A Little Yellow Dog

29

Rupert works for two white men,” I was saying at the Dunkin’ Donuts franchise down near La Cienega and Pico. Bonnie had taken her coffee with two creams and two sugars. “Philly Stetz and a guy named Beam.”

We had gone down to the back of the building and out through the laundry window. I didn’t know if Rupert was outside, if he was armed, or if Li’l Joe was with him. But even if he was alone and unarmed, I doubted my ability to stop him from taking Bonnie.

We tripped and stumbled through a cluttered cement deck that offered the building’s trash cans to the alley. A German shepherd growled and barked once but he backed down when I took a metal lid from the nearest can. Dogs had become my least favorite creatures over the past few days.

We caught a bus to a cab stand on Jefferson. From there we took a taxi to the doughnut shop. I was in no rush to take this woman into my home. I mean, I liked her but I loved those kids.

“You know either one of them?” I asked.

She shook her head.

“Well, what do you know?”

“I don’t know much, Mr. Rawlins. For instance, I don’t know if I can trust you.”

“Hey.” I held up my hands. “You sure in hell cain’t trust Rupert.”

For some reason that made her laugh. She brought her hand to her lips in an attempt to suppress the giggles.

“What’s so funny?”

She tried to talk but the laugh wouldn’t let her.

Bonnie put her fingers at the back of my hand to steady herself.

“You looked pretty funny there,” she said.

“Where?”

“At my place. Your face got all cockeyed and you were holding that pan like it was a fly…” She couldn’t manage to finish for laughing. “A flyswatter.”

I laughed then. I was thinking that Rupert did resemble a fly. A big ugly fly who had had his wings clipped.

“You were so scared.” She laughed some more. “Kinda cute though.”

“More than cute,” I said in a somber tone. “If you would of opened that door you’d be dead right now.”

“You don’t know that,” she said defiantly.

“They killed Idabell, Bonnie.”

She shook her head the smallest little bit and winced.

“I was comin’ to leave you that note and she stayed down in the car. It was raining and she didn’t want to get wet but I think that she was also afraid to see you after what her people did. While I was up at your door somebody shot her in the head.”

“The police didn’t say that.”

“Uh-uh. The cops you talked to don’t know yet. The Santa Monica police found her but she didn’t have no ID.”

“Why? Why would they do that?”

“Because somebody was waitin’ for you. Because they saw me drive up an’ leave her in the car. Because she had something they wanted.”

“What could she have that would get her killed?”

“A child’s croquet set.”

I might as well have slapped her. Whatever words or arguments or points she had to make died in her throat. Her mouth hung open, silent.

“Come on,” I said. “I’ll take you over to my house. It’s not too far.”

The stewardess had on flat shoes and so the walk wasn’t too bad. It was about seven. A strong wind was blowing and light filled the weak blue sky. Cars moved with purpose on the broad boulevard.

Feather was in the front room laughing with Pharaoh. She stopped dead when she saw that a woman had come into the house. Feather didn’t have much experience with women in our house. Jesus brushed her hair and saw that she got dressed. I cooked the meals and wiped her nose. I answered her questions about right and wrong, good and bad.

She went from seven years old to three in a twinkling. With two fingers in her mouth and one up her nose she stared at Bonnie as if she had never seen a woman before.

Pharaoh was growling at me. Of course.

“Feather, this is Miss Shay,” I said.

Feather stared.

“Hi, Feather,” Bonnie said. “Are you playing with Pharaoh?” She bent down to scratch the dog behind his ears. He loved that, but not enough to stop eyeing me.

“His name is Frenchie,” Feather said, sticking out her stomach and rocking on the balls of her feet.

“Frenchie. That’s a nice name. Did you give him that name?”

“Uh-huh. I did because Daddy said that he was a French dog, um, Carolina.”

“I like Frenchie much better.”

Feather took her wet hand from her face and put her arms around Bonnie’s neck. Bonnie stood up with my girl in her arms.

She looked good like that.

