James Edward shook his head and stared at the passing buildings. "Bullshit. Any fool can buy a car, but you can't buy respect."

I glanced over, but he was looking out at the streets.

James Edward Washington told me where to go and I went there and pretty soon we were on streets just like James Edward Washington's street, with neat single-family homes and American cars and preschool children jumping rope and riding Big Wheels. Older women sat on tiny porches and frowned because teenagers who should've been in school were sitting on the hood of a Bonneville listening to Ice Cube. The women didn't like the kids being on the Bonneville and they didn't like Ice Cube but they couldn't do anything about it. We drove, and after a while I knew we weren't just driving, we were taking a tour of James Edward Washington's life. He would say turn, and I would turn, and he would point with his chin and say something like The girl I took to the prom used to live right there or Dude I knew named William Johnston grew up there and writes television now and makes four hundred thousand dollars every year and bought his mama a house in the San Gabriel Valley or My cousins live there. I was little, they'd come to my street and we'd trick-or-treat, and then I'd come back here with them and we'd do it all over again. The lady that lived right over there used to make caramel-dipped candy apples better'n anything you ever bought at the circus.

We drove and he talked and I listened, and after a while I said, "It has to be hard."

He looked at me.

I said, 'There are a lot of good things here, but there are also bad things, and it's got to be hard growing up and trying not to let the bad things drag you down."

He looked away from me. We rode for a little bit longer, and then he said, "I guess I just want you to know that there's more to the people down here than a bunch of shiftless niggers sopping up welfare and killin' each other."

"I knew that."

"You think it, maybe, but you don't know it. You're down here right now cause a nigger got beaten to death. We're driving to a park where a nigger gonna be selling drugs and niggers gonna be buying. That's what you know. You see it on the news and you read it in the papers and that's all you know. I know there's people who work hard and pay taxes and read books and build model airplanes and dream about flying them and plant daisies and love each other as much as any people can love each other anywhere, and I want you to know that, too."

"Okay." He wasn't looking at me, and I wasn't looking at him. I guess we were embarrassed, the way men who don't know each other can get embarrassed. "Thanks for telling me."

James Edward Washington nodded.

"It's important."

He nodded again. "Turn here."

At the end of the block was a playground with a basketball court and six goals, and, beyond the court, a softball diamond with a long shallow outfield. A few teenaged guys were on the court, but not many, and a guy in his early thirties was running wind sprints in the outfield, racing from second base to the far edge of the outfield, then walking back, then doing it all again. A row of mature elms stood sentry along the far perimeter of the outfield, then there was another street and more houses. A sky blue Sunny Day ice cream truck was parked at the curb in the shade of one of the elms and a tall guy in a Malcolm X hat was leaning against it with his arms crossed, watching the sprinter. He didn't look interested in selling ice cream.

James Edward Washington said, "That's our guy."

We turned away from the park, made the block, and came back to a side street that gave an unobstructed view of the basketball players and the outfield and the ice cream truck on the far street. I parked on the side street so we'd have an easy, eyes-forward view, and then I shut the engine. If the neighbors saw us sitting there, maybe they'd think we were scouting for the NBA.

Maybe eight or nine minutes later four guys in a white Bel Air turned onto the far street, slowed to a stop, and the guy with the X hat went over to them. One of the guys in the backseat of the Bel Air gave something to the X, and the X gave something to the guy in the Bel Air. Then the Bel Air drove away and the X went back to his leaning. A little bit later a kid on a bike rolled up the sidewalk, jumped the curb down to the street, and skidded to a stop. The kid and the X traded something, and the kid rode away. Washington said, "Cool T better be giving it to us straight about those cops."

I pointed at the X. "He's here, isn't he?"

"He's here, but will the cops come, and if they come are they coming because they're cops or because they're working with the Eight-Deuce?"

"We'll find out."

"Yes. I guess we will." James Edward shifted in the seat, uncomfortable, but not because of the seat. "They don't come and run this muthuhfuckuh off, maybe I'll do it myself."

"Maybe I'll help you."

Washington glanced at me and nodded.

A couple of minutes later Joe Pike came up along the sidewalk and squatted beside my window. I said, "Joe Pike, this is James Edward Washington. James, this is my partner, Joe Pike."

Pike canted his head to lock onto James Edward Washington and reached in through the window. You can't see his eyes behind the dark glasses, but it's always easy to tell where he's looking. His whole being sort of points in that direction, as if he were totally focused on you. James Edward took his hand, but stared at the tattoos. Most people do.

I told Pike about the X at the ice cream truck and what Cool T had said about Thurman's REACT team and their involvement with the Eight-Deuce Gangster Boys.

Pike nodded. "Dees and his people are supposed to thump this guy?"

James Edward said, "That's the word."

Pike looked at the X. "It's a long way across the playground to the ice cream truck. If Dees moves the action away from us, we've got too much ground to cover to catch up. We might lose them."

I said, "Why don't you set up on that side, and we'll stay here. If Dees moves that way, you've got them, and if he moves in this direction, we've got him."

Pike stared behind us up the street, then twisted around and looked at the park. "You feel it?"

"What?"

Pike shook his head. "Doesn't feel right."

He stepped away from the car and stood without moving for a time and then he walked away. I thought about what Joe had said. They're going to have to make a move.

James Edward watched Pike leave. "He's sorta strange, huh?"

"You think?"

A few minutes later we saw Pike's Jeep pass the ice cream truck and turn away from the park. James Edward looked at me. "You don't think he's strange?"

We moved deeper into the afternoon, and business was good for the man in the ice cream truck. Customers came by in cars and trucks and on motorcycles and bicycles and on foot. Some of the cars would slow as they passed and the X would stare and they would make the block a couple of times before they finally stopped and did their deal, but most folks drove up and stopped without hesitating. The X never hesitated, either. Any one of these people could've been undercover cops but no one seemed to take that into consideration. Maybe it didn't matter. Maybe business was so good and profits were so large that the threat of a bust was small relative to the potential gain. Or maybe the X just didn't care. Some people are like that

Once, two young women pushing strollers came along the far sidewalk. The X made a big deal out of tipping his cap with a flourish and giving them the big smile. The women made a buy, too. The one who did the talking was pregnant. Washington rubbed his face with both hands and said, "Oh, my Jesus."

School let out. More players joined the basketball games. The guy running wind sprints stopped running, and the time crept past like a dying thing, heavy and slow and unable to rest.