A Little Yellow Dog

36

Where we goin’ now?” Mouse wanted to know.

“A place called the Hangar. It’s an after-hours place where all kinds of night-shift workers go after the whistle.”

“Oh, yeah,” Mouse said sadly. “I know that place. I used to go there a while back.”

“Yeah? What’s it like?” I was just making conversation.

Mouse concentrated on my question for quite a while. The way his eyes squinted and how he nodded his head now and then it seemed as if there were a whole dialogue going on in his head.

“I’ont think it’s wrong to kill somebody, Easy,” he said at last. “I mean, that’s what life is all about — killin’, killin’ to survive. You see it in bugs and animals — hell, even plants kill to survive. It couldn’t be a sin because I been hearin’ stories out the Bible my whole life; ev’rybody in there’s killin’ an’ gettin’ killed. An’ you know it ain’t really against the law, ’cause we both know a cop’ll snuff yo’ ass as easy as he could sneeze. Shit. Government kill more people than a murderin’ man could count an’ ain’t nobody takin’ no general to court. Uh-uh. No. It ain’t wrong.”

“So what you sayin’, Ray?” Most times I would have simply listened to Mouse and nodded where it seemed right; it doesn’t pay to get yourself too far into the logic of a killer. But seeing that we were going into a tough situation I wanted to know what I could expect out of my friend.

“I don’t know, man. I don’t have a gun on me but that’s just because I don’t wanna kill nobody right now. I mean, if I had to do it I could get me a firearm. But right now I just wanna see what it’s like to live wit’ your family an’ work at a job. But I ain’t scared. I’m lookin’ for a new way — that’s all.”

I didn’t know what he was talking about. The only facts that registered with me were that he didn’t have a gun on him and that he preferred not to kill — right then.

It looked like an empty lot from the street. If it wasn’t for the cars parked along the curb and in the lot you might have thought that you were on a country lane.

Behind the sycamores at the back of the lot was a small abandoned airplane hangar. It was a big room with a concrete floor and a wire-laced glass ceiling thirty feet above. It was dark and cool in the late evening.

But at the far end of the hangar was a door that led to what must have been the mechanics’ offices. That was where the new Hangar was.

That was a smaller room, about the size of a diner. Behind the counter there was a whiskey bar and a fry stove. It was early yet, only about one in the morning, and so there were only a few people around.

“Hey, Raymond,” a woman said. She got up off the seat at the counter and swayed over to us.

“Hey, Mattine,” Raymond answered. “How you been?”

“Fine,” she said, looking me up and down. “Where you been?”

“Got me a job,” he answered.

“You?” Mattine guffawed.

“What you-all drinkin’?” she asked me.

“Just some soda,” I said.

“And I’ll take a beer, honey,” Mouse added.

Mattine sucked her tooth, smiled, and then went to fill our orders. Mouse ushered me over to a small round table with two chrome-and-vinyl chairs. A pair of men sitting a few tables away waved at us. The man behind the bar saluted.

“They know you here, huh?” I asked my friend.

“Used to come here wit’ Sweet William,” he said.

I didn’t ask him any more about it.

Every now and then someone would drop by and say a few words but Mouse wasn’t very friendly and not many knew me.

“That was drugs you was talkin’ ’bout in the car, right, Easy?” Mouse asked after his second beer.

“Yeah.”

He waited for a while and then said, “One time half’a that woulda been mines.”

“What you mean?”

“You know what I mean,” he told me. “I woulda said half’a what happens from now on is mines. And I woulda backed that up with my forty-four. No lie.”

I knew the chance I was taking bringing Mouse back into the street. That was his element.

“But you ain’t sayin’ that now, huh?”

“I’m th’ough wit’ it,” he said, disgusted. “Sick of it. All that street shit. I won’t touch it.”

“But you don’t wanna stop me?” I was curious.

“Stop you what?”

“Stop me from givin’ dope to a gangster.”

“Why I care about that?” he asked.

“Because it’s wrong.”

“But it ain’t my wrong, man. It ain’t mine. That’s yo’ wrong an’ yo’ problem.”

“But you still sittin’ here with me,” I said.

“But I ain’t you, Easy. I sit here and you sit over there. That’s all there is to it.”

He might have changed but Mouse would always be different.

“Hey, man,” a crackling voice commanded. He could have been talking to me, so I looked up.

“Yeah?”

