His phone rang. It was Jerome.

"I'm waiting to be picked up. We going to Pontiac, gonna check out a place Tenisha's mom told us he might be at. I get close enough and see Orlando's there, I'll call you. I been trying two hours to get hold of you, man."

Delsa said, "Who's we?"

"I didn't tell you? Shit, I got two policemen working with me case it gets rough on the street. They say they been away, on vacation. Come back, they waiting to be put to work. Couple of middle-aged detectives, out of shape."

"They show you their badges?"

"Didn't have to. They got cop written all over 'em. Know what I'm saying? The way they dress, the way they talk. But, man, they ask a question they get an answer. The one puts his piece in Jo-Jo's face?"

Delsa stopped him. "These guys are armed? What kind of guns?"

"Nines, like Berettas. The one ask this dude Jo-Jo where's Orlando at? The dude say he don't know and the one busts a cap next to the dude's ear, bam, the dude screams but can't hear hisself."

"They're not cops," Delsa said. "Jerome, these guys're gonna get you in trouble. Get away from them."

"Jo-Jo say he thinks Orlando went to Mississippi, someplace down there. Was Tenisha's mama gave us the dude. The woman is hot for her age, man, going on to be forty. I feel myself starting to crave her panties."

"Jerome," Delsa said, "they're not cops, they sound like bounty hunters, using you to get next to the reward."

Jerome said, "I know that. I wondered did you."

"Give me their names," Delsa said, "what they look like, what kind of car they drive and I'll have them picked up: Jerome?"

He was gone.

22

Sofar this boy THREE-J wasn't doing them much good. He took them out to Pontiac, way past the GMC Truck plant to an old rundown property where they used to have pit bull fights and all they did was shoot a dog.

Art did. The man holding it on a leash. Art pointed his gun at the pit bull and asked the old colored man with gray hair, was Orlando hiding out here? The man said, "Don't shoot my dog." And Art shot it. The dog's name was Sonny. Art said, "I shot him 'cause you didn't answer my question." Carl said, "Couldn't you think of a better name for a vicious fighting dog?" The man said that was its name.

The old man turned out to be Orlando's granddaddy. Art asked him where Orlando was. Art said he'd count to three and the old man said, "He's staying in Detroit on Pingree, 700 Pingree between Second and Third. Now get outta here."

Art said he almost blew him away to teach him a lesson.

Three-J didn't say much. Carl was sure he didn't believe they were cops and didn't care. Art told him their names. It meant Art would shoot him before they were through and they'd put in for the reward. It didn't bother Carl, he didn't see Three-J as much of an asset. Three-J liked Tenisha's mama and she wasn't bad. Carl asked Art, surprised he hadn't asked him before, if he'd ever fucked a colored girl. Art said, "Sure, haven't you? Don't tell me you never had any colored poon." So they talked about different colored girls they'd had until Jerome said wait, was these regular bitches or ho's? It turned out they were whores. Three-J asked what was a ho like, since he never had one. Carl saw the boy thinking he was smarter than they were. If he didn't care they weren't cops but carried guns, he knew they'd try to get rid of him once they found Orlando. He didn't say much, no, but the colored boy was ready, keeping his eyes open, wasn't he?

They were coming back now in the Tahoe, on Woodward out in Oakland County, twenty miles from downtown Detroit.

Art said, "There's an OPEN HOUSE sign. Carl? The next right."

These two white guys were cuckoo.

They turned down a street of fairly new homes, big ones with lawns and young trees, down to a house that was open for inspection. Art took the OPEN sign hanging from the regular FOR SALE sign in the yard and brought it inside with them and handed it to the real estate man in his suit and tie grinning at them, the man saying, "Well, thank you. How did you know I was just about to close?"

"You see us come along," Carl said, "you'd be closing if you just opened."

It was going on seven, becoming dusky out.

Carl put his hand on Jerome's shoulder saying to the real estate man, "This boy wants to buy a house out here. You got anything against selling to coloreds?"

The real estate man frowned like he's never heard of such a thing, telling them no, of course not. He said the house was listed at a million one-ninety-nine. Carl asked what he would take and the real estate man said well, the people were in Florida, anxious to sell, he believed they might go as low as nine-fifty.

Art said, "You got any tape?"

The real estate man said, "I think I saw some in the kitchen," went out there and came back with a roll of silver duct tape saying, "Can I ask what you need it for?"

Art said, "To tape your mouth shut."

Jerome watched them sit the real estate man in a dining room chair and tape his arms to the arms and legs to the legs of the chair, the man not saying shit, but his eyes open wide watching them. As Art was about to tape his mouth shut, the man said, "Please be careful you don't cover my nose, too, okay?"

He should never've said it.

Art covered his nose and Jerome could see the man couldn't breathe, his face turning red as he pulled against the tape holding him to the chair.

Jerome watched Carl shake his head. Carl said, "Goddamn it, Art, the man can't fuckin breathe." Taking his time, cool about it.

Art said, "Fuck him."

Carl pulled the tape off the man's nose and mouth, let him suck in air a few times and put the tape back on over his mouth.

"Look around," Carl said to Jerome, "see if there's anything you like."

The two went upstairs.

Jerome went to the kitchen and looked in the fridge and took out a can of beer and sat down to drink it with a good-size roach he had on him and lit with a kitchen match, Jerome pretty sure these guys were crazy. They didn't care who saw them or who might come to the house. They were cool, though. Walk in a house and take it over. Jerome wondered why he hadn't heard of doing this. Drive around looking for OPEN signs.

Jerome took out his cell and phoned Frank Delsa.

"Hey, man, how you doing?"

"Where are you?"

"Out in the suburbs. Orlando wasn't in Pontiac. His granddaddy say he's in Detroit and told us where, but I don't believe him. Would you? His granddaddy saying it?"

Delsa said, "You still with the two guys?"

"On and off. They cuckoo. Next time I see you I'll tell you what we doing at this house the real estate man say he's gonna sell for a million one-ninety-nine-give you an idea where we at. I never been in a house cost this much, even when I was busting into places. I see you I'll tell you about it."

"You know their names?"

"I ain't telling you. You might know these motherfuckers, man, they outrageous. I don't know why you don't have 'em locked up somewhere. The granddaddy goes, 'Don't shoot my dog.' The one shoots his dog. You know why? 'Cause the old man say don't do it. They been to Jackson. One of 'em mentioned something about when they was there about the noise in the cell block. Bunch of retards in there making noise. Frank, these guys want the money."

"I told you that," Delsa said. "And they'll kill you for it."

"I know. It's why we do see Orlando-go in someplace and there he is? I say it ain't him."

"He won't look like his picture."

"Or somebody could point him out to me? I say no, that ain't Orlando. Then soon as I get away from these motherfuckers I give you a call."

"Where are they?"

"Looking around upstairs."