Troubleshooter

by Austin Camacho

  Hannibal had not thought of it until that moment. “Yes,” he said. “Yes, I guess it is.”

  “Of course it’s not your problem, it’s mine,” Balor said. He seemed to be considering a purely theoretical situation, his eyes a thousand miles away. “You could just walk away. No harm, no foul.”

  Hannibal could not see the theoretical playing field Balor was looking over. “The problem won’t go away, whether I do or not.”

  “Perhaps the problem isn’t that important to me,” Balor said.

  The air seemed unjustifiably sweet out there, inappropriate for the conversation. “Perhaps,” Hannibal said more softly, “But it isn’t only your problem.”

  “Right,” Balor said. “You probably see it as a community problem, or a purely moral issue. And I guess you’ll probably keep at it, even though I called the whole thing off.” Balor started pacing and Hannibal thought he was talking primarily to himself. “In which case, lacking resources, you’ll probably get yourself killed.” Then Balor looked up at Hannibal, his face set in stone. “Okay. You win. I’m in. I’m in until you’ve had enough.”

  Just like that, Hannibal thought. He had not noticed he was holding his breath. Now he released it, then inhaled deeply and nodded in Balor’s direction. “I told you it’d get expensive from here on out. I’ll have to get some help.”

  “Do it.”

  “It’s dangerous work,” Hannibal went on. “Anybody working for me gets two-fifty a day.”

  Balor shrugged. “Thirty something an hour. Hell, I think my plumber gets that. Draw expense money at the office.”

  “And there’ll be expenses for equipment. And you’ll have to start the renovations early.”

  “That part goes through Mick Denton, my property manager. Look, just do what you got to do and send me the bill. Besides,” with a chuckle, “It’s all deductible.”

  Outside, Hannibal held the car door for Cindy, then walked around to get in the other side. He had not even touched the seat himself when Ray turned around toward him.

  “So? You talked to Balor?”

  “Yep. Good man. Gave me the go ahead and a blank check.”

  “So you’re going back to Anacostia?” Ray put the Volvo into gear.

  “Yeah, but not today. Right now, if it’s okay, we’ll go back to Cindy’s. I need to take over your room again and stretch for about an hour. Can’t let these bruises cramp me up. Then a hot shower, then I head for the homeless shelter.”

  “The shelter?” Cindy asked. “I thought you went on Tuesday.”

  “Oh, this isn’t volunteer work,” Hannibal smiled.

  -24-

  The three of them arrived at the shelter just after dinner was served. Because of the reason for this trip, Cindy looked at those inside differently this time. She noticed, for instance, just how high a percentage of them were women and children. She saw the effect on the body of a nourishing but not satisfying diet. She saw the anger lying just under the skin.

  Hannibal moved about them at ease, as an outcast among outcasts. She felt like an outsider, and was looked on as such by people huddled around their food as if to protect it. He exchanged smiles and nods with several men, while she could only keep her eyes moving, trying to avoid making contact. Her father, she knew, was at home in almost any situation. He took a seat at a table with a checkerboard painted on it. Very soon a man his age sat on the other side. Cindy sat beside her father, watching Hannibal settle into a chair at a table with three men eating in silence.

  Hannibal neither knew nor really cared what was going on in Cindy’s mind right then. His focus was on figuring out the best way to broach the subject he had in mind. The men he chose to sit with wore clothes worn out as much from washing as wearing, and he had found the level of cleanliness to be a pretty fair gauge of men in the shelter. The man beside him looked like a no-nonsense character, so he decided to try the direct approach. “I need some help.”

  “Sorry, I’m tapped out,” the stocky black man with the receding hairline said.

  “Money I got,” Hannibal said. “Manpower I need.”

  “You talking work?” the tall white man with the angular face asked, looking up from his soup. “Is it legal?”

  “Legal.” Hannibal leaned forward on his elbows. “Legal, but dangerous. Might last a day, or a week.”

  “Risky stuff, eh?” The muscular black man reached out a big hand. “You look like you already started. Well, you got my attention. They call me Sarge.”

  “Good to know you. Hannibal Jones.” They shared a firm handshake.

  “I’ve seen you. You come in here a lot,” the taller man observed. “I’m Quaker. So, what’s the job?”

