The boy and I went to Mofass’s office a few days later. Jesus went through the door first and pulled out the chair for me to sit in front of my employee.
Mofass was staring at a plate of eggs and ham, with hash browns on the side. He’d probably been doing that for a quarter of an hour.
“Mo’nin’, Mr. Rawlins.” He had a leery look in his eye. Any man who survived a death threat from Raymond Alexander was leery.
“Mofass. What’s goin’ on?”
“They took me down to the federal detention center fo’a couple’a days there.”
I opened my eyes as if I was surprised.
“Yeah, they did,” he continued. “But I guess I gotta thank you fo’not pressin’ no charge at the IRS.”
“Part’a the deal the FBI guy made. I don’t cause no trouble and they let me pay off my back taxes, on the quiet side.”
“Well, I guess I should thank you anyway. That was a tight spot we was all in. You coulda taken it out on me.”
“Should have too,” I said.
Mofass glared.
“Jesus,” I said. I fished a quarter out of my shirt pocket and flipped it to him. “Go get us some candy at that store we saw.”
He gave me a mute grin and ran for the door.
I waited for the sound of his steps down the stairs to fade before talking again.
“That’s right, Mofass, I shoulda let Raymond waste your ass. I should have but I couldn’t, ’cause you my own personal hell. But it don’t matter. You see, I lost sumpin’ since that day we talked about that letter. I lost a lot. I got a good friend who hates me now ’cause he think I got his minister killed. An’ I cain’t go to him ’cause it was my fault, really. An’ I lost my woman because I wasn’t good enough. There’s a lotta people dead ’cause’a me. And I turnt Poinsettia out. You told me to do it, but it’s on my head, ’cause…”
He interrupted me. “I don’t see what all this gotta do with me. If you want my keys to the places, I got ’em here.”
“I made a good friend, Mofass, but yo’ friend cut ’im down. Didn’t even look in his face. Shot him through the door.”
“What you want from me, Mr. Rawlins?”
“I ain’t got no friends, man. All I got is Jackson Blue, who’d give me up fo’a bottle’a wine, and Mouse; you know him. And a Mexican boy who cain’t speak English hardly an’ if he did he cain’t talk no ways.”
Sweat had appeared on Mofass’s brow. I must’ve sounded pretty crazy.
“I want you to keep on workin’ fo’ me, William. I want you to be my friend.”
Mofass put the cigar between his fat lips and puffed smoke. I don’t think he knew how big his eyes were.
“Sure,” he said. “You my best customer, Mr. Rawlins.”
“Yeah, man. Yeah.”
We sat there staring at each other until Jesus came back. He brought three tubes of chocolate disks, Flicks they were called. The three of us ate the chocolate in silence.
Jesus was the only one smiling.