“Will you be my mommy sometimes?” Feather asked.

“Hi, Dad.” Jesus came in from the back hall.

“This is my son, Jesus. Jesus, this is Miss Shay.”

“Hi,” Bonnie said. She stuck out her hand as far as she could while holding Feather. All three of them laughed at how silly it looked.

It was a regular family scene. All we had to do was to clean up a few murders and a matter of international dope smuggling, then we could move next door to Donna Reed.

Jesus and I made breakfast. That was his Bisquick phase. We turned out pancakes and sausages while Feather sat on Bonnie’s lap and Pharaoh took turns barking with them and snarling at me.

It was all over by eight-fifteen. Jesus took Feather off to school after which he was going to practice for track.

The smile faded from Bonnie’s face as the two children left.

“They’re beautiful,” she said sadly.

“I think so.”

There was an awkward moment then. We didn’t know each other, there were no common friends or interests we had — at least none that we knew about. The only thing we could do was talk about murder and neither one of us had the heart for any more talk like that.

“Where you from?” I asked.

“Originally?”

“Uh-huh.”

There was a tiny spot on her dress, over her left breast. It was probably a food stain. Something that she saw but then said to herself, “It’s just a little spot.”

Her beauty couldn’t be dampened by a blemish or a wrinkle.

“I was born in Guiana,” she said. “French Guiana’s what they call it. But I was raised in New Jersey. That’s why I can work for Air France. I’m fluent in French and American English.”

“Yeah. You’re the first black stewardess I ever heard of.”

“There’s lots of black people doing things outside of America.”

“You spend mosta your time outside America?”

“We do lots of flights to Africa. Algeria, the Sudan.”

“How come you live here then?” I asked.

It was an innocent question but I struck a nerve there.

We were still standing at the front door so I said, “Here, have a seat.” Bonnie sat on the couch. The brown one that I bought after I bled all over the old sofa.

“You want some coffee?” I asked.

“Would you?”

When I returned from the kitchen she’d calmed down a little. She tasted the brew and smiled when she saw that I put in the right amounts of sugar and milk.

“I came here because of Roman Gasteau.” She said it all at once, in a hard voice. “I met him in Paris. I mean, I was introduced to him by Idabell. He was her brother-in-law. He was from Philadelphia but spent a lot of time in New York. Paris was my home base but I flew into New York twice a week. Ida told him where I stayed and he looked me up.”

“So how’d you wind up here?”

“I liked Roman. He was fun and he made me miss living in the States. He’d spent a little while with me in Paris but then he was offered a job in Los Angeles. A blackjack dealer’s job in Gardena.” She looked at me as if to say, So. “Idabell was here. It’s not too hard to change your route if you have seniority. All I had to do was wait a few months for a slot to open up.”

“So you came to L.A. on a lark?” I was unconvinced.

“It wasn’t like that. Not really. Roman and I had gotten close. He wanted me to come to L.A. I thought it was because he was too jealous to leave me in Paris. I was flattered. I didn’t know that he was using me to make visits to Paris to set up some deal.

“Roman was wonderful to be around. He was playful and smart — he was a great dancer. And he believed that people should be responsible to their community. There’s an elderly couple who live in his apartment building, the Blanders. He used to do their shopping and once or twice he even paid their rent.

“From everything I knew about him he seemed perfect. So of course I wanted to come out here, to be with him and live near Idabell.”

“And then he made you his mule,” I said.

“He said that he was importing French toys that he sold on the side. He wanted me to bring them in now and then so that the tariffs wouldn’t cut into his profit. It was only toys. A set of Italian boccie balls, a dollhouse.”

“An’ you didn’t know?”

“Not until I forgot once. I left this set of wooden carpet balls on the plane. I forgot. When I got home and Romny came over he went crazy. I told him that I’d go back in the morning, that the ground crew had probably put the package in my basket. It had my name on it.