  “I’m turning some druggies out of a house over in Anacostia,” Hannibal said, keeping his voice low. “It’s worth two-fifty a day to me to have some good men at my back.”

  “You saying two hundred and fifty dollars?” Sarge asked. “A day? Cash money?”

  Hannibal nodded. Suddenly, it seemed all eyes in the room focused on him. He gave a faint smile. This would be easier than he expected. “Look, I only need maybe a half dozen guys,” Hannibal said. “And I’m dead serious about the risk. It might mean some fighting. Maybe even getting shot at. These drug types, they play rough. And the dealer over there? This guy don’t dance. You can see that just looking at me. Whoever comes with me, you can bet they’ll earn their money.”

  “Tell me something I don’t know.” Sarge pushed his chair back as Hannibal did. When he stood, both Sarge and Quaker got to their feet as well.

  “Fellows, there’s a nice, quiet little bar down about a block away. I think we should go talk. Drink beer?”

  “You buying?” Quaker asked. Hannibal nodded.

  “Then I’m drinking.”

  Hannibal took Cindy’s arm on his way out, and tapped Ray’s shoulder to follow. Sarge and Quaker walked out behind them. Several men in the room fidgeted, but only two others actually got up and headed for the door.

  In the bar’s semidarkness, everything seemed clearer. Hannibal slid into a booth. Cindy followed. Sarge squeezed into the opposite side, with Quaker on his outside. Ray pulled a round table over to them. Hannibal ordered a pitcher of draft and filled a glass for everyone. All the men took a swallow right away, but Hannibal noticed that Cindy never touched hers. He hoped she would not feel ignored, but after all, this business did not really concern her.

  “So, how come they call you Sarge?” Hannibal asked.

  “Two tours in Nam,” Sarge replied. He rolled up his sleeve far enough to reveal the Marine fouled anchor tattoo on his muscular forearm. Hannibal gulped his beer and blessed his sudden turn of luck, in the right direction for a change.

  “Well, Sarge, we’re talking about an assault here,” Hannibal said. “Something I suspect you know something about. I’m working for the owner of the building. Right now the place is a crack house, a shooting gallery. It’s got hookers. It’s got winos. It’s got…”

  “We get the idea,” Quaker interrupted. “You tried it by yourself, didn’t you? Heard about it last night. Got your ass kicked too, didn’t you?”

  “Shut up, Q.,” Sarge snapped. “We talking guns, here, Jones?”

  “Call me Hannibal, man. And I’d like to keep the shooting to a minimum. Besides, I got a license to carry. Do you?”

  “Don’t need one,” Sarge muttered. “I’m between gigs right now, but when I can get work, it’s usually as a bouncer. Got my own Louisville Slugger and my own two hands, and they usually do me.”

  “You talking about staying in this place a while, ain’t you?” Quaker asked.

  Hannibal noticed a new man, black but shorter than the others, had joined Ray’s table. He was sitting up straight, trying to exaggerate his height.

  “Cindy, we need another pitcher over here, and a couple more glasses,” Hannibal said, then turned toward Quaker. “We’ll stay for a few days, until the bad guys get the message they can’t come back.”

  Cind
y started to speak, but her father yanked her elbow, pulling her nearly out of the booth. She stood and locking eyes with him for a crucial moment. Finally, she curled her lips in and stamped off toward the bar, as best she could stamp in heels. Hannibal waited for her to reach her destination, knowing he could not get the men’s attention while she was walking.

  “This place is a dump, ain’t it?” Quaker asked.

  “Well, it ain’t no palace, but it’ll beat sleeping in a cardboard box,” Hannibal answered. “It’s dry, and it keeps the wind out. Actually, I was planning on fixing it up while we’re there.”

  “Oh, you want labor too.” Sarge emptied his glass.

  “At these prices, the job’s twenty-four seven. Like I said, we’ll already be there, and after this last little bit of action, I’m not comfortable asking anybody else to be hanging out there unless they’re prepared for violence. I’m just not sure I could protect a bunch of Merry Maids, or even regular contractors, that is, if they’d even come in to work in that place. So, yeah, I figure we’ll do as much as we can ourselves before we call in experts for the serious renovations.”

