Mulenga brushed the crumbs off his chest, took a swig of beer, thumped his bottle down on the table and kept talking. "We got feds investigating the county; they're investigating the former city administration; they're overseeing the Detroit Police Department. Is there anybody around here who hasn't attracted their attention?"

I shook my head. "It's a crying shame."

Mulenga headed to the fridge for another beer to lubricate his loquaciousness. "Oh, yeah, did you see that they dropped the death penalty charge against Mumia Abu-Jamal? It's about time something good happened for the brother. That makes my year regardless of what came before." 

"But he's still in jail for life."

"But if he ain't dead, that leaves the possibility he could get out."

"OK, what else should I write about?"

"I think I've given you a good start. I can't do it all for you." Mulenga stood up and stretched. I tried not to notice the expanse of belly that became visible. "I need to get out of here."

He slipped out the door. I heard his bike scrape against the side of the house. Then he pedaled away from the secure glow of my porch light into the darkness.

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