“Is that the boss?”

Roy looked down at his cell, not recognizing the number on his caller ID.

“’Cause if it is, you better answer - we can’t afford another screw-up like the last— ”

“It’s not the boss.”

“Well, good, because I know for a fact that he’s still pissed about— ”

Roy held up his index finger to silence Deacon, then took the call.

“Mr. Temple?” A woman’s voice.

“Yeah.”

“Roy Temple?” A bit timid.

“Yeah. Who’s this?”

“Mr. Temple, I hate to bother you— ”

“Who is this?” Roy said again, ready to kill the call.

“This is Gladys, Mr. Temple, from Vollmerhausen.”

Roy drew a blank. Outside, there was finally a break in the traffic. Deacon floored it, coming to a quick stop when the road clogged again a hundred feet later, Roy still waiting for more.

“Vollmerhausen Elementary—your son is a student— ”

“Yeah, yeah. What’s this about? My wife handles these things.”

Deacon looked over, raised an eyebrow.

“Well, that’s just it, Sir— your wife never came to pick Graham up.”

“So she’s running a little late.” Roy took a look around him on the Beltway. “Traffic is terrible today. Did you call her?”

“I left three messages.” Roy didn’t answer. “Even if she’s running a little late, Mr. Temple —school lets out at 3:00.”

Roy glanced at the dashboard clock. 4:45. Deacon floored it again, shifting to the right lane to move ahead fifty yards.

“Well,” Roy finally said. “Like I said, traffic’s a bear. I’ll get there as soon as I can.”

“We appreciate the help, Mr. Temple. Sorry to be a bother.”

Roy folded up his phone, dropped it back in the empty cupholder. He chewed on it for a minute, then picked the phone back up, dialed.

“You should really stay off the line, Roy, in case the boss— ”

Roy flashed his index finger at Deacon again.

Flora’s voicemail picked up on the first ring. “Where the hell are— ” Roy started in, then changed his mind, closing the phone, frowning.

“Something wrong?” Deacon asked.

Roy watched a tour bus pass slowly in the left lane. “Maybe.”

Up ahead, a pair of flashing blue lights caught Deacon’s attention. “Great. Last thing we need. What if they want to look in - ”

“Be cool, Deke. Why would they want to look in our trunk? They’re here for the wreck.”

“Wreck? What wreck?”

Deacon was the best wheelman around, but sometimes... Roy rubbed his eyes with his thumb and forefinger. “The one causing all this,” he said, gesturing to all this. “Up there.”

Roy could finally see the delay. The right lane was blocked by a yellow fire truck, bottlenecking both lanes into one slow, single file line.

A little Cabriolet with Delaware plates darted in front of them as they waited to merge, drawing a middle finger and a horn blast from Deacon. A cop standing beside the fire truck looked their way. Roy smiled, waving dumbly. The officer turned back around, ignoring them. “Be cool,” Roy said, warning Deacon with a raised eyebrow, never taking his eye off the policeman.

They rolled on past the fire truck, past a Hyundai flipped onto its back, past two bodies lying on the asphalt, draped in white sheets.

“Sucks to be them, huh?” Deacon said. Roy didn’t answer, staring out the window at the scene. “Hey, Roy, I said it sucks - ”

“I know that car,” Roy said flatly.

“What?” Deacon saw the second car then, a late model Camry split nearly in two. “Hey, isn’t that your—”

“That’s my wife’s car.”

ONE WEEK AGO...

“Are you sure this is the place?”

“I’m positive, Roy. You seem to be forgetting - You? You’re the muscle. Me? I’m the wheelman. That’s how it works. I drive like freakin’ Rusty Wallace, and I always know where I’m going. That’s my gift. I say this is the place? This is the place.”

Roy shot Deacon a look that quickly shut him down.

“I’m just saying...” Deacon finished, under his breath.

Roy took another look at their surroundings, still not believing this was the place. They were parked out in front of a block of shabby brick rowhouses, a side street a few blocks north of the busy three way intersection of New York and Florida Avenues and North Capitol Street.

