Fearless Jones

31

FEARLESS AND DORTHEA were asleep in the bedroom when I got back to our apartment at a little past five. I’d dropped Gella off at her place twenty minutes earlier. When we neared her house she worried that maybe Morris came home while she was gone and that he’d be worried about her. I kept my silence, telling myself that it would be less painful this way.

“Paris?” Fearless said from the bed.

“What time is it?” Dorthea groaned.

“Go back to sleep,” Fearless told her.

He threw on his clothes and met me in the kitchen of our little unit. I breathed Morris’s suicide in a whisper. It wasn’t until we got in the car and were driving that I told him the rest.

“And you didn’t tell her that her husband was upstairs,” he said, “dead?”

“I told you, man. It was nighttime, and they had already called her about Sol. And the dude was stone-cold dead. She couldn’t’a helped him. How would it have been good for her to see the husband she loved with his neck stretched out a foot long on a hemp rope, his dick stuck out, and his piss all over the floor?”

“I don’t know about all that,” Fearless chided, “and neither do you. All I know is that a man’s wife deserves to know when he’s dead.”

“He left a suicide note too,” I said.

“He did?”

“Yeah. I took it.”

“Now why you wanna do that?”

“’Cause sometimes I must think that I’m you,” I said.

“What’s that s’posed to mean?”

“First off, he wrote it to a prostitute named Lily. The whole thing was written to her.”

“Girlfriend?”

“By the hour,” I said. “And that ain’t all. Morris the one killed Fanny.”

“No.” Fearless turned to me in wonder.

“Morris wrote it down that he told her on the drive over to her house that the man he had been working for, Zev Minor, a man she had never met, was actually a guy named Zimmerman. He was feeling guilty over what happened to Sol and scared about what might happen still. Fanny went a little crazy when Morris told her that. She screamed at him and yelled at him and said that she was going to raise hell. He dropped her off and then got scared. He said that he went to his car and then came back to knock on the door, but she wouldn’t let him in.

“And then he went around to the back to kill her?” Fearless asked.

“No. At least he said it was just to talk her out of going to the police. It seems that the policies that Minor had been writing weren’t exactly legal and Morris was listed as the agent for all of them. He said that he went to the back door, but she wouldn’t let him in. Then she said she was calling the police. When he saw her pick up the phone he went crazy. He broke the window in with a rock. After that he said that he didn’t remember anything until he came back when we were there.”

“I don’t get it,” Fearless said. “Why would Fanny go to the police? She said she didn’t like the cops. An’ even if she would go, why would she tell on her own family? I mean, I know she didn’t like the boy, but damn.”

“It’s ’cause of Minor. Morris wrote it in the note,” I said. “He said that he’d been working for the man who called himself Minor. But his name was really Zimmerman, a Jew that worked with the Nazis to fool wealthy Jews who had hidden their wealth from the Germans. He told the Jews that they could buy their freedom, but it was a lie.”

I glanced over at Fearless. His jawbones were standing out because of his clenched teeth. No black man liked the notion of the concentration camps; we had lived in labor camps the first 250 years of our residence in America. And for Fearless it was even worse; he had actually seen the camps. He knew the price of this treachery firsthand.

“Why would Gella’s husband work for a man like that?”

“He didn’t know at first. Minor came to him after Sol was convicted and gave him a part-time job working as an art insurance agent. Then, after a few months went by, Minor told Morris that he was working secretly for the Israeli government. He said that Sol had embezzled money that was meant to go to Israel. Sol was already in prison, and Minor wanted Morris to find out from Fanny what he’d done with the money. Slowly Morris figured out that Minor was Zimmerman, but by then he got greedy. Morris tried to find out from Fanny where the money was. But Sol was too slick, he had covered up his business. Fanny didn’t know anything, and there were no records left to be found.”

“And where was this money that Sol could steal it?” asked Fearless.

“I don’t know for sure, but as close as I can figure, Minor was selling off the art treasures through Lawson and Widlow and then giving the buyers some kinda fake history through his insurance company. Lawson and Widlow must have been holding the money, and when Sol found that out, he embezzled it and converted it into bonds. When Morris couldn’t get a line on the dough, Minor came up with Plan B.”

“Leon,” Fearless said with conviction.

I nodded. “Reverend Grove went to Lawson and Widlow with the bond he was holdin’ for Elana. They went to Minor or Zimmerman or whatever you wanna call him. He must’a told them about Leon’s deal with Sol, and Minor went to work getting Leon outta prison.”

“All that was in the note?” Fearless asked.

