Fear Itself

41

WHEN I GOT BACK HOME Icleaned my place from top to bottom. I washed the floors and windows and walls. I dusted and scrubbed until the whole place smelled of cleaning fluid. By four that afternoon I was exhausted.

It might seem that I had wasted the day on trivial matters, but that’s not true. While I mopped and swept I was thinking and plotting. The murder of the Wexler kids was ordered by an enemy of Maestro Wexler, of that much I was sure. This faceless foe, named only Craighton, had hired Timmerman to take out the kids and steal the book. With the book this new player—also a millionaire, I surmised—would shake down Winifred and get control of the prime property in Compton.

All I had to do was figure out who it was that stood to gain from the loss of both Wexler and Fine. That might have been an impossible task, but I had one advantage: Bradford, the personal secretary and self-styled mother hen of the Wexler clan.

I had to wait until nine that evening to use the number the personal secretary had given me, but that was fine. I spent a couple of hours rereading the poem “Little Gidding” from the Four Quartets by T. S. Eliot. The language swept me away until six, when the phone rang.

“Hello,” I said, with a fair certainty that it would be Fearless on the other end of the line.

“Paris?” she asked. “Have you heard from Fearless?”

“Hey, Ambrosia. No, I ain’t seen ’im since early this morning.”

“What you call him for anyway? You know he ain’t been back here since then.”

“He said that he had some business with a man he wanted me to introduce him to. Probably they got down to some work.” I was pleased being obscure with the taciturn Ambrosia.

“I’m worried about him, Paris. He said that we were gonna go to Big Mama’s Bar-B-Q Pit tonight.”

“It’s okay, honey. You know Fearless is the last man on earth you gotta worry about. John D. Rockefeller got more to worry about than Fearless Jones.”

“I know you right,” she said. “But I just get worried and I can’t stop myself.”

“Well all right then,” I said. “I’ll go out and see if I can find him. The minute I see him I’ll make sure he calls your number.”

“Thank you, Paris,” she said sweetly. “I’m sorry I cussed at you before. You know I get kinda surly when people mess up my plans.”

“And I’m sorry I bothered you, baby. But you got to know that I just called ’cause Fearless wanted me to help him.”

“With what?”

“I’d like to tell ya, Ambrosia. I truly would, but you know Fearless don’t like his business out the box.”

“Okay then,” she said. “You tell him to call me, though.”

“I will.”

I also wondered where Fearless could be. Had he been found with the corpse? I turned on the radio and listened to three newscasts, but none of them said anything about a gold Chrysler, a black man named Tristan, or the recently deceased Theodore Timmerman.

BY NINE NO ONE ELSE had called or dropped by. I dialed Bradford’s number and he answered a quarter of the way into the first ring.

“Yes?”

“Bradford, it’s Paris Minton calling.”

“Mr. Minton. How can I be of service?”

“It’s me can help you,” I said. “I think I have some information that you might want to have. It has to do with your boss, his kids, and some fellah that’s been pulling the strings from behind the scene.”

“Who is that?”

“Why don’t we get together?” I suggested. “Then maybe we can share information and come to some kind of agreement that will make everybody as happy as they can be.”

“All right. There’s a little park off Lucile Avenue near Hoover,” Bradford said. “Do you know it?”

“No. But I can find it.”

“Why don’t we meet there now?”

“No thanks,” I said. “You know my score on nighttime meetings ain’t too good.”

“I can promise you that Louis won’t be there.”

“Promise me that you’ll meet me at nine tomorrow morning and I’ll be a happy man.”

“All right,” Bradford said in a resigned tone. “Tomorrow at nine. There’s a bench near the sidewalk, across from a French café.”

“I’ll be there.”

I WENT TO BED but not to sleep. I just lay there in the dark thinking about how I’d almost died and how I took a man’s life. I had never killed before. Many a time I had been in the room where people had expired violently, but I never pulled the trigger or drove the blade. Theodore Timmerman’s files and his own rank breath clung to me in the darkened room. The depravity and certainty of death created a sad conviction in my heart.

At ten minutes to four Fearless knocked at the door. I knew it was him because I was awake and when I’m conscious I know Fearless’s knock.

“Hey, Paris,” was all he said when I admitted him.

“How are you?” I asked. “Ambrosia was so worried that she called me.”

“I was doin’ things that we don’t need to talk about, man. But you don’t have to worry about Teddy no more.”

I told Fearless about the killer’s house and the obscure notes on the murders.

“Damn that’s cold,” Fearless said after taking it all in. “Sometime people get like that. I seen boys in the war would line up prisoners for target practice. Sometimes they raped and killed more than they fought the enemy. And it wasn’t just the Germans or the Russians. Sometimes you had blue-blood American rich boys rollin’ in the blood. I think there’s just some kinda men made for killin’ and hurtin’. Just one little scratch and they like to go off.”

“Well at least we don’t have to worry about Timmerman anymore,” I said, and then I told Fearless that I was going to meet Bradford, to find out who our friend Mr. Craighton might be.

“Hey,” Fearless said. “That’s a helluva lot easier than makin’ a man disappear from the face of the earth.”

I didn’t ask about what he meant. I didn’t want to know.

“You know I gave you up to him, Fearless.”

“And then you beat him to death. That’s okay.”

“No, man. You shouldn’t put your trust in me. I was so scared when he grabbed me that I told him where you were in a second. Even Milo lied to the man when asked to give up Winifred Fine.”

“Milo lied to save his chance at kissin’ millionaire butt,” Fearless said.

“That doesn’t absolve me.”

“Paris, when I got in trouble I came to you. And you agreed to help me. Now if while you helpin’ me some man says he’s gonna take your life, you should give me up. Don’t worry, baby. You’n me is tight.”