Strange turned his head and looked at the Stylistics album, a birthday gift from Quinn, propped up against the wall.

Do something.

“I will,” said Strange, though there was no one but him in the room. His voice was clear and emphatic, and it sounded good to his ears.

STRANGE turned on the light-box of his storefront, returned the newspaper to Hawk’s, and drove north to his row house on Buchanan. From his basement he retrieved a couple of red two-gallon containers of gasoline, one of which was full, and carried them out to the trunk of his Caprice. He went to the Amoco station next, filled up his tank and filled the empty container with gas. He placed it next to the other in the trunk and used his heavy toolbox to wedge them tight against the well. Then he drove down Georgia to Iowa Avenue along Roosevelt High and parked in the lot between Lydell Blue’s Buick and Dennis Arrington’s import.

The boys were down in the Roosevelt “bowl,” doing their warm-ups in the center of the field. The quarterback, Dante Morris, and Prince, another veteran player, were in the middle of the circle, leading the team in their chant. Strange could hear them as he took the aluminum-over-concrete steps of the stadium to the break in the fence.

“How y’all feel?”

“Fired up!”

“How y’all feel?”

“Fired up!”

“Breakdown.”

“Whoo!”

“Breakdown.”

“Whoo!”

Strange shook hands with Blue and then with Arrington, a computer specialist and deacon who was a longtime member of the coaching staff. The boys were warming up together but would soon break into their Pee Wee and Midget teams, determined by weight, for the remainder of the practice.

“You’re a little late,” said Blue.

“Had to get some gas,” said Strange.

“We got a scrimmage set up for this weekend.”

“Kingman,” said Arrington.

“They’re always tough,” said Strange.

“I like the way that boy Robert Gray is playing,” said Blue. “Boy runs with authority. He’s not much of leader, but he can break it.”

“He’s just getting to know the other kids,” said Strange. “And he’s naturally on the quiet side. Plus he’s smart; he already learned the plays in just a week’s time. Be a change from Rico, anyway, the way that boy runs his mouth.”

Rico was the team’s halfback, a talented but cocky kid who had a complaint ready for every command.

“Gray’ll keep Rico on his toes,” said Blue. “Make him appreciate that position he’s got, and work harder to keep it.”

“I was thinkin’ the same thing,” said Strange. “And who knows? Maybe Robert’ll earn that position himself.”

“You gonna take the Pee Wee team alone, Derek?” said Blue, his eyes moving to Arrington’s. “ ’Cause me and Dennis here got our hands full with the Midgets.”

Strange nodded. “I’ll handle it.”

“You could use some help.”

“I know it,” said Strange, and ended the conversation at that.

After practice, the coaches had the boys take a knee and told them what they had seen them do right and wrong in the past two hours. The boys’ jerseys were dark with sweat and their faces were beaded with it. When Strange and Blue were done talking, Arrington asked them what time they should show up for the next practice.

“Six o’clock,” said a few of the boys.

“What time?” said Arrington.

“Six o’clock, on the dot, be there, don’t miss it!” they shouted in unison.

“Put it in,” said Strange.

They all managed to touch hands in the center of the circle.

“Petworth Panthers!”

“All right,” said Strange. “Those of you got your bikes, get on home straightaway. If you got people waitin’ for you, we’ll see you get in the cars up in the lot. For you others, Coach Lydell and Coach Dennis and myself will drive you home. I don’t want to see none a y’all walking through these streets at night. Prince, Dante, and Robert, you come with me.”

Strange crossed the field in the gathering darkness, Robert Gray beside him, his helmet swinging by his side.

“You looked good out there,” said Strange.

Gray nodded but kept his face neutral and looked straight ahead.

“It’s okay to smile,” said Strange.

Gray tried. It didn’t come naturally for him, and he looked away.

“It’s a start,” said Strange. “Gonna take some work, is all it is.”

Strange dropped Dante Morris, Prince, and Gray at their places of residence. Pulling off the curb from his last stop, Strange got WOL, the all-talk station on 1450 AM, up on the dial. The local headline news had just begun. From the female reporter, Strange learned that Judge Potterfield had sentenced Granville Oliver to death.

DRIVING south on Georgia, Strange saw a boy standing in front of his shop on 9th. He swung the Caprice around, parked in front of the funeral home, and walked toward the boy. He wasn’t any older than seven. His dark skin held a yellow glow from the light-box overhead. The boy took a step back as Strange approached.

“It’s okay,” said Strange. “That’s my place you’re standing in front of, son. I was just coming by to turn off the light.”

The boy looked up at the lighted sign. “That your business?”

“That’s me. Strange Investigations. I own it. Been in this location over twenty-five years.”

“Dag.”

“What you doin’ out here this time of night all by yourself?”

“My mother went to that market across the street. Said she couldn’t hold my hand crossing Georgia with those market bags in her hand, so I should wait here till she comes back.”

“What’s your name, young man?”

The boy smiled. “They call me Peanut Butter and Jelly, ’cause that’s what I like to eat.”

“Okay.”

“Mister?”

“What?”

“Will you wait with me till my mother comes back? It’s kinda scary out here in the dark.”

Strange said that he would.

AFTER the mother had come, and after Strange had given her a polite but direct talk about leaving her boy out on the street at night, Strange put his key to the front door of his shop. He had a slight hunger and knew that he could find a PayDay bar in Janine’s desk. As he began to fit the key in the lock, he heard the rumble of a high-horse, big American engine, and he turned his head.

A white Coronet 500 with Magnum wheels was rolling down the short block. It pulled over directly in front of the shop and the driver cut its engine. Strange recognized the car. When the driver got out, Strange could see that, indeed, it was that Greek detective who worked for Elaine Clay. As he crossed the sidewalk, Strange could see in the Greek’s waxed eyes that he was up on something. And as he grew nearer, he smelled the alcohol on his breath.

“Nick Stefanos.” He reached out his hand and Strange took it.

“I remember. What you doin’ in my neighborhood, man?”

“I was driving around,” said Stefanos. “You said that if the light-box was on I should stop by.”

“I was just fixin’ to turn it off,” said Strange.

“Too late,” said Stefanos with a stupid grin. “I’m here.”