Fear Itself

13

THE FIFTH SYMPHONY WAS PLAYING when I entered the Emerald Lounge that afternoon. Fearless sat at the same table where Brenda had cried on my shoulder. His face was tilted upward, taking in the deep percussion of that long-ago music. I was sure that he was thinking about Brenda.

“Fearless.”

“Paris.”

I sat down and he brought his gaze back down to earth.

“We got deep trouble,” I said.

“Let’s hear it.”

I told him about Hercules Wexler first. Then I went into Bartholomew Perry, Milo Sweet, and Winifred L. Fine. After that I told him about the cops’ visit, and finally I mentioned the dead woman in the park who had the same last name as Hercules.

“Damn, Paris. What’s it all about?”

“I don’t know. I mean, some parts make sense. BB and his father sell used cars, and so did the Wexlers, at least Hercules. Winifred must have heard something, and so she’s looking for BB. The cops lookin’ for Bartholomew because of Minna Wexler.”

“Why you say that?”

“What?”

“About BB and the dead white girl.”

“You ever see BB when he wasn’t with a girl either white or look like she was?” I asked.

“No . . . but that don’t mean he was with her.”

“I’d lay odds that he was, though.”

“But even so, what’s that got to do with me?” Fearless asked.

“Kit bought his used trucks hot from BB. I got that from Milo, who heard it from that man lookin’ for you—Timmerman. Kit also knew Hercules, and he’d been to a rich black woman’s house. That woman is BB’s auntie and she’s the one hired Milo in the first place.”

“But does that tell us why the cops are after me?”

“You looked for Kit. Maybe somebody mentioned it somewhere along the way when them cops was lookin’.”

“Damn, Paris. You know I have broke the law a time or two and the cops never got me. Wouldn’t be a kick in the head if I went down for somethin’ I don’t even know about?”

“Did Kit have any partners in the business?” I asked. “I mean, leasin’ the land and gettin’ those trucks must’a cost somethin’.”

“Maybe Maynard’d know.”

“That’s the guy used to ride Kit in?”

“Uh-huh. He might know sumpin’ ’bout that Hercules too.”

“I don’t know, Fearless. If he didn’t tell you I don’t see why he’d tell Maynard. Were they good friends?”

“Not really.”

“What about that big payday Kit was braggin’ on?” I asked. “Did he say anything more about that?”

Fearless pulled his lips into his mouth and shook his head.

I sat back then, letting the brass horns wash over my recent memories. I remembered being scared awake by Fearless and then by the white man.

“And then there’s Teddy Timmerman,” I said.

“What about him?”

“Milo is the one that sent him after you. So it just stands to reason that Milo knows more about you than you do.”

“So then we got to go ask Milo some hard questions,” Fearless said.

“But he ain’t gonna open up unless we have the right words.”

“What’s them, Paris?”

“First we got to get a little closer to BB. Best way to do that is to go out and see Esau.”

“Who’s that?” Fearless asked.

“That’s BB’s father. He’s the man owns that used car lot down near Compton.”

“Your car or mine?” Fearless asked me.

“You got a car now?”

“I took Ambrosia’s Chrysler.”

“I thought she was mad at you.”

“No, Paris, she’s mad at you.” Fearless grinned.

“Let’s each of us drive,” I said. “’Cause if the cops drop down on you, at least I’ll be free to get you out.”

“Okay.”

“So let’s get goin’,” I said.

“Hold up, Paris. Ludwig is playin’. Might as well let him finish the number.”

So we sat through the movements of Beethoven’s Fifth in Watts, California, 1955. While listening I smiled thinking about the balding Officer Morrain. If he had come into the lounge, he would have suspected it as a front for some devilment because of that music. That’s why the police had so much trouble with the Negro community: they refused to see us as we appeared right there before their eyes.

ON THE DRIVE OVER I WAS BEHIND A BEAT-UP DODGE that didn’t have much pickup. The Dodge pulled out as the light turned amber, entering the intersection. The driver obviously thought he could make it before the crossing traffic made its move. Maybe he was used to driving a car with more pickup. But an oncoming Pontiac was already into a left turn and a Ford had come to the light moving fast. Between those two automobiles the Dodge was bent nearly into an L. I stopped but a few pedestrians got to the accident first. They dragged the body of the driver out and then his passenger, a middle-aged white woman. Blood covered her face and she was speaking rapidly.

