Most of the trash was useless. No listing of escorts; no listing of clients. But in the last bag, Dunne found a calendar book with scheduled appointments. He found an entry two months prior to the assassination, with an address on New Hampshire Avenue. There were two initials—A. and G.—and a phone number by each one.

“You have a phone?” Dunne asked.

“You got gold?” Starrell asked.

“Maybe.”

Starrell led Dunne to his unc’s office. Dunne dialed the number next to the G. It was disconnected.

“Whatcha scoping?” Starrell asked.

“Trying to find the person who goes with the number.”

“No prob.”

Starrell took the phone and punched in a number.

“Willie-boy, yo, it’s me,” he said into the phone. “Got some digits, you look it for up for me? … Yeah, I know the one. She’s damn real … . Yeah, I know about Tamika, but I don’t know if that means I got to give this one to you … . Just look up the damn number, okay? … Yeah, yeah, I’ll do intros—maybe. Just look it up.”

Starrell recited the number, then placed his hand over the receiver.

“Willie’s into computer shit,” he explained to Dunne. “And he can get on this thing and find any digits you want. Or, if you got a number, the address. It helps when you want to trip on some bitch.”

“Gotcha,” Dunne said. He picked up the Nation of Islam newspaper on the desk.

“That shit’s my unc’s,” Starrell said to Dunne. “Believes in all that back-to-Africa bullshit. Like I want to go back to where they got killerjack viruses.”

Starrell listened into the phone. He repeated to Dunne the name and address that Willie had found for the number on the calendar.

“Yeah, Willie, yeah,” Starrell said into the phone. “I’ll tell her’bout you … . Okay, okay.” He hung up the phone.

“Thanks,” Dunne said.

“And what about that other stuff downstairs?”

“Don’t think it’s worth much.”

“Nothing?”

“Besides, that’s nasty business.”

“Man, all business is nasty business,” Starrell said.

“Yeah, but some business is nastier,” Dunne said. “I should go.”

“You owe me a hundred.”

“I’ll be back with it.”

“Like I’ll see that.”

“You will. And I thought we said, one-fifty.”

Starrell smiled. “Okay, Mr. Money Man, okay.”

“Thank you, Mr. Starrell,” Dunne said. “And good luck with Tamika.”

18 - Upper Georgetown June 26

18

Upper Georgetown June 26

Gillian Silva led Dunne and Addis into the kitchen of her group house. Against one wall was a bookcase full of lunch boxes depicting television shows of the 1960s. A housemate, she explained, was a collector. None of the other residents were home. She asked the two men if they wanted coffee. Both declined.

“Oh, yeah, Coke,” she said to Addis. “I should’ve asked. Want one?”