Collateral Damage (2 page)

“How about we calm down a bit now?” Hannibal said. “No point in hurting each other…”

Isaac wouldn't let him finish. He stood easily with the man on his back, and ran backward as quickly as he could across the small room. He knew he had run out of space when the wall stopped him. He heard the breath burst out of the little man on his back. He raised his arms to reach behind himself, clamping thick fingers around Hannibal's neck. Hannibal's left arm swung under Isaac's arm and his left hand clapped onto the back of Isaac's head. Hannibal's right, still across Isaac's throat, gripped his own left arm. A simple but
effective choke hold. Isaac pulled his own arms down, but it only increased the pressure on his throat.

This little man wasn't going to bring him down. He moved forward just far enough to smash backward into the wall again, crushing Hannibal between the cracking plaster and his own massive bulk. Again Isaac's huge legs propelled him back into the wall. A third time. The intruder cried out in pain each time. He would have to give it up soon.

But then the room began to spin and darken. Isaac's head ached and the little breath he was getting rasped in his throat. Then pain shot through his knees. That's how he knew they had hit the bare tiles of the floor. Then his hands slapped the floor, supporting him and the burden on his back.

The last thing he remembered thinking was that he could have beaten the black guy easily if he had fought fair.

Hannibal freed his arms from Isaac's unconscious form and pulled himself to his knees, swallowing and panting a bit. Pain pulsed from the center of his back outward in all directions. His arms ached from sustaining pressure long enough to knock Isaac out. And his throat was a little raw from Isaac's thumbs digging into it. But at least he had managed to end this conflict without either of them getting badly hurt. He suspected that would answer the first question he'd hear when he got outside.

Anna Ingersoll watched him close her front door and step slowly toward her. She leaned against his white Volvo 850 GLT, her arms wrapped very tightly around her son. Hannibal did not avoid her eyes, but explored them under the street lamp for what they could tell him. He saw desperate fear there, but relief and curiosity hung close behind that. He opened the passenger door and waved her inside. She only held her boy tighter.

“He'll be after us,” Anna said.

“No he won't. Not for a while. Get in the car.”

“Is he okay?” Now her face showed more concern. She still loved him.

“He's asleep, but not hurt. Please get in the car.”

“You're not the police,” Anna said. “Police don't act like that. Who are you?”

“I'll tell you in the car.” Hannibal said. When Anna didn't move, Monty squeezed past Hannibal and squirmed into the back seat. He pulled Nicky in behind him, out of Anna's embrace. She looked more confused now, as if her son was her touchstone with reality. Eyes darting left and right, she finally dropped into the front seat. Hannibal closed her door, quickly walked around the car and got behind the wheel. His eyes clamped briefly as he sat back, and he swallowed a gasp of pain.

“You're hurt.” Anna said.

Hannibal nodded and started the car. “Not bad. This really went better than I expected from what Monty told me when he called me from your kitchen.”

“What now?” Anna asked as Hannibal guided his car away from the curb and down the darkened streets of Southeast Washington, DC. “I can't just leave.” She turned in her seat and Hannibal wished he could see what passed between mother and son. Then she turned back to Hannibal and her voice was different.

“I didn't say thank you,” she said, wiping the wetness from her blackened eyes. “Thank you. Now, who are you and why did you become involved with us?” She didn't attack him for interfering in her personal life. That meant Monty had been right. She was ready for the torture to end.

“My name is Hannibal Jones and I'm a professional troubleshooter.”

Anna ran her fingers through her short-cropped blonde hair, momentarily scratching at its darker brown roots. “Troubleshooter? Like a private eye or something?”

“Well, I do have a private investigator's license, but I don't do much P.I. work. I make my living helping people in trouble, whatever kind of trouble they can't get help with
otherwise. And sometimes,” he glanced back at Monty, “sometimes I do it as a favor to a special friend.”

Anna sat silent for a moment, as if considering his words and how she might qualify as a person in trouble. And as each block passed separating her more and more from her husband, Hannibal could see her shoulders rise and straighten a little more. He wasn't sure what had kept her in that house with that dangerous man, but he began to believe she would not be going back. When she seemed to have it all neatly in order in her mind, she looked at him again.

“Okay, back to my original question. What now? Where are we going? Some halfway house or something?”

“For now I'll take you to the safest place I know. Monty's house. Actually the home of his grandmother, Mother Washington. I imagine you'll come to the barbecue I'm giving tomorrow, and then we can decide what you want to do from there. The important thing is for you to be in a safe environment for a little while and have time to think.”

Hannibal's explanation brought the first word he heard from Nicky, who leaned forward between the front seats and said, “Barbecue?”

Hannibal loved the smell of a charcoal fire. And there in his building's backyard, behind the three story brick he called home, he hovered close enough to his round Weber kettle grill to absorb the smoke of the coals and mesquite chips into his pores. He leaned back, filling his lungs with the sweet scent of steaks and ribs dripping with Mother Washington's dark red sauce, and stared up at the clear blue sky. Nature had sent him a perfect crisp autumn day and he was enjoying it to the fullest.

For most folks, the middle of Columbus Day weekend was a bit late in the season for cooking out, but this was Hannibal's idea of a good time, and the neighbors who wandered in and out seemed to agree. He scanned the yard, an almost square patch of green marginally wider than the building. A dozen or so of his closest friends and neighbors occupied folding chairs, lawn chairs, and the occasional kitchen chair dragged outside for the event. Three picnic tables groaned under the contributions so many guests had brought: potato, macaroni, green and cold pasta salads. Cole slaw. Baked beans.