“Naw. Just about Minor, and Morris workin’ for him. I been figurin’ the rest out myself. Minor figured that the bond was linked somehow to the rest of the money that Sol stole.”

“But that don’t make no sense, Paris,” Fearless said after a long ponder.

“What?”

“Minor spendin’ all that time and money to get at the bond. By the time Leon got outta jail, it should’a been gone.”

“No. The bank needed Sol to cash it, and even if Elana had passed it on, she might have written the numbers down or at least remembered who she gave it to.”

“Oh,” Fearless said. I don’t think that Fearless was incapable of understanding me, he just wasn’t interested in my puzzler’s mind.

“Minor and Leon still lookin’, but I just might know where the bond landed.”

“Oh yeah?” Fearless said.

THE EXETER HOTEL ON Hooper had a red velvet phone booth with a louvered door that shut out all noise and gave the caller a good deal of privacy. I dialed the phone number that I’d put in my pocket for safekeeping four days before.

“Pine Grove Hotel,” a fresh, young female voice declared.

I hung up.

“JOHN MANLY,” I said to the hotel clerk.

“And to what is this pertaining?” the snooty, suited white man asked.

“He the one wanna see me, man.” I was being needlessly argumentative. “Just tell him that I have something to tell him about Sol Tannenbaum.”

“Maybe you’d prefer to leave a message,” the coal-eyed, hollow-chested clerk suggested.

“Maybe you don’t understand English,” Fearless said.

The clerk dialed a few numbers. He picked at the cord nervously while shooting glances at my friend. I thought he was calling for help, but instead he said, “Mr. Manly? I have two men down here who want to talk to you about a Mr. Tannenbaum.”

I smiled and nodded.

“But sir,” the clerk said. “Wouldn’t you prefer to come down and meet them first?”

The clerk didn’t like the answer he was getting.

“Yes sir. I’ll send them up directly.” He put the phone down behind the counter somewhere, then took up a brass bell, which he shook, causing a shrill ring.

A Negro bellman came running from somewhere. Ignoring us he spoke to the hotel clerk. “Yes, Mr. Corman?”

“Not you, Randolph. I want Billings.”

“Yes sir,” Randy said, and he darted away.

While we waited, Mr. Corman became very interested in a loose thread on his jacket sleeve. He took out a pair of scissors and tried to see if he could cut the errant strand at the root. But the run was halfway between his wrist and elbow and it was impossible to hold the thread and cut it at the same time. It was a dilemma. He couldn’t cut the string without taking off his jacket and couldn’t take off his jacket while standing at the front desk. But he couldn’t leave his desk with two Negroes standing there unattended.

“Are we waiting for something?” I asked.

Mr. Corman concentrated on his sleeve.

A new bellman, white this time, came to the desk.

“Yes, Mr. Corman?” he asked, just as fawning as Randolph had been.

“See these gentlemen up to three-twenty-two.”

“Yes sir.”

The walk through the lobby with its plush carpets and potted bird-of-paradise plants was even more humiliating than Corman’s condescension. The women wore fine clothes and all the men had suits on. I was in the same tired slacks and loose shirt, in shoes that had done more than their share of walking. It felt like going to church in your dirty work clothes.

We didn’t molest our escort. It wasn’t his fault that he had to accompany us every step of the way. He knocked for us. The door was answered by a handsome and well-built white man in his late twenties. The same man I had seen bidding farewell to Sergeant Latham and Elana Love.

“Mr. Manly?” I asked affably.

“Thank you,” the bellman Billings was saying to Fearless, and I realized that my friend had given our warden a tip.

“Mr. —?” Manly hesitated.

“Minton,” I said. “And this is Mr. Jones. May we come in?”

“What is this about?”

“It’s about a Jewish fortune stolen by Nazis and one turncoat Jew named —”

“Come in,” the man who answered to the name John Manly said. He backed up, ushering us into the sitting room of a large suite. A yellow couch and four blue chairs were arranged around a table with all kinds of official-looking papers on it. The room was heavy with strange-smelling tobacco smoke. It wasn’t an American blend.

From a side door two more men entered. One was short with heavily muscled arms. He wore a gray T-shirt and ocher pants with no shoes. He had a big belly and a hawkish nose. He wasn’t happy to see us, but from the look of that scowl, I doubted if much made him happy. The third man, and the youngest of the three, was taller and sleeker than Fearless. His skin was pale, and he wore a small black cap on the back of his head.

“This is Ari,” Manly said, pointing at the shorter man, “and Lev.”

We stood there for a moment, wondering what manners to follow.

“Would you gentlemen like to sit down?” Manly asked us.