To Roy’s way of thinking, D.C. was a strange city. Stand in the middle of that intersection and look one way, up The Hill, you’ll see the gleaming dome of the U.S. Capitol looming large overhead. Look the other way, and you’ll see a church-sponsored methadone clinic and a pair of liquor stores, and maybe a drug deal or two going down. Just one of many things that had surprised Roy since he had moved to The District from Texas five years ago.

“I’m just saying.” Deacon said again, his bottom lip drooping.

“Forget it.”

Deacon brightened, Roy having broken his silence. “Look, when he finally gets here, you need to have a talk with him. He was late last month, he’s late again today. Totally unprofessional.”

A child’s laughter further up the block drew Roy’s attention. The same church that had put up the methadone clinic, St. Barnabas A.M.E., ran a preschool on the same block. Through the low chain link fence that surrounded the church, Roy could see several small, scarved and mittened children racing around the snow-covered playground, not a care in the world, not the slightest idea the neighborhood they lived in, what went down on the other side of that short fence.

The kids looked happy, but cold. Roy hoped that Flora had dressed Graham warmly enough this morning before she dropped him at his school across town.

“Totally unprofessional,” Deacon said again, and Roy nodded, agreeing just to shut Deacon up.

Movement in his rear view mirror caught Roy’s attention, and he recognized the lanky young man in a coat six sizes too big amble up the sidewalk towards their car.

Deacon saw him, too. “Who the hell’s he got with him?”

Roy didn’t recognize the second young man, about a foot shorter than the first but wearing a coat almost as big. They both wore black San Antonio Spurs hats, cocked to the side just so, baggy black jeans, and unlaced tan Timberlands. Roy climbed out of the car to meet them, Deacon following suit.

“My man Roy. What’s shaking?” the taller youth said as he approached the car.

Roy nodded tightly.

“Who the hell’s this, Rudy?” Deacon asked. “No uninvited guests, remember?”

“It’s cool, Deke,” Rudy said, still smiling. “This my man Echo.”

“What’s shaking, fellas?” the shorter one said. “It’s cool.”

Deacon leaned his forearms on the roof of the car, staring across at Roy. Roy gave him a small shrug, watching his own breath curl up and over his head in the cold.

Deacon reached back into the car and popped the trunk release. Rudy took a look inside. “That’ll work,” he said.

“That’ll definitely work,” Echo said.

Rudy reached into his heavy coat and pulled out a thick envelope, handing it over to Roy. Roy shook it once, feeling the weight of it, and slid it into the inside pocket of his wool-lined denim jacket.

“He don’t look that strong,” Echo said to Rudy.

Rudy gave his man a hard shove and an even harder look. “Shut up.”

Echo stumbled backwards a few steps, almost tripping over his boot laces before righting himself. Roy watched him carefully, the anger in the kid’s eyes evident. Then, just as quickly as it had appeared, the fire was gone, replaced by a quizzical look as he looked over Roy’s shoulder, up the block towards the church. Roy followed his stare towards a large young man standing not ten feet from the car.

“Not here, fellas,” the newcomer said, quietly, confidently. “Not in front of the school. Take your business somewhere else.”

Roy quickly sized him up. He was big, a shade taller than Roy, just as thick. It looked to be all muscle. Unlike everyone else around the car, he wore no jacket, just a plain black t-shirt stretched to capacity over dark jeans and the same tan boots as Rudy and Echo. His only concession to the cold was a black skullcap rolled up above his ears.

“C’mon, Juarez,” Rudy said. “We was just leaving.”

Roy watched the kid, Juarez, evidently, no more than sixteen if he was a day. “I said not here,” he said, unwavering.

Roy felt a surge of energy wash over him; this Juarez was going to be trouble.

“I’m giving you a chance right now, Juarez,” Rudy said, his own confidence wavering just a bit. “Walk away now, and there won’t be any trouble. But I’m warning you in advance. My man Roy here? He’s one of them Meta-types, a real strong one, break your legs just as soon as look at you.”

“Yeah,” Echo said. “He’s one a them Superpeople, too.”

Too? Roy looked over at Juarez, his mind racing. Their eyes locked. To his credit, the kid smiled.

“Well,” Juarez said, keeping his eyes on Roy, the real threat identified. “Welcome to the club.”



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