“What the fuck you doin’ here, dude?” the lanky, long-armed man said. There was a large man standing behind him; a sweaty fat man who looked to be formed from a pile of wet mud.

“I’m looking for a woman named—”

The man grabbed my collar but just as fast Mouse’s hand was on the man’s wrist.

“We don’t want no problem now, brother,” Mouse said.

The lanky man turned to Mouse. When he focused on Raymond’s face his eyes actually fluttered. The man behind him garbled, “Mr. Alexander.”

“Hey, Puddin’,” Mouse said to the glob of a man. “Ask your friend here to let go on Easy.”

“We didn’t know it was you, Mr. Alexander,” the lanky man said. He pulled his hand from me quickly as if he had gotten a shock.

“You boys don’t have to push on people. No need to do that. What’s your name, man?” Mouse smiled.

“Tony,” the lanky man said in a voice quite a bit higher than the one he used on me.

“Sit down, boys,” Mouse said. “Sit’own an’ we talk out our problem.”

The men got chairs and sat. I gestured to Mattine and she brought the newcomers beer.

“Now what’s your problem wit’ Easy?” Mouse asked.

“We, uh, well,” Puddin’ said. “We heard he was after our friend.”

“What friend?” I asked.

“Hannah Torres,” Tony said.

“I ain’t after her,” I said in the language I knew they’d understand. “Shit, she had her boss wop me upside the head and then he beat me. All I wanna know is why.”

“That don’t sound unreasonable,” Mouse said, holding up his beer in a gestured toast.

“Where is she?” I asked.

Our guests balked.

“Come on, men,” Mouse said. “Easy done said he ain’t mad.”

“She’s outside,” Puddin’ admitted. “Waitin’ in the car. We seen this man here when we come in the do’ an’ she pulled us out an’ told us that he was after her.”

“Just a guilty conscience,” I said.

“Go ask her in, boys,” Mouse advised. “We have us a few drinks an’ ev’rything be okay.”

Puddin’ and Tony reluctantly got up. They drifted back toward the door. I was sure that they were wondering if they could just get into their car and drive away. But I also knew that the fear of Mouse would make them stay.

“See that, Easy?” Mouse was jubilant.

“What?”

“Ain’t no need to be all mad an’ surly. All you got to do is talk. People will listen. You know Etta been tellin’ me that for years an’ I jus’ ain’t never paid her no mind.”

A few minutes later Puddin’ and Tony returned with Hannah between them. She didn’t seem to want to be coming. Tony had his hand around her upper arm.

“Here we are, Mr. Alexander,” Puddin’ warbled. “Here, tell Hannah it’s okay.”

“Have a seat, Hannah,” I said.

Mouse smiled, revealing his gold-encrusted teeth with joy at his newfound diplomacy.

This time we ordered whiskey — a pint of Canadian Club with a pail of chipped ice.

When they were half a drink down I asked, “Why you set me up like that, Hannah?”

She gulped and moved slightly as if she were going to rise. But then she settled down.

“I couldn’t help it,” she complained. “Mr. Beam asked me who you was an’ what you was askin’.”

“Why?”

“I’ont know. At first I just said that you was flirtin’ wit’ me. But then he grabbed me and said did I know you. I said no an’ that you was up here lookin’ for some money that Roman owed you.”

“But why would he care about me out of all the people come up there?” I asked.

“He knew you or sumpin’,” Hannah said. “ ’Cause the minute you walked away from me he was right there.”

“An’ then you told him about our date?”

“I really did like you,” was all Hannah had to say.

“Was it him hit me?” I asked.

“Naw,” she said and then she wavered. “Listen, Mr. Alexander, I don’t want no trouble. If you go back to Mr. Beam an’ tell’im I told you all this then he gonna get me.”

“Ain’t nobody gonna say nuthin’, sugar,” the new, beneficent Mouse said. “Easy just wanna know. Ain’t that right, Easy?”

“I won’t tell’im, Hannah. That is, if you don’t lie to me I won’t.”

“It was Rupert hit you. Rupert and Li’l Joe.”

“You with’em?”

“I didn’t know they was gonna hit you,” she cried. “They just said that they wanted to talk to you alone.”

I turned to Tony and his fat wadded friend. “Give us a minute, boys.”

“We ain’t goin’—” Tony started saying.

But he didn’t finish his sentence because I grabbed him by his throat and pulled him across the table.

“Move your ass or I’ll do it for you,” I said in a voice so hoarse and deep that it surprised me.

