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The photograph showed, behind yellow tape imprinted with POLICE LINE DO NOT CROSS, two members of the medical examiner’s office standing at the rear of a white panel van. They were in the process of lifting through the van’s back doors a gurney holding a full body bag. Splashed across the image was the headline: #360. ANOTHER MURDER, ANOTHER RECORD.
The teenager, head down, quickly turned on his heel and marched to the cash register. He punched in the coffee, made change, then carefully closed the cash drawer as he scanned the front door and windows. Then, from beneath the register, he pulled out the busboy cart and rolled it to the front of the diner.
“Your change,” he said in a normal voice, holding the money out to Payne.
“That’s your tip. Keep it.”
“Thanks.”
Daquan stuffed it in the front pocket of his jeans as he immediately turned his back to Payne. He busied himself clearing the small plates and cups from the nearest high-top table.
“What about the drive-by?” Payne pursued, again speaking quietly as he flipped pages.
“I really can’t say,” Daquan replied, almost in a whisper, without turning around.
“Can’t?” Payne said. “Or won’t?”
Daquan shrugged.
“Peeps talk, they get capped. That’s what happened to Pookie. Law of the street. That’s why I texted you now, after they came . . .”
“Who did it?”
“Capped Pookie?”
“Yeah.”
“That’s just it—I don’t know,” he said, then looked over his shoulder at Payne. “Matt, I didn’t even know the dude. They’re threatening me over something I don’t know.”
“Any guess who did do it?”
Daquan turned back to busing the table, and shrugged again.
“I heard word that King Two-One-Five knows,” he said.
Payne thought: Tyrone Hooks knows—or ordered it done?
He pulled his cell phone from the back pocket of his jeans, rapidly thumb-typed and sent a short text message, then tucked the phone back.
“When’s the last time you saw your parole officer, Daquan?” he said, picking the newspaper back up.
“Few days ago.”
“It go okay?”
“I guess.”
“How’s school coming?”
“Hard, man. Just real hard.”
“One day at a time. You’ll get that GED.”
Daquan then pulled a hand towel and a spray bottle of cleaner from the cart and began wiping the tabletop.
Payne said, “Nice diamond stud. Is it real?”
Daquan stopped wiping.
