you know, there are special instances when I could use another operative. You did some pretty good work with me, man. I was wonderin', would you ever consider taking on a case for me, now and again?'

'While you do the light work?'

'Fu

'What about Ron Lattimer?'

'This time of year, Ron's busy pickin' out his spring wardrobe and shit. Haven't seen him much the last week or so.'

'I don't have an investigator's license.'

'Easy enough to get one.'

'I'll think about it, okay?'

'Sure, do that. With all that time you got… to think.'

Greco licked Qui

'You seein' a woman?' said Strange.

'Nobody special. How's Janine?'

'She's good. Just left her and Lionel.'

'Spending a lot of time with her, huh?'

Strange nodded. 'Finally woke up. Was always lookin' for someone else… chasing after women who didn't care nothin' for me, even goin' after that anonymous kind of sex-'

'Hookers, you mean.'

'Yeah. Always lookin' for somethin' else, when the best thing was right next to me, staring me right in the face. Just like my mother always said. Not that I'm thinkin' of getting married or anything like that. But I do plan to be there, for her and the boy.'

'Tell her I said hey.'

'I will.'

Qui

'Me too. Where's your car at?'

'I didn't bring it.'

'You need a lift back to your place?'

'No, thanks. I think I'll walk.'

Qui

Terry.

'What?'

'I just want you to know, in light of how all this ended up, I mean… I wanted you to know that I was wrong about you, man.'

Qui

Qui

Terry Qui

I lied to Strange, thought Qui

Qui

Qui

Qui

This place had always been his. But now he shared it with a woman he'd kissed here on a clear and biting winter night.

Qui

He didn't come here for answers. There were no answers. There was only sensation.

No answers, and there would be no closure. Chris Wilson had been exonerated, but for Qui

Strange walked down the drab, third-floor hall of the District Convalescent Home, passing a couple of female attendants who were laughing loudly at something one of them had said, ignoring a man in a nearby wheelchair who was repeating the word 'nurse' over and over again. A television played at full volume from one of the rooms. The hall was warm and smelled of pureed food and, beneath the mask of disinfectant, urine and excrement.

Strange entered his mother's room. She was lying on her side, under the sheets of her bed, awake and staring out the window. He walked around to the side of the bed.

'Momma,' said Strange, kissing her clammy forehead. 'Here I am.'

His mother made a small wave of her hand and smiled weakly, showing him the gray of her gums. Her body was tiny as a child's beneath the sheets.

Strange found a comb in the nightstand and ran it through her sparse white hair, pushing what was left of it back on her moley scalp. When he was finished, she pointed past Strange's shoulder. He went to the window and looked to the corner of the ledge.

A house wren had built a nest there and was sitting on her eggs. The small bird flew away at the sight of Strange.

Strange knew what his mother wanted. He tore off several paper towels from the bathroom roll, found some Scotch tape on a supply cart out in the hall, and taped the squares of paper to the window. His mother had done this every spring in the kitchen window of the house in which he'd been raised. She had explained to him that a mother bird was like any mother, that she deserved to tend to her children privately and in peace.

From her bed, Alethea Strange blinked her eyes with approval at her son, examining the job he'd done.

Strange brought a cushioned chair over to the side of her bed and had a seat. He sat there for a while, telling her about his day.

'Janine,' she said, very softly.

'She's good, Momma. She sends her love.'

'Diamonds…'

'… In my backyard. Yes, ma'am.'

Sitting in the chair, Strange fell asleep. He woke in the middle of the night. His mother was still awake, her beautiful brown eyes staring into his.

Strange began to talk about his childhood in D.C. He talked about his father, and the mention of her husband brought a smile to Alethea's lips. He talked about his brother, the trouble he'd had, and how even with the trouble his brother's heart had been good.

'I love you, Momma,' said Strange. 'I'm so proud to be your son.'

As he talked, he held her hand and looked into her eyes. He was still holding her hand at dawn, and the birds were singing outside her bedroom window as she passed.