Fear Itself

43

IT’S FUNNY HOW YOU START OUT trying to help somebody else and end up in business for yourself. Fearless had come to me to find out why the cops were after him and what was going on with Leora and Son. That was all behind us, but there I was, still hanging in there, trying to make money out of thin air.

Bradford Craighton had gone into business for himself. Minna and Lance had come to him, the trusted family employee, and asked him to help make Maestro pay them for their crime. Bradford saw his chance. All those years working for the big man made him hungry for the real thing.

Paris is even more beautiful when you don’t have to walk to work every morning of your life.

But Kit took the book and called asking for more money than the down-at-heel secretary could raise. When Kit said that he’d go directly to the Fine family, Craighton thought that he’d lost his one chance. Then came Teddy Timmerman. But Timmerman also betrayed him. He killed the kids, killed Kit, and now Bradford was out on a limb. But there was the slight hope that he could still get the book.

The last two threats to my security were Maestro Wexler and the weasel Bradford. The master wanted to find the killer of his children and he looked to me as a guide. Of course I couldn’t very well turn over his secretary, because then I could be implicated in the secretary’s crime. And Bradford would need me out of the way sooner or later because I knew about his crimes.

I called the Seventy-seventh Street Precinct from a phone booth on Central Avenue.

“Police department,” a white woman answered.

“Sergeant Rawlway, please.”

“One moment.”

I waited through a series of clicks and buzzes. Finally there came another ring.

“Sergeant Rawlway speaking.”

“Good morning, sergeant. This is Paris Minton.”

“Oh. Hello, Mr. Minton. You’re a little late if you wanted to turn in your friend. We already found him.”

“It’s not that, sir. I know you talked to Fearless because he told me about it. He said that you were looking for a man named Kit Mitchell.”

“Mr. Jones really shouldn’t be discussing police business.”

“Maybe not, sir, but do you think it’s a coincidence that another man showed up at my door just yesterday asking me if I knew the whereabouts of Fearless or Kit?”

“What man?”

“A guy named Theodore Timmerman. At least that’s what he said his name was. He gave me a card with a number on it. Do you think that’s important?”

FEARLESS WAS AT MY HOUSE when I got there, shuffling a deck of cards. He was stretched out on the front room sofa—playing solitaire in a room full of books.

“Hey, Fearless —”

“I got bad news, Paris,” he said. “Somebody stole our money, man.”

“What money?”

“That we had in the trunk’a her car.”

“What about the book?”

“Book? Who cares about a book when we lost almost three thousand dollars and that emerald necklace?”

“Did they leave the book?”

“It was in the same bag as the money, man,” Fearless said. “They took it all.”

I sat down. If there hadn’t been a chair behind me I would have fallen to the floor.

“No,” was all I said.

“I know, Paris,” Fearless said. “I know.”

“Who would have known to take the money?”

“Ambrosia took the car to Tito’s Car Wash. I had driven it up into the Santa Monica mountains and it got kinda streaked. She was just gettin’ it clean if I wanted to drive around some more. You know at Tito’s they do the whole car. The trunk was wide open the whole time. They got at least twenty people workin’ there. And there’s a big sign sayin’ not to leave no valuables in the trunk.”

Up to that moment the loss of the Fine family chronicle was the worst defeat in my life. I forgot about the man who died at my hands and even the danger still posed by Maestro and his scheming secretary. I forgot about the police and their constant threat to my liberty. All that was left was the loss of more money than most Negro families made in an entire life of labor.

“Paris?”

“I’m goin’ to bed, Fearless,” I said.

He said something but I didn’t hear it. I scaled the stairs to my illegal loft. I don’t even remember getting into the bed. And I didn’t have one dream that I can remember. It was just as if I had died. That’s how far I’d fallen.

I DIDN’T FEEL HIM SHAKE ME but he must have. He’d stayed downstairs for nearly twenty hours, standing guard over my despair. When I opened my eyes Fearless was just sitting there in a chair beside my bed. He’d undressed me and covered me with blankets and a sheet.