  “Might not ever have to,” the newcomer said, in a strong Jamaican accent. All eyes turned to him. “I’m a journeyman plumber. Times is hard. But I can do the work, and I can fight, mon.” After a moment he added, “And it’d be good to earn me money. Me name’s Timothy.” He pronounced it without an “H”. Hannibal made introductions all around. Cindy returned, dropped a glass in front of Timothy and put the pitcher down beside it.

  “You lucked out, Slick.” Sarge reached across to refill his glass. “Q’s done some carpentry work.”

  “Neat, ain’t it?” Quaker said, grinning.

  “What more could I ask?” Hannibal said.

  “How about an electrician?” a new voice asked. He was a big man, hovering over Cindy but bent forward, as if he might fall over. He could have been anywhere from thirty to fifty years old, with the yellowed eyes and puffy black hands Hannibal had seen too much of lately.

  “Don’t know if you’re the man for me, Mister…”

  “Adams,” the man replied in a deep, gravelly voice. “Virgil Adams. And I know what you’re thinking, but I ain’t no junkie. Not anymore, anyway. It cost me everything I had, but now I’m clean and I want to get on with my life. Only…”

  “Only nobody will give you a chance, is that it?” Sarge asked. Virgil nodded, but his eyes stayed on Hannibal.

  “I guess we can use one more man.” As Hannibal spoke, Cindy poured a beer and handed it up to Virgil.

  “I don’t know, kid,” Sarge said. “You’re going to need real fighters if I understand the situation here. A perimeter to secure. Guards to post. In a hood that’s more like Saigon than suburbia. We’re talking about people who hold life kind of cheap. You know how many murders there are in D.C. every year?”

  “Yeah,” Hannibal replied, meeting Sarge’s eyes. “Four hundred forty-six last year. In an area not quite seventy miles square. Look, I appreciate your experience, but before you take the operation over, understand you ain’t dealing with no amateur here. I was a beat cop in New York City, then a city detective, so I’ve spent my share of time in rough neighborhoods. And I spent eight years in the secret service, protecting people obsessed with making contact with strangers. I know how to set up a perimeter.”

  “Okay.” Sarge raised his hands in mock defense. “Don’t get your…” his eyes cut over to Cindy and back. “Don’t get yourself in an uproar. I’m just saying we all ought to know the layout.”

  “You’re right,” Hannibal said, calmer now. “It ain’t really that bad. It’s a row house, with a narrow path on each side, so there’s only the front and back to defend. It’s three stories, with a little bit of a backyard. The front stoop’s elevated. Good field of view there. And the neighbors might not help but they ain’t against us.”

  “Cool,” Sarge said. Everyone at both tables took a long drink while they looked around, as if considered the others. Sarge finally said, “Well, I’m in if you want me.” Quaker, Timothy and Virgil all made similar noises.

  “Good,” Hannibal said, raising his glass to them. “I want to get back in there fast, before the squatters have had time to get too solidly settled back in.”

  Sarge nodded and leaned back in the booth. “Hope you won’t mind discussing the best way to do this.”

  “Not at all,” Hannibal said, his voice tight with excitement. “In fact I think we need to get together for a long planning session, after you guys put your things in order for a long stay. We’ll go over the floor plan and so forth, and we won’t make a move until we have a solid plan of attack we can all live with.”

  “Well, you don’t want to do that at the shelter, man,” Timothy said. “You got a place we can crash?” Hannibal’s mouth hung open for a moment.

  “Of course he does,” Cindy said. “With only one car we’ll have to make a couple of trips to get everybody there. While my dad drives back and forth I’ll make us some snacks or something.”

  “Cindy, are you sure?” Hannibal asked.

  “Relax,” she said, bumping him with her shoulder. “We got enough sofa and carpet space for everybody. We could pick up a couple of sleeping bags.”

  “Sounds like a plan,” Virgil said.

  “Yeah.” Sarge looked at his watch. “Let’s make it twenty hundred hours at the shelter. That’s eight o’clock for you civilians. Solid?”

  “Yeah, solid, I guess,” Hannibal stammered out. “Meantime, I’ll get on the horn and get us some gear. Those of us who don’t have our own bats, that is.”

