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I followed her into the front room, where in the center Mr. Deese sat next to her desk. He

looked remarkably similar to DeVon Hardy--late forties, grayish hair and beard, thick

sunshades, bundled heavily like most homeless in early March. I examined him from a

distance as I walked to Mordecai's office to give him the news.

We approached him carefully, with Mordecai in charge of the interrogation. "Excuse

me," he said, very politely. "I'm Mordecai Green, one of the lawyers here. Can I ask you

some questions?"

Both of us were standing, looking down at Mr. Deese. He raised his head, said, "I guess

so."

"We're working on a case involving some people who used to live in an old warehouse at

the corner of Florida and New York," Mordecai explained slowly.

"I lived there," he said. I took a deep breath.

"You did?"

"Yep. Got kicked out."

"Yes, well, that's why we're involved. We represent some of the other people who were

kicked out. We think the eviction was wrongful." "You got that right."

"How long did you live there?"

"'Bout three months."

"Did you pay rent?"

"Sure did."

"To who?"

"Guy named Johnny."

"How much?"

"A hundred bucks a month, cash only."

"Why cash?"

"Didn't want no records."

"Do you know who owned the warehouse?"

"Nope." His answer came without hesitation, and I had trouble concealing my delight. If

Deese didn't know Gantry owned the building, how could he be afraid of him?

Mordecai pulled up a chair, and got serious with Mr. Deese. "We'd like to have you as a

client," he said.

"Do what?"

"We're suing some people over the eviction. It's our position that you folks were done

wrong when you got kicked out. We'd like to represent you, and sue on your behalf."

"But the apartment was illegal. That's why I was paying in cash."

"Doesn't matter. We can get you some money."

"How much?"

"I don't know yet. What have you got to lose?"

"Nothing, I guess."

I tapped Mordecai on the shoulder. We excused ourselves and withdrew into his office.

"What is it?" he asked.

"In light of what happened to Kito Spires, I think we should record his testimony. Now."

Mordecai scratched his beard. "Not a bad idea. Let's do an affidavit. He can sign it, Sofia

can notarize it, then if something happens to him, we can fight to get it admitted."

"Do we have a tape recorder?" I asked.

His eyes shot in all directions. "Yeah, somewhere."

Since he didn't know where it was, it would take a month to find it. "How about a video

camera?" I asked.

"Not here."

I thought for a second, then said, 'Tll run get mine. You and Sofia keep him occupied."

"He's not going anywhere."

"Good. Give me forty-five minutes."

I raced from the office and sped west toward Georgetown. The third number I tried from

my cell phone found Claire between classes. "What's wrong?" she asked.

"I need to borrow the video camera. I'm in a hurry."

"It hasn't been moved," she said, very slowly, trying to analyze things. "Why?"

"A deposition. Mind if I use it?"

"I guess not."

"Still in the living room?"

"Yes."

"Have you changed the locks?" I asked.

"No." For some reason, this made me feel better. I still had a key. I could come and go if

I wanted.

"What about the alarm code?"

"No. It's the same."

"Thanks. I'll call you later."

* * *

We placed Marquis Deese in an office empty of furniture but crowded with file cabinets.

He sat in a chair, a blank white wall behind him. I was the videographer, Sofia the notary,

Mordecai the interrogator. His answers could not have been more perfect.

We were finished in thirty minutes, all possible questions served up and answered. Deese

thought he knew where two of the other evictees were staying, and he promised to find

them.

Our plans were to file a separate lawsuit for each evictee we could locate; one at a time,

with plenty of notice to our friends at the Post. We knew Kelvin Lain was at the CCNV,

but he and Deese were the only two we'd been able to locate. Their cases were not worth

a lot of money--we would gladly settle them for twentyfive thousand each--but their

filing would heap more misery upon the beleaguered defendants.

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