“Man,” Starrell said, “you still trying to cop a white computer-bitch for some hand lovin’?”

“Fuck you, Twayne. Tell me the shit he told you. What’s in the book?”

Starrell ignored the request. “Your brother Anjean’s still running with the crew?”

Jameson nodded.

“Think he’ll help me, if I need it tonight?”

“What’s in it for him?”

“Fuck if I know. Payback for when I told him the Dwee was after his mean-fucker ass.”

“That was a long time ago … . Besides, momma don’t let him in the house no more. Not since Marco, man … . Look what I found in the closet.”

Jameson handed Starrell a small sketch book. Inside were pen and pencil drawings: guys hanging out on a street corner, basketball players on the court, small children playing with discarded vials, a couple of funeral scenes, teenagers ignoring a teacher in a classroom, boarded-up storefronts. The front page said, “Life in Simple City as sene by Marco Jameson.”

“He was fuckin’ good,” Starrell said, as he flipped through the book. “I didn’t know Marco could do this shit.”

“Neither did me and momma.”

Neither said anything for a moment.

“I don’t know what I got for Anjean,” Starrell said. “But you call him and ask if he can get his ass over here now. Tell him maybe he’ll get on TV again—and not as no kiddie-killer now.”

“Yeah … . okay. But I got to go downstairs to use the phone. I don’t want momma to catch me talking to Anjean.”

“Okay, this black man ain’t going nowhere.”

Starrell looked again at the computer.

“And you find people on that thing, right?”

“Sometimes. Depends on what you already know about them.”

“Their name and kinda where they live?”

“You got a chance.”

“Then after you call Anjean I got someone for you to look for.”

The computer chimed, signaling a message for Jameson.

“Yo, Willie man,” Starrell said, “one of your machine-bitches is calling.”

Jameson went over to the computer. He typed a few words, then hit a series of commands. The screen went dark.

“Hey, I wouldn’t cop a look at your lover-boy notes,” Starrell said.

Jameson shook his head at Starrell: “You better tell me more when I get back.”

He opened the door and checked the corridor.

“B-R-B,” he said.

“Huh?” Starrell said.

The door shut. Starrell heard Jameson’s mother cough in the next room. He opened Dunne’s notebook. Man, he thought, this nigger’s handwriting was damn straight, like printing in a book.

37 - Blair House June 30

37

Blair House June 30

Addis felt hot. His shirt was moist. He had been sweating in his sleep. He shifted his position on the pillows. Lancette stirred on the couch.

“Julia,” he said.

She muttered a few words.

“Good morning.”

She rolled over and mumbled again. She was far away.

His beeper sounded. Startled, she bolted upright. He reached for the pager and read the message.