  “Good deal,” Sarge said, rising. “Just remember, in an assault like this, the readier you look, the less casualties you get. Looks is important.”

  Hannibal watched his newly hired thousand-dollar-a-day attack force move off to gather their things at the shelter, walking a little taller than they had an hour before. He turned to Cindy with all of his admittedly limited humility.

  “Listen, baby, thanks a lot for what you did just now. You sure don’t owe me any help, after the hell I’ve already put you through. But if we can stay together and get to know each other a bit, tomorrow will just go that much better. I guess I should have thought of that sooner.”

  “Hey, I don’t mind.” Cindy snuggled in closer, gently nuzzling his cheek. “Got to respect a man who don’t give up after what they did to you. And these men too. You know, it’s funny.”

  “Can’t see much funny right now.”

  “I meant the weirdness of our society that turns skilled, able bodied men into, well, the homeless.”

  “It’s an old story, babe,” Hannibal said. “Every country has its refugees. Homeless don’t mean useless.”

  “They each have their own story,” Cindy said, staring pensively into her beer, “And they’re all different.”

  Hannibal smiled. “Yeah, well right now I’m writing a new story of my own. Since you’re so impressed by my new friends, do you want to cook for this crowd, or should we just order pizzas or something?”

  “We can talk about it.” Cindy slid out of the booth again. “Right now I need to find out if this place has a ladies room.”

  Hannibal watched with admiration as she walked away. Maybe he was in the market after all.

  As Cindy moved out of sight, Ray slid into the booth opposite Hannibal. He smiled the way men do when they’re embarrassed and don’t know how to broach a subject. Hannibal wondered if it involved his growing closeness to Cindy, or maybe he had misgivings about having four homeless strangers stay in her apartment with her overnight. Unsure, Hannibal poured them both a fresh beer.

  “Okay, Ray, did I do something I should apologize for?”

  “No, no, it’s just…” Ray’s voice trailed away as he turned toward the bar. Hannibal let the silence hang until Ray turned back, eyes on the table.

  “I got a chance to go into business, like you, only with two partners. I need to be earning a real living again,
and get my own place. This business idea is the way, and it’s what I want to do. Naturally, I need some seed money. So anyway, this job with you, I mean, how come you didn’t ask me, Paco?”

  “Oh, Ray.” Hannibal suddenly felt very small. “I didn’t think…”

  “I know I’m not no bent nose, but I been taking care of myself for a lot of years, man.” Once started, Ray rolled on. “Besides, those guys are strangers. You know me, man. I could use…”

  “I didn’t think I should risk you on this. And I don’t think Cindy would…”

  Ray plowed on. “I could use that kind of money, man. Besides, what if some of these druggies don’t speak English, you know?”

  “Okay, Ray, I’m sorry.” Hannibal offered an embarrassed smile. “Of course you’re in. I need you on this. And when it’s over, I’ll help all I can with you setting up your business. If you need more capital, I’ll help you get a business loan.”

  The Budweiser sign over the bar flashed bright red, but when Ray Santiago looked up, a new light showed in his face.

  “But there’s a condition to all of this.” Hannibal looked so serious, Ray’s smile faded, as if he sensed new found independence could be threatened.

  “What kind of condition?”

  Hannibal checked over his shoulder to make sure Cindy was not on her way back. “You tell your bookie he just lost a customer. I mean permanently. And no more trips up to the track, either. I know what you told Cindy, but we both know the real reason you got fired. You spent too much time up at Pimlico and even Charles Town when you were supposed to be picking up fares. So for you, the horses are out, for good.”

  “You want to take all the excitement out of my life?” Ray stopped because Cindy was just dropping into her seat next to Hannibal.

  “Trust me Ray. I think in the next couple of days you’ll see just how exciting life can be.”

  -25-

  MONDAY

  Ninety three million miles away, the sun cannot distinguish between Georgetown and Anacostia. This particular day, the same hot rays blessed both places, glaring through clear skies that seemed endlessly high. No breeze disturbed the urban air and even at dawn, a haze began rising from the streets. Starlings woke each other in the big tree down the block from number twenty-three thirteen. The sweet aroma on the air did not reflect blooming flowers, but rather that it was trash day.