A lot of the same type of people, mostly men, are starting to walk up, too. Some of them are wearing suits or looking like they just got off a construction site; the majority of them are walking south on 17th from somewhere farther up the street. A lot of them are taking the stairs to the row house Playboy stepped into. They knock a couple of times and get let in. Some step back out after about fifteen minutes and others after about thirty. Looks like Cordell and crew got themselves into the brothel business.
Most of the parking spots have been taken up by residents of this area, so these folks who are walking either live within walking distance or find parking a couple blocks away, maybe at the parking lot behind the school. There’s a driveway that’s out of my sight, just a few steps north of the row house, and that leads to the lot behind the school. Police need to run an op here again. Light up some of these mopes. They’re so close to a school that the sentence can be double the time. I scan the area, see if I can mark any sign of an op, but then I remember those two officers rolling through like clockwork, and realize maybe not. But then again, when we were running something, we’d never tell anyone. Let everything look like business as usual. Those drug boys spot that marked unit long before it rolls up to the corner.
Evening eventually settles in, and the sky darkens. The streetlamps flicker in unison, with little electric crackles, then settle into a dull, yellowish glow.
The row house has had steady traffic, like there’s a previously set-up time for the clients. I don’t see some of them exiting, so I’m thinking either they might have some gambling going on or these guys are leaving through a rear door. There’s a cut behind those row homes that leads to the driveway and the school lot and the rear of the Ritz.
Hell yeah, Cordell’s got himself a good spot to work his dirty deeds. I’m just hoping I’m right that one of those deeds is running teens. I got nice circumstantial shit with Playboy and his connection to Justine, and her friendship with Edgar and, of course, her best friend, Miriam.
Several primary and secondary sirens wailing nearby. Hearing them in the distance takes me back. Stirs up the adrenaline, but only a tiny bit. I need a snort to make me feel better, so that’s what I do.
Primary unit being drowned out by all those secondary units. They whoosh close by, sounding like they’re on Columbia Road, heading toward 18th. It’s the center of Adams Morgan, where all the restaurants and nightclubs are. Might be just a couple of drunks getting started early, or maybe a good street robbery. The lookouts positioned on the corner look in the direction of the sirens; then it’s quickly back to business.
I’m starting to feel like the binos are getting suctioned to my eyes. Every so often I break away to check my surroundings. There are a few brave (clueless) people who I make as residents walking by, but I see mostly drunks and homeless crackheads—your basic assortment of street lepers. I’m once again grateful for the windows’ nice tint; no one notices shit. I got everything I need in hand’s reach, so there won’t be any real movement.
I notice a young boy riding a bike south on 17th. He hops off his bike in front of the row house. The corner boys don’t seem to acknowledge him. The kid rolls his bike to the steps and leans it against the railing. He walks up the stairs, and before he enters, one of the corner boys yells something at him, and he turns. I can’t hear well enough to know what he yells back, but I can make out the kid’s face. He’s Latino and sure as hell looks like the kid at 16th and Park who always held the parking spot for Angelo.
I grab my notes from my pack and find the names Edgar gave me, including those of the other boys who rolled with Angelo. I find the kid’s name: Manuel, but they called him Little Manny.
Fifty-eight
The sky turns gray and the darkness darker. Night is coming earlier. Fall is a welcome season. Let it bring some of that breezy cool air through this city, so I can roll down the windows on occasion.
Tonight, it’s bringing a light rain, but I can’t use the wipers. Fortunately, it’s not a downpour, so it doesn’t obstruct my view through the front windshield. I turn the key in the ignition so I can crack the window open just enough to keep my breath from fogging up the windshield.