Everyone who lived in Hannibal's building had turned out. Virgil, Quaker and Sarge had even invited ladies. Ray was hunkered down over a big plate of ribs across the table from his daughter Cindy. While Hannibal watched, she looked up, apparently decided she had spent enough time on family, and headed for Hannibal over at the grill.

Cindy's form still made Hannibal's breath catch in his throat. She was tall and svelte, with eyes the color of dark
sweet chocolate and a broad inviting smile. She wrapped an arm around his waist, pressed her ample bosom into his chest, and brushed her lips across his.

“Why don't you grab a plate and come enjoy some of this party? All work and no play you know.”

Hannibal had long since given up trying to resist Cindy's suggestions. He laid the last of the meat on a serving plate and covered the grill, but hung behind a few inches so he could watch her hips sway seductively as they headed for the tables. He waited for her to sit to make sure he was facing her. Virgil poked at the boom box two tables away, and the Crusaders filled the yard with their unique smooth jazz sound. That music and friendly laughter filled Hannibal's mind as he stared deep into Cindy's eyes and filled his mouth with sweet, tender rib meat. A soft breeze flipped the collar of his knit shirt against his cheek. Hannibal silently prayed that when he got to heaven it would be just like this.

Anna Ingersoll stood out painfully when she stepped through Hannibal's back door into the yard. Not because she and her son were white. After all, Quaker and his date were also, not that anyone present cared. In fact, as Monty led them in, he and Nicky darted for the food and instantly became part of the festivities. Nor was it because she wore a conservative skirt and low heels. All the men were in jeans, but some of the ladies had recently returned from church and hadn't bothered to change. No, Anna stood out because Hannibal was swimming in a sea of smiles, and hers was the only face in the place not lightened by the joy of the moment.

Hannibal waved Anna over to his table, and Cindy slid aside to make space for her facing Hannibal. Anna seemed overwhelmed by this small kindness shown by a stranger, as if it were something she was not used to. Hannibal stood momentarily as Anna sat.

“Cindy, this is Anna Ingersoll, the lady I drove over to Mother Washington's last night. Mrs. Ingersoll, I want you to meet Cindy Santiago, the only attorney foolish enough to hang around with the likes of me.”

Anna shook the tips of Cindy's fingers and nodded. When she turned to Hannibal he noticed how different she looked from the night before. Her face and hair glowed from scrubbing. She had done her nails and applied light but attractive makeup, almost concealing her bruises. When she spoke she flashed small, even, perfect teeth. The fact that one of her incisors was chipped was a jarring reminder of the night before.

“I realized this morning that I hadn't thanked you properly, Mister Jones. What you did last night…the way you did it. I mean, I know you could have really hurt Isaac, and I remembered today that when you got in your car I could see you were carrying a gun. Thank you for helping us, and for not hurting him.”

“Mrs. Ingersoll…” Hannibal began.

“Anna. Please.”

“Well then, Anna, when Monty comes banging on my door on a Saturday night screaming that it's a matter of life and death I don't hesitate.”

“But, you usually get paid for this kind of thing, right?” she asked. “I must owe you…”

Hannibal chuckled. “Actually, Monty was my client last night, and we'll work something out. But how are you doing in that area anyway? I mean, do you have money?”

Anna's shoulders seemed to lower a bit, as if talking relaxed her. Nicky was sitting beside Monty chewing on a burger. Her eyes followed his movements for a moment, then returned to Hannibal. “We'll be all right. I'm not exactly pulling in millions down at the DMV, but I think I can feed the two of us if we can find a place to live.”

“I might be able to help with that part,” Cindy said. “My firm's senior partner owns quite a bit of investment property. I'll bet he has a vacancy for anyone I vouch for.”

“You'd do that?”

“For a friend of Hannibal's?” Cindy said. “Any time. But I'm curious. How did you end up living in Southeast to begin with? MOST of the folks in this part of the city are only here
because they can't be anywhere else.” Her eyes cut to Hannibal with cold sarcasm.

“Isaac moved us here from North Dakota because he was to be a right guard for the Redskins,” Anna said. “We left everything behind to chase his dream. But some things happened at the training camp. Isaac didn't fit in with the team. He has a temper, as Mister Jones knows too well. Other team members just didn't want to work with him.”

Hannibal put his rib down on his plate. “Okay, so you were in Washington and didn't know anyone, but why…”

“For a very long time Isaac refused to believe he couldn't play football,” Anna said, her hand raised as if to goad her audience into understanding. “He kept thinking they'd call him back. We had no money, no friends, nothing. I eventually found work, but we were so broke. One of the other players owned that building we live in and he had a vacancy. Anyway, it was the first apartment that looked like we might be able to afford. It sounded like he was doing us a favor at the time, but now I think maybe it was all a big joke on Isaac. We don't belong there. Still, I tried so hard to keep our family together, for little Nicky's sake. But Isaac just sat all day, stewing in his anger, and the longer he sat, the angrier he got until he had to lash out at something and….”

As she spoke Anna's eyes slowly squeezed shut, her head lowered, and her outstretched hand gradually curled into a tightly balled fist. Hannibal looked at Cindy, but neither had any idea what to do or how to help.

Then a white-gloved hand rested gently on Anna's shoulder. Hannibal looked up to see Mother Washington standing behind Anna, her round dark face aglow from the rapture of recent Pentecostal church service. That loving glow softened the worry lines covering her kindly face, but Hannibal could still see them, even shadowed by her broad brimmed black church hat. She was a big woman, and her black dress reached nearly to her ankles, but no kinder person lived in Hannibal's world. When she spoke to him, it was the voice of everyone's grandmother.