Right As Rain: A Derek Strange Novel (Derek Strange Novels)
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Derek Strange is a black ex-cop in Washington D.C. who now makes a living running his own private detective agency. He is hired to investigate the killing of an off-duty black policeman by a white police officer -- a killing that was supposedly accidental, but that has opened difficult questions about racism on the force. In the course of that investigation the white officer, Terry Quinn, becomes Strange's friend and then his partner. Together they try to uncover what really happened that night, when Quinn came upon a confusing and treacherous crime scene. Along the way they confront the kingpins of a flourishing drug trade and some of the most implacable, dead-eyed killers ever to grace the pages of a novel.
past Kansas Avenue, Strange pointed out his shop, set back off the main drag in the middle of a narrow strip. “That’s me right there,” said Strange. “That’s my office.” “Nice logo.” “Yeah, I like it.” “You sell magnifying glasses, too?” “Investigations, man. Little kid sees that symbol, he knows what it means. Hell, your boy Lewis sees it, he squints real good, he can tell —” “I got you.” Quinn looked across the street at a bar called the Foxy Playground. “What’s that, your hangout over
salt—and—pepper team we got here, they cops?” “Look more like the Orkin army,” said Richard. “What’s with those jackets, huh? Those y’all’s uniforms?” Strange realized for the first time that he and Quinn were both wearing black leather. Another thing for these jokers to crack on, but he didn’t care. Now that Quinn had made the mistake of joining him, he was focusing on how the two of them were going to walk away. And then he began to think about Quinn’s short fuse. And Strange thought, Maybe
unsmiling and staring directly into the camera’s lens. A high school boy already wearing the face of a cop. There was one photo of a girl in her early teens, its color paled out from age. Strange knew that Chris Wilson had had a sister. He had seen her on the TV news, a pretty, bone—skinny, light—skinned girl with an unhealthy, splotched complexion. He remembered thinking it odd that she had made a show of wiping tears from dry eyes. Maybe, after days of grieving, it had become her habit to take
her, Ray.” Big—Ass Angelo went “ssh, ssh, ssh,” his shoulders jiggling hard. Earl ignored him and said, “That’ll do it, then. We’ll be on our way.” Ray stood. “I’ll call you. We’ll be back with that first load in a couple of days. Then you can come on out and get the rest.” “Oh, I don’t think I’ll be makin’ the trip personally, Ray. I’m gonna send out a po—lice escort, make it nice and official.” “You’re gonna send that guy Madonna?” Coleman chuckled. “Sure, Ray. I’ll send Madonna.” “All
reflection of the plate glass windows, in the car windows, in the metal of the cars themselves. Lose yourself in the crowd.” “There he is.” “Go on.” Quinn got out of the car and loitered near the building. Kane emerged from the building’s glass doors. Strange watched Quinn follow, staying back in the moderate, late—morning throng moving along the sidewalk. With his shades and the hair, Quinn looked more like a rocker with shoulders than he did a cop. Kane crossed the street and entered the