“He struck me. He knocked me down. I was afraid that he was going to kick me when he pulled me up by the hair and told me that he’d kill me if I didn’t go down with him right then to get it. He dragged me down there at three in the morning. I told him that that would be suspicious but he didn’t care. I had to sign all kinds of forms and I think the customs agent was suspicious but he knew me and let it go…. Roman took the balls to his car and left me to take a bus home.”

Bonnie trembled with the memories. I didn’t doubt a word that she said.

“What happened then?” I asked.

“I broke off with him. I put in for a transfer back to Europe but I’m still waiting for an open slot.”

“Did he threaten you?”

She nodded.

“That why old man Gillian is ready with his shotgun?”

“I didn’t know if it was drugs or something else, Mr. Rawlins. It didn’t matter, because he hit me. My mother always told me that you can’t let any man treat you like that.” The steel in her eyes was fine by me.

“But you did talk to him again.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Because of that croquet set. Because of that note Idabell wrote.”

I was pushing to see how far she would trust me.

“He came to my apartment after they beat him up.”

“Who?”

“The people he dealt with. He didn’t say who. He told me that they had made a deal for six deliveries but we’d only finished five—”

“So they were going to kill him,” I finished the sentence.

“And me,” she said. “He’d told them how he was getting the toys into the country. He said that they were going to kill me too unless I went along with it.”

“And you believed it?”

“You should have seen him. He was all beaten up. Bleeding, swollen. There were bruises and lumps all over his body.”

“So you told him yes.”

“I told him no.” Bonnie Shay reared back like a king cobra. “I told him to get out of my house. I told him to send his killers, but I wouldn’t be his whore.”

That phrase played over and over in my mind for the next few weeks, and years.

“So what’s the problem?” I asked, trying to seem unimpressed with her heroism.

“Holland got Idabell to do it.”

“How does that work?”

“Roman kept calling but I wouldn’t talk to him. I was afraid to go to the police, I didn’t even know what I would say. So I just waited it out. When nothing happened I thought that everything was okay.

“And then a month or so later Idabell calls and asks if we can spend a few days in Paris. She said that Holland was going out of town. I got her a ticket. It was only when we were landing in L.A. that I saw the croquet set. It had been delivered to our hotel and she got it without me knowing.”

“But why would she do that? She didn’t owe anything to Roman, did she?”

“It was because of Pharaoh.”

“The dog.”

“Roman promised to share the money with Holland if he would get Ida to do it. So Holland hid the dog and told Ida that he’d kill it if she didn’t do what he said. You know Ida’s crazy over that dog.”

“But who killed them?”

“I guess it was the people who they were doing business with. The man who came to my house today.”

It made sense. It was a simple case of a falling out among thieves.

“But maybe Idabell killed Holland,” I guessed out loud.

“No,” said Miss Shay. “I don’t believe that.”

“Maybe to save her dog?” I speculated. “That damn dog seems to be the reason for every problem we have.”

“Idabell wouldn’t even know how to kill a man. Where would she get a gun?”

“Out of her husband’s top drawer. That’s where most men keep their guns, you know. In the top drawer, next to the bed.” I was just talking. “So now what do you want to do?”

“What do you mean?” She looked around, coming aware that she was in a strange man’s house. After all, what did she know about me? Killers had kids too.

“You wanna go to the cops?” I offered.

“Maybe I should.”

“Maybe so. I mean, if your life is in danger then maybe the cops will help; maybe they’ll believe that you didn’t know what was going on. But if they don’t believe you you’ll be alive, but you’ll also be in jail.”

She stood up quickly and took a step toward the door.

I stayed in my chair.

“Why are you trying to scare me, Mr. Rawlins?”

“I’m not tryin’ to scare you, honey,” I sighed. “I’m just tryin’ to point out that we both want the same thing.”

“What’s that?”

“To be let alone. That’s all. We both got lives and jobs and we both want a future. Police don’t care about none’a that.”

Bonnie stared at the floor in front of my feet the same way that Jesus had.

“You want to sleep for a while?” I asked.