Fearless moved for a blue chair, I followed suit. Manly took a seat on the yellow couch, but Lev and Ari stayed on their feet.

A pair of glass doors led out to a vine-encircled patio. The sun shone in, slightly green from the vines.

“What do you have to tell us?” Manly inquired.

I was getting ready to launch into the business at hand, but Fearless beat me to it.

“Sol an’ Fanny Tannenbaum’s dead,” he said, “an’ I don’t like it one bit. They was good people, and I promised to look after ’em. I got a pretty good idea’a who killed ’em, but I want to get the man that was the cause of their death.”

Manly glanced at the stocky Ari. The latter hunched his shoulders and turned down his lips.

“That has nothing to do with us,” Manly said.

“That’s a bunch’a shit,” Fearless said. “You want the lost money, the money that Sol took. Whoever killed him was after that. An’ if it’s you, I’m’a find it out.”

I came for a parley and found myself on the verge of war.

“Vat do ve care about you?” Ari said in a surprisingly high voice. Fearless stood up.

“You don’t wanna know what I can do.” The motherfucker wasn’t said, but everyone in that room heard it.

Ari looked like he wanted to test Fearless’s claim.

“We didn’t have anything to do with the Tannenbaums’ deaths.” Manly was tense but still thinking.

“What do you know about a man named Zimmerman?” Fearless asked.

I didn’t think that the atmosphere could stand any more tension, but the mention of that name caused tremors in all three of our hosts.

“Vat do you know about Zimmerman?” Ari demanded.

“I think it was him caused Sol and Fanny’s killing,” Fearless said. “You know I do, ’cause if I didn’t, I’d’a come in here with my guns blazin’.”

“Zimmerman,” Lev uttered his first word since we entered. “Zimmerman.”

“Why’ont you two guys sit down here with us?” Fearless demanded. “Either we gonna fight or we gonna talk.”

Ari was still taking Fearless’s measure when Lev took a seat.

“Sit down, Ari,” Manly said.

“I want the finder’s fee,” I said.

Maybe I was a little hoarse, because Manly asked, “What did you say?”

“The finder’s fee,” I said, clearing my throat as I did so. “I want the finder’s fee.”

“Vat is it you do for this?” Ari asked.

“We know how you can get to the money,” Fearless said with absolute confidence. “But we don’t tell you a thing unless you tell us about Zimmerman.”

“If you’re talking about the bond that Hedva Tannenbaum gave the woman, it is useless,” Lev said. “The policeman brought her here with it. We took the number and our people checked it. It was a single issue. Tannenbaum had no other dealings with that bank.”

“I ain’t talkin’ ’bout no bond,” Fearless said. “I’m talkin’ ’bout the money, the money you guys is lookin’ for.”

“Why would we believe that you can help us?” Manly asked Fearless.

“Morris Greenspan killed himself last night,” Fearless said. “He left a note. He been workin’ for a man called hisself Minor, and then he fount out what Sol did with the money. But then he fount out who Minor was.”

There was a question in John Manly’s gaze.

“Zimmerman,” I replied.

Manly sat back and considered. There was an arrogant twist to his lips. He looked at each of his friends, making eye movements that I couldn’t read.

“Where is this note?” Manly cocked his head to the side as if he were trying to see if the suicide note was hanging out of one of our pockets.

“Where’s Zimmerman?” Fearless asked.

Manly answered, “We will pay you to tell us where the money is,” not as an offer but as a foregone conclusion.

That sounded like a good first step to me. All we had to do was talk about a number; no thugs or blood or blackjacks.

Fearless stood up and said, “Come on, Paris.”

Ari stood up too.

“No,” Manly said. “Sit down, both of you.”

There wasn’t much give in either of the gladiators. So I asked a question.

“Where you guys from?”

“We are foreigners,” Manly said.

“From Israel, I bet.”

That somehow broke the standoff. Both Fearless and Ari took their seats.

“We are here to reclaim the wealth of our people,” Lev said. His strained voice warbled with emotion that he bore like an open wound.

“Lev —” Manly began, but he was stopped by an upheld hand. I was surprised to see that the pale kid was the senior statesman among the bunch.

“This man, this Abraham Zimmerman, he helped the Nazis to steal it, and we are here to get it back.”

“Steal what?” I asked. I was pretty sure of the answer, but I wanted to see what they would say.

“They took everything,” Lev said. “The gold from our teeth, the hair from our heads. They took our pocket watches and our wallets. And if you were rich and you hid your jewels and paintings and furs, then Zimmerman was sent in to sell your freedom for what you had hidden away. He and his Nazi friends hid them again…” Lev’s words trailed off, and he stared into space.

