The Man Who Came Uptown

Thaddeus Ward’s residence was on a quiet, three-syllable street in Brightwood, in the Fourth District, where he’d served most of his tenure as a D.C. cop. His house was a detached Colonial, clean and neat, with an alley garage that he used as a workshop. He and his wife, Ida, had raised their daughter, Sharon, here. Sharon had been out on her own since the mid-nineties, and Ida had passed long ago. He’d lived alone for the past ten years.

Sharon had come over without her kids, who were now in high school. Her husband, Virgil Cotton, who owned a couple of fast-food franchises, was at their home in Bowie, keeping an eye on the children and seeing that they completed their homework and chores. Sharon and Virgil were strict Christians. As far as the God thing went, Thaddeus was unconvinced.

They had eaten takeout pizza from the Ledo’s over on Georgia, and now they were in what Ward called “the TV room,” watching the Wizards flame the Lakers.

“Damn, he’s fast,” said Ward as they watched John Wall accelerate past two defenders in the lane, corkscrew, and finish.

“We got a lot of pieces,” said Sharon, who knew the game. She had played basketball for Coolidge in her day. “Bradley Beal, Otto Porter...”

“Georgetown product,” said Ward.

“Markieff Morris was a nice addition.”

“Don’t forget the Polish Hammer,” said Ward. “And the coach. Scott Brooks put it all together, Sharon. We’re about to win the division. First time since the seventies. LeBron is still a beast, but the Cavaliers are weak, with their injuries and whatnot. This could be the year for my Bullets.”

“They’re called the Wizards now, Daddy.”

“Not in my house.”

She looked at him with fond tolerance. “I better get out of here. Let me just clean this mess up.”

Sharon made a couple of trips back and forth to the kitchen as she gathered up the pizza box, soda cans, and plates. Ward would have offered to help her but he knew she’d say no. That’s why she came over to the house twice a week, to take care of him. She did the dishes that were in the sink, folded his laundry, and changed the sheets on his bed, whether they needed changing or not. She was way overqualified for housework — hell, she was a copyright attorney for the U.S. government — but she wanted to do it. It wasn’t that she enjoyed cleaning up his place. It eased her conscience.

“Sit down, baby girl,” said Ward as Sharon came back into the room.

She sat next to him on the couch. “What?”

“I put some money into the kids’ college fund today. A good bit of money, in fact.”

“Daddy...”

“I wanted to. There’s nothing more important than a good education. I know you and Virgil are successful. You got money, I know. But this will help y’all breathe a little easier. That’s all it is. Just want to help you out.”

“But you’re going to retire. You don’t want to think about it but that day will come. I don’t want you to come up short.”

“I got my pension from the MPD, and the army, and I got my Social Security checks. This house been paid for. I’m flush. This is extra, Sharon. Investments I made a long time ago that have grown. It’s money I don’t need. I want it to go to my grandchildren, to give them a leg up. Don’t argue with me, now.”

“Okay.”

“Come here.”

They hugged and he walked her to the front door. She was his height. Sharon had got her size from her mother. Ida had been tall and straight of back, a standout athlete in the Inter-High. It had been hard on Ida, so healthy all her life, to have her body deteriorate as rapidly as it did. She was gone two months after her initial diagnosis.

Ward watched Sharon get into her Japanese sedan and drive away.

He didn’t need the money, it was true. He was happy to give his grandchildren the opportunity for college that he himself had not taken. It was a bonus from the jobs, but not the reason he took them. Ward didn’t lie to himself and say that what he did with Phil Ornazian was for the kids.

He had met Ornazian a few years back, through another middle-aged veteran of the MPD, an Irishman named Liam Shannon, also out of 4D. Ornazian had a client whose wife had been kidnapped over a drug beef, a street snatch unreported to the police. When there was potential violence involved, Ornazian used ex-cops for his security detail, and Shannon was his point man. Shannon, in effect, rounded up the crew. The first time they worked together, Ornazian saw something in Ward. Ornazian said it was how he handled himself. With authority, he said. He might have added that Ward was aggressive and unafraid.

Shannon was straight and Ward was open to suggestion, so Ornazian began to cut him in on side jobs that relieved criminals of their ill-gotten gains. It had been a good partnership so far. Ward realized that Ornazian was playing on his distaste for men who ran women. Ornazian knew, from an early conversation they’d had, that Ward’s sister had been lost to the streets.