“I, I don’t know. I’m tired, but…”

“You can have my bed. I’m’onna be here for a while. You could get some sleep and then we’ll figure out what you should do.”

I took her into my room and she stretched out on top of the blankets. I spent the next half an hour in the kitchen going over the crimes in my mind again. Sanchez and Fogherty smelled the drugs somehow. I don’t think they knew what or how, because if they did they would have either left me alone or thrown me in jail.

No, they had suspicions, that’s all. They wanted to know more about the whiff of dope that stuck in their nostrils.

He didn’t know it, but Sanchez wanted Bonnie. I’d never give her to him. She wasn’t the kind of woman that a fool like me could give up.

When the phone started ringing I decided not to answer it. On the sixth ring I wondered who it was. On the tenth bell I picked up the receiver.

“Hello.”

“Hello, Mr. Rawlins,” Hiram T. Newgate bellowed. “I see that you’re still at home.”

“What do you want, Hiram?”

“What do you think? You’ve decided not to come in to work anymore. The police are investigating you for theft — maybe worse. I’m calling to ask for your resignation.”

“My what? Are you crazy?”

“I have a school to run,” he said. “A school. I can’t have the people working for me disappearing without a word.”

“Didn’t Stowe call you?”

“This isn’t his school. He can’t just take my people. And anyway, you aren’t even working. You’re at home.”

I moved the receiver from my ear, intent on slamming it down, but I checked myself.

“Mr. Newgate, listen to me.” I breathed through the sentence so that he could hear the hiss in my throat. “I’m doin’ a job for the area office. Mr. Stowe is my boss — not you. I work for him. He provides my services to you. If you have a complaint then call the grievance office — and lodge it.”

“I won’t have you working for me, Rawlins.”

“Good-bye,” I said. And we both hung up.

“Mr. Rawlins?” She was standing at the door to the kitchen.

“Yeah?” I let my eye settle on that small stain.

“I don’t want you to think I’m flirting with you,” she said.

“If this was you flirtin’, then love would strike me dead.”

She smiled and said, “Will you come lie next to me?”

“What?”

“You’re right, I’m very tired, but I’m scared in the bed alone. When I get up the room starts spinning. Just lie next to me — until I fall asleep.”

I sat up against the head of the bed while Bonnie lay curled toward me. We weren’t touching.

“Is she really dead?” Bonnie asked.

I didn’t answer her.

“I couldn’t go to sleep for thinking about it. I was afraid for her. I was afraid something would happen while I was gone.”

“You thought Holland or Roman would do something?” I asked.

Bonnie sat up and looked me in the eye. “Tell me what happened,” she said.

I told almost all of it. Not the lovemaking, I was shy about that, but I told her about meeting Idabell and taking her to Bonnie’s street. I told her what we talked about and about the man running through the rain. I told her about the park and Pharaoh’s cries.

“She deserved better,” Bonnie said.

“I know.”

She looked at me as closely as Sanchez had. And when I said my last words she nodded and allowed her eyes to fill with tears. Her intuition told her that I was telling the truth.

I’d never felt closer to another soul.

Bonnie lay on her side, facing me, a peaceful look on her sleeping face. I wanted to touch her, to run my hand down the curve of her breast. But instead I stayed on my back with my hands behind my head.

Most people say that a man loses his rational abilities when he gets sexually aroused. I’ve often found the opposite to be true. My mind is sometimes clearest when there’s no doubt about how I’m feeling.

The tiles began to fall together in my mind. The characters of my little play, living and dead, picked up their parts and rehearsed their lines. I started with a happy ending and then worked backwards from there.

“Mr. Rawlins?” I was down in Louisiana again working my hoe on a row of snap beans. “Mr. Rawlins?”

Bonnie was standing over me but she wasn’t looking at my face.

My hand was down over my crotch.

“It’s noon, Mr. Rawlins.”

“Easy.”

“What?”

“That’s my name. Call me Easy.”

She had a nice smile. “You should get up.”