Flood

17

THE DRIVE OVER to Mama’s was uneventful. The Plymouth was running smooth as a turbine. I checked the tape recorder hidden inside the dash to be sure it was working, then switched over to some cassette music. Charley Musselwhite’s version of “Stranger in a Strange Land” came back at me through the four speakers. He was a perfectionist once, but he’d left his best efforts in Chicago a dozen years ago-I don’t play any of his latest stuff. Too bad you can’t keep people’s best performances on tape cassettes like you can music. It wouldn’t matter in my case, though-I haven’t had my best shot yet, I hope.

I parked next to the dumpster in Mama Wong’s alley. It’s perfectly legal to park there, but nobody does. There’s some kind of Chinese writing on the wall, courtesy of Max the Silent. I don’t know what it means, but nobody parks there. I knocked twice on the steel door to the back of the restaurant, heard the peephole slide back, and one of Mama’s alleged cooks let me in. Mama was sitting at her tiny black-lacquered desk, sipping a cup of tea and writing in her ledger book. I guess a lot of people would like to take a look at that book-I guess a lot of people would like to be rich, happy, successful, famous, secure, and healthy too. They’ve got about the same chance. Mama greeted me with her usual blend of Far Eastern subtlety and politeness.

“Burke, why you wearing that silly hat?”

“It’s a disguise, Mama. I’m working on a case.”

“Not so good disguise, Burke. You still look like European.” (Mama likes to pretend all Occidentals look alike to her.)

“Max said you got a phone call for me?”

“Burke, you only one that can talk to Max except for me. Max like you. Max say that you are a man of honor. How come he say that?”

“Who knows why Max says anything?” (Meaning: That is between Max and me-he may work for you but he and I are a separate thing. Mama knows this but never stops trying. She thinks all secrets are dangerous except her own.)

“Burke, you get phone call from same man. James, he say. I tell you before, this man not good, okay?”

“What did he say this time?”

“He say I better tell you to call him. That this mean good money for you and you be mad at me if I don’t tell you.”

“Did he scare you, Mama?”

“Oh yes, very frightened. Many people killed over the telephone, right?” (Meaning: The phone number I give people rings in Mama’s restaurant, but the actual instrument is located in the back of the warehouse, with the bell disconnected. It’s hooked up to a diverter, which bounces the signal to the junkyard’s pay phone in Corona, where another diverter picks it up and rolls it back to the pay phone in the kitchen. Bribing a phone company employee will eventually get you the address of the warehouse, but that’s as close as you’d get. And going there with threats for Mama Wong would be fatal.)

“He leave a number, Mama?”

“Same number as last time. He say you can call him between six and seven tonight.”

“Okay. Anything else?”

“No, nothing else. You want something to eat, some hot-and-sour soup?”

“You got it prepared already?”

“Always ready, always on stove cooking. Cook adds things during the day, but same soup, okay?”

I nodded yes and sat down at one of the front tables. The place wouldn’t open for another couple of hours, and the curtains were drawn across the windows. One of the cooks came out with a big bowl of soup and some hard noodles, the Daily News and tonight’s Harness Lines, which is the working-class version of the Daily Racing Form. It was a perfect breakfast, sitting there with the hot soup and the papers. Quiet, peaceful, safe. I couldn’t concentrate on the racing form, so I let my mind drift off and slowly finished the soup. If this James was up to something in Africa, it had to be diamonds, ivory, or soldiers. A connection with Wilson? No, Wilson couldn’t know I was looking for him. Besides, James had been calling Mama’s even before this business with Flood started. It wouldn’t come together.

I cleaned off the table and took out a pack of cigarettes, arranging ten of them in a star formation with the filters pointing toward the open center, then stared deep into the center until the cigarettes disappeared and walked around in the empty space in my mind for a while. Nothing came. Tendrils of thought licked at my brain but nothing ignited-I would have to wait for it to surface when it was ready. I’d already taken too many chances with the Flood thing.

I got up, returned all the cigarettes but one, stuck that one in my mouth unlit, went out to the kitchen with the plates. “See you later, Mama.”

“Burke, when you call this man on the telephone, you meet him at the warehouse, not your office, okay?”

“Mama, I’m not going to call him. I don’t need the work right now. I already have a case.”

“You meet him at the warehouse, okay? With Max, okay?”

“How do you know I’m going to meet him, Mama?”

Mama just smiled, “I know.” She went back to her ledgers.

I made the alley, fired up the car, and headed for the library to meet Flood.