“Hey, Paris. Feel better?”

“Ungh,” I said. “Ugh.”

A wave of nausea went through me and I got out of the bed and rushed down to the toilet. My head was aching and one of my nostrils was clogged. I’d lost a fortune because of a car wash attendant who would never know the value of the book he stole.

Fearless was at the kitchen table when I got there. He’d made pancakes with hot maple syrup and country sausage.

“Anybody call?” I asked.

“I took the phone off the hook, man. You needed your sleep.”

“Well, I better put it back. I got work to do.”

My first job was to read the morning paper.

Kit Mitchell had been found. He’d been dead for at least a week. There were signs that he’d been tortured before he died, but the cause of death was not immediately known.

Maybe, after I died and if I went to heaven, the celestial host would give me a medal for ending Theodore Timmerman’s rampage on earth.

RAWLWAY AND MORRAIN CAME BY at about five. Fearless went upstairs before I answered the door.

“Sergeant, officer,” I said in greeting at the door.

“May we come in, Mr. Minton?” Sergeant Rawlway asked.

“Sure can.”

They took seats this time and sat forward with clasped hands and elbows on their knees.

“We found some suspicious evidence at the house of the man you called us about,” Rawlway said.

“Oh yeah? What about him?”

The hairy cop just shook his head.

“Well,” I said, hesitating, “was there something else I could do for you?”

“What did you say his name was again?” Morrain asked in a surprisingly deferential tone.

“Timmerman,” I said. “Theodore Timmerman. Why?”

“His phone records and other papers seem to be a bit confused.”

“How do you mean?”

“He went by half a dozen names. And there were some very incriminating materials in his garage.”

“Really?”

“Just what did he say to you when he was here?” Rawlway asked. He took out the tiny notebook and small ballpoint pen made to scale.

“He asked if I knew a man named Fearless,” I said, looking up at the ceiling as if I had to think about my answer. “Then he asked about Kit. I told him that I didn’t know but I heard that Fearless worked for a man named Kit for a while but that was over now. He wanted to know Fearless’s address and I told him that I didn’t know. That’s when it got kinda strange.”

“How do you mean strange?”

“He put his hand on my forearm and squeezed it hard. Then he asked about Fearless again. It was as if he was testin’ me. You know his eyes were scary, and so I was happy that I passed.”

“Did he say anything else?” Morrain asked.

“No. He let me go and left.”

“How long ago was that?”

“Day before yesterday.”

“And you waited a whole day to call?” Rawlway asked.

“Yeah. Well, you know I didn’t wanna get involved. But then I woke up yesterday morning and I got worried. I tried to get in touch with Fearless but he’d gone somewhere. So then I called you guys because I don’t want my friend to get hurt.”

“It’s unusual for Negroes to willingly give up information to the cops,” Morrain speculated.

“Maybe about other Negroes, but Timmerman or whatever his name is is a white man.” Who died three feet from where you’re sitting, went through my mind.

“If Timmerman calls you again you should call us,” Rawlway was saying.

“You mean you didn’t catch him yet?” I said, putting a little fear in my voice. “I mean, what if he figures to come back here?”

“Don’t worry,” Morrain said. “We got his house covered. We’ll get him.”

“How can we get in touch with Fearless?” Rawlway wanted to know.

I gave them Ambrosia’s phone number and address. Fearless would call her and make sure she wasn’t helpful. Sooner or later he’d have to talk to the cops, but not before we finished our business.

AT NINE EXACTLY I called Bradford Craighton. He answered even before I heard the ring.

“Mr. Minton?”

“Hello, Bradford. I got what you wanted. I got even more than that.”

“Where?”

“Right here at Timmerman’s house. Fearless found the book and left it. He said that he didn’t see any reason to go runnin’ around with Timmerman in the hospital and the police lookin’ into three murders. You just bring my money here. Bring it and we’ll turn over the book to you.”

I never expected to see that money or anything else that was promised to me, but I had to act like I did. I gave him the Ogden address and he hung up the phone without even a good-bye.