Mouse jumped up and put his hands between us, saying, “Hey, boys! Hold up! Stop it now!”

A few more people had come into the Hangar. They gawked while the bartender watched us closely.

Tony was trying to catch his breath. Puddin’ didn’t know what to do with his hands.

“Go on now, boys,” Mouse said. “We ain’t gonna hurt your girl. No no no no no no, Hannah. You stay here with us.”

It was almost funny. Me the one threatening violence and Mouse calmly trying to find solutions.

Tony and Puddin’ went to another table. Mattine came up to them and started asking questions, looking up at us now and then.

“Okay, Hannah,” I said. “Let’s get this over with.”

“What?”

“You know Philly Stetz?”

“Uh-huh,” she mumbled. “I work for him when you get down to it.”

“What does Stetz have to do with Beam?”

“Nuthin’ really, not that I know of anyway. Beam gambles an’ stuff. He up at the Black Chantilly a lot.”

“Did Roman work with Beam?”

“I don’t know if he worked with’im. I don’t know that. But they talked a lot.”

“And how about Rupert?”

“What about’im?”

“Who Rupert work for?” I was discovering my destination by asking directions.

“He work for Mr. Stetz, just like me.”

I stared at her, wanting something more but not knowing what it was. Beam knew me. He knew me before I walked into the club. There was only one way I knew of that he could have known; it had to be him, not Rupert, walking down Bonnie’s street away from my car.

It had to be him.

“You got any more questions?” Hannah asked.

When I didn’t answer she got up and went over to Tony and Puddin’.

I sat there thinking for a while, I don’t know how long. But when I looked up again the room was full of people.

I got up and walked over to Hannah and her friends. Mouse was there with them. I guess he was holding them for me.

“Hey, Tony,” I said as if I had forgotten to say something before.

“What?”

“You wanna talk to me a minute?”

“Talk,” he said coolly.

“Why’ont you come over wit’ me to the bar? I’ll get’em to freshen up that whiskey.”

It was the promise of liquor that drew Tony. When the bartender asked him his pleasure he answered, “Manhattan.” It was a sophisticated drink at that time. Tony ordered with a sneer of superior satisfaction.

I waited for him to finish his drink before I said, “Sorry ’bout before, man, but you know Hannah’s boss liked to kill me.”

“Uh-huh,” he grunted, not really accepting the apology.

Mouse was across the room gesturing at Puddin’ and Hannah like a schoolteacher, or a cop.

“Hannah says that you knew Roman Gasteau pretty well,” I said in way of a question.

“Him’n Holly too. So what?”

“What could you tell me about them?”

“Why should I tell you anything?” Tony was still petulant. The whiskey had cooled him down some though.

“Twenty dollars for anything you got to say and another twenty if it sound good t’me.” It was a sentence that I’d said many times in my life.

“What you wanna know?” he asked.

I handed over the first twenty dollars. “What business was Roman into?”

Tony rubbed his hand over his mouth and mumbled something.

“What you said?” I asked.

“White pow-ter.”

“Holland in it with him?”

“He wanted t’be.”

“What’s that mean?”

“Holland come ’round an’ talk like he was workin’ wit’ Romny but it weren’t true. Roman used to just laugh when people would talk about it.”

“You worked wit’ Roman though, right?” I asked.

Tony winced and stuck a finger into his ear. He rubbed his nose and then pulled up his loose trousers by the front belt loops.

He glowered at my chest and I asked my question again.

“I did some little errands,” he whispered. “You know Romny liked people t’do things for’im. But I wasn’t in his business. I only ever saw’im when he’d be at the Black Chantilly an’ I happened t’be ’round. You know usually I’m out back washin’ or carryin’ or sumpin’.”

“What kinda things you do?”

“Just get cigarettes an’ shit. Nuthin’ heavy. Nuthin’ could put me in jail.”

“Anybody know more about his powder business?”

Tony glowered again.

I took two twenties from my pocket.

His eyes almost closed. “A guy named Billy B,” he mumbled. “Billy B and Sallie Monroe.”

“Oh,” I said. The last piece of the puzzle was a soft lead bullet aimed at my gut. I thought about the dapper little butcher and craved his blood.

“That enough to get you up offa that forty dollars?” Tony wanted to know.

“This Billy B,” I asked. “He a little dude with a big head, gold-colored kinda Negro?”

“Yeah,” Tony said. “All’a that. Light, little, an’ big-headed. That’s Billy B.”