I wanted to help but the sight of blood repelled me. I don’t have a strong stomach or a brave heart. One of the reasons I remained friends with Fearless was that he never looked down on me for being scared.

“Scared as you are,” he’d tell me, “you still get up every day just like men think they brave.”

I pulled up to the curb a block from the accident to compose myself. Sirens were wailing from somewhere far off. People streamed toward the scene of the crash. I sat in the car massaging my temples and thinking of reasons that Kit Mitchell would have easy access to a white car salesman’s penthouse. I also wondered how a car salesman, regardless of his race, could afford such a nice house.

ESAU HAD AN UNPAVED LOT down on a dirt street off of Aprilla in the county. There was no sign or flagpole to mark it. There wasn’t even a fence, just twenty or so cars parked every which way, with an unpainted hut set somewhere near the middle.

When I got there Fearless was already at the hut, talking to Esau.

“Hey, Paris,” he hailed. “What took you?”

“Mr. Perry,” I said. I held out my hand to the elder man. “My name’s Paris Minton.”

“What’s up, Mr. Minton? Your friend Fearless said that you wanted to talk to me. You wanna buy a car?”

“No sir. I’ve been hired by your ex-sister-in-law, Miss Winifred L. Fine, to locate your son, and I was wondering why she didn’t ask you.” I decided on the direct approach partly because I didn’t trust anyone I was dealing with and partly because I liked the way Esau looked.

He had shiny black skin and tight eyes. His hands were thick but he was a lightweight. At sixty he probably could wear the same pants he put on when he was a twenty-year-old. He wore a gray pair of coveralls that had an emblem for the defunct Oklahoma Star Oil Company over the left breast. He was the kind of man who lived in my New Iberia neighborhood in Louisiana; the kind of man who could make a living with just two sticks and a cupful of spit.

“She hired you to find him, huh?” Esau said. “She tell you why?”

“No sir, she didn’t. And so I wanted to make sure that there wasn’t some bad blood between the two families that I was gettin’ mixed up with.”

“Well,” Esau said. “Winnie never liked me too much. When her sister and me got married she refused to come to the wedding. Then, after Honey left me and went back to Winnie, they didn’t even tell me she was sick until after she died.”

“Your wife died and they didn’t even tell you about it?” Fearless asked.

“By that time we was already divorced. Honey had moved back with Winnie and I kept BB.”

“Why would Miss Fine want to see Bartholomew now?”

“She always liked the boy. More because he was blood than anything he did, I think. Every now and then they’d get together at her place out in the desert. She got what she call a cabin outside of A Thousand Palms.”

“But you’ve never seen her?” I asked.

“She used to invite me and BB for a Thanksgivin’ dinner. I’d go when BB was a boy, for family, you know. But now he’s grown I stay home.” Esau shrugged and pulled a pack of cigarettes from the pocket of a T-shirt under his coveralls. “Want one?”

Fearless shook his head but I accepted the cigarette, and the light that came after.

“But you’re not bothered that she hired me to look for him?”

“Naw. She wanna find him, that’s okay by me.”

“Why didn’t she just call you?”

“She did. At least that Oscar did.”

“When?”

“Week ago. ’Bout that. Maybe eight days.”

“And what you tell him?”

“That I don’t know where BB is. He met some girl a few months ago. They go off together all the time. The two of ’em.”

“White girl?” I asked.

“I see you know my Bartholomew.”

“You know her name?”

“Me an’ BB didn’t talk all that much about his personal life. I didn’t ask an’ he didn’t say.”

“You know somebody who might know?” I asked.

“Them peoples down at Hoochie’s might could know,” Esau speculated.

“That place on Hoover?” I asked, just to be sure. “The dance club?”

Esau nodded.

“Did he ever say anything about a man named Kit Mitchell?”

“No,” Esau said, a little too fast and a little too sure.

“You got any cars for fifty bucks, Mr. Perry?” Fearless asked.

“Couple’a Fords like your friend’s the cheapest I got. Lowest price is two twenty-five, though.”

“Lemme think about that for a while.” Fearless put his hand on my shoulder then and I nodded.

“Guess it’s time to go.”

“Mr. Minton,” Esau said.

“Yes sir?”

“Tell BB I’d like to talk to him before he sees Winifred. Tell him, well, just tell him that I’d like to talk.”