“Where is Zimmerman?” Fearless said, always wanting to cut to the chase.

“We don’t know,” Lev said after making the grimace of a man swallowing a bitter draft.

“What’s this all about?” I asked the pale kid. Somehow I felt a connection with him.

“Zimmerman is a Jew…,” Lev began.

When Ari heard this, he spat on the floor.

“We already know the part about Zimmerman robbing the rich Jews who thought they could buy their way out of the slaughterhouse,” I said.

Lev caught the last word and looked into my eyes.

“Yes,” he said. “Many of those wealthy men had converted their money into art treasures and gold. David Tannenbaum found out about the sale —”

“— of those jewelry-making tools that the Rothschild’s jewelers had at one time,” I said, finishing the sentence.

“He knew that these tools had belonged to his nephew and so contacted our government,” Lev said, continuing, “but they told him that we could do nothing without proof.”

“Why don’t you just go over to those accountants and make ’em give it up?” Fearless suggested.

Squat, muscle-bound Ari grunted in agreement.

“The American government frowns on agents of foreign powers threatening their citizens,” Lev explained. “We have no proof that this property was stolen. There were only thirty families that these Nazis and their dog, Zimmerman, took from. And they are all dead. The treasures were private property, and the papers of ownership were part of the devil’s bargain. Our actions must be beyond criticism. So we ask for help from those who sympathize with our goals.”

“That include hirin’ a crooked cop to scare Fanny Tannenbaum and kill Conrad Till?” I asked, none too friendly.

“Do you know Israel?” Lev asked.

“What you read in the papers,” I said.

“We made our own nation,” the pale leader intoned. “We have taken back our lives and our history even though they have tried to destroy us all.”

“If you and Sol believe in the same thing, why didn’t you just ask him for the money?” I knew about Israel; I knew about Marcus Garvey too, and I didn’t have the heart to hear about Garvey’s dream coming true in another man’s world.

“We did,” Lev said. “We did, but like I told you, we are not official. We could not prove to him who we were, and no official of our government would vouch for us.”

“If he didn’t believe you, then why should we?” I asked.

“All you have to believe is our money,” Ari said derisively.

“What about Till?” Fearless asked.

Lev brought the upturned palms of his hands up to the level of his shoulders. “We read that he died of a heart attack.”

“You know better than that,” I said.

“We are not murderers, Mr. Minton. We would not kill a man who has not committed a crime against us. The policeman was, how do you say, suggested to us by people we know. We did not trust him. We did not tell him to kill. We only wanted the bond that Fanny Tannenbaum gave to Leon Douglas.”

“Okay,” I said. “Now here you guys is livin’ in the lap’a luxury, fresh off the boat from Israel, don’t know a damn thing and ain’t got no friends to help you, except one crooked cop; but still you go lookin’ for a bond changed hands between Sol Tannenbaum and Leon Douglas’s girlfriend. That don’t even add up to numbers, man.”

John Manly spoke up then. “Mr. Latham was not an honest man, but he was a good detective. When David Tannenbaum was still in prison, the good sergeant found out that Leon Douglas was his protector. When Leon was released, Latham became suspicious. He was already keeping an eye on Hedva and David through a friend of his who was a policeman in their neighborhood.”

Ari muttered something in Fanny’s tongue. I didn’t understand a single word except for svartza.

“You ain’t listenin’ to me, brother,” Fearless said. “We want the dude caused it all; we want him to pay for what he did. Money’s nice — we could all use some, I’m sure — but this is about making the traitor Jew pay for what he did.”

“But we don’t know where he is,” Manly insisted.

“If we did, we would have him already,” Lev added.

“Are you after the thief or the money he stole?” Fearless impressed me with his question.

Lev hesitated a moment too long before replying, “Both of course.”

“You tell us where to find Zimmerman, and we give you the suicide note,” Fearless said.

The men were all silent. I couldn’t tell the mood of the room, so I decided to concentrate on the kid. If a fight broke out, I figured I could take him — at least I could try.

“He’s with his old Nazi overboss, Otto Holderlin,” John Manly added. “If we knew where he was, we would demand his arrest. But I doubt that we will find him.”

“Why’s that?” I asked.

“From what we could find out, his accountants were moving his monies to Equador, Brazil, and Panama. Herr Zimmerman is moving south for the weather.”

“How much you pay for the money if we lead you to it?” I asked.

“Thirty thousand dollars.”

“But you don’t get a thing,” Fearless said to the Israelis, “till we see about Zimmerman.”