Where Fools Dare to Tread

by David William Pearce

  Durant walked over to the wall of windows facing west.

  “Yes, a talk with Moses might be beneficial. I’d be interested in what he remembers of those days.” He turned towards me. “Is there anything else I can do for you?”

  “We never discussed compensation. I’m going to need some money to continue.”

  “I imagine so. How much do you believe you will require?”

  “Five grand for now, and at the end?” It couldn’t hurt to ask.

  Durant smiled, “Not to worry, Monk, if this turns out as I think it will you should be well compensated. I’ll have the money transferred to your account. Anything else?”

  “What about Boyer?”

  “Our wildcard.” Durant motioned me to follow him to the elevator. “We’ll discuss Mr. Boyer when you return from your forays to the north. Goodbye Monk. Good luck.”

  “Goodbye, Mr. Durant.”

  27

  The next stop was the credit union, but I needed to call my erstwhile partner. I knew his interest was flagging. Maybe some cash would bring him around. I instinctually reached for the object in my pocket.

  I had to laugh. I’d forgotten there was more than one.

  These damn phones were too easy. I hadn’t had the thing a week and it was already a part of my hand. I punched in Jones’s number.

  “Jones.”

  “It’s Buttman, I’m calling back.”

  “And?”

  Such love and affection!

  “And, I think it would be a good idea to keep an eye on Dahlia, see if she likes the beach. I’m heading up north for a week, so I need you to take care of this.”

  “I have my own priorities, Buttman, I don’t have time to waste watching some transvestite.”

  “She’s transsexual, man! So if you don’t have the time, maybe you know someone who does and needs the money.”

  “What money?”

  “I got us some pocket money for our little adventure.”

  I noticed the inflection in his voice pick up. “How much?”

  “Twenty-five hundred.”

  “I might know someone willing to work for us.” Money eases all concerns.

  “Good. Meet me at my place in an hour and I’ll get you the bread, man.”

  I could hear him smirking through the phone. “Goodbye, Buttman.”

  I had an account at a small credit union not far from my place. Checking and savings with a safety deposit box. I normally didn’t do the online thing, so my interactions were in person. A woman named Tanesha patiently provided me with the information I requested on my balances and on the withdrawal I was making, Jones’s pocket money. I was surprised that the money Durant had promised was already pending, always a good sign. After pocketing the cash, I asked to see my box. I had the absurdist fear that it might be tampered with, so as is common for those of us with this affliction, I made a point of periodically checking its contents. I hadn’t come round since the day this affair started, it was time.

  In the box were a few documents, some money I held mostly for sentimental reasons, and a passbook. I looked through it and made an annotation on the page with the last entry. It was a quaint exercise that I habituated even though I no longer needed to. Mostly it was for the tactile quality of the book itself, a talisman for a virtual sum of money, but more so for a point in time, a time I couldn’t forget. After reassuring myself that what was there was what I expected to be there, I pulled the envelope from my pocket. It was a document with signatures. Something told me to hold on to it. I could always retrieve it if needed.

  I closed the box and left the credit union. From there I made a quick run to the library and its many computer terminals. I had a separate account from my time in Virginia that I had held onto. It wasn’t with the credit union. That virtual sum of money was connected to the passbook. I would periodically transfer money to keep the account active, like today. It was the only time I used a computer, and the library was anonymous enough to salve my fears of predatory surveillance. The account was my little secret so no one knew about it. In it were the receipts of payments and deposits best forgotten or rued, like the blood money Judah paid me for my plot of land after he stole Astral from me. Even then he believed he deserved a church discount.

  I didn’t give it to him.

  It was my black day’s fund, held tight, just in case, because a small part of me was still deathly afraid of the past.

  I went home. The landscapers were back. I couldn’t imagine what else they had to work on, but it wasn’t my money so I kept moving. There were no suspicious footprints, nor were any persons milling about our little enclave so I felt reasonably safe. I went in and looked around. It appeared as it had when I’d left earlier in the day. With a kind of zeal, I found the picnic basket and cooler situated below the jackets in the hall closet and the small suitcase I owned in the bedroom closet. I packed what I thought I would need, including toiletries, and placed them all by the door. That being accomplished, I sat in my chair and wondered what the hell I was doing. It occurred to me that I was spending an inordinate amount of time going round and round over the same subject.

  That can’t be good.

  It was time to get back to the nice and easy, roll with it; go with the flow. I wasn’t stupid enough to buy that as an actual philosophical principle or as SoCal existentialism, no matter what some beach bum or aging hippie might tell me, but I needed something less frantic, something less fraught with peril or poor personal choices. I needed that laid-back vibe, man, bullshit or no bullshit. I was willing to wade if necessary. I found this very soothing for reasons I couldn’t adequately explain. Maybe that was the point. The room was oddly serene, so I put my feet up and closed my eyes, determined to believe it would be alright if I just didn’t think about what I was doing too deeply. I could hear the birds singing.

  “Buttman!”

  I didn’t care for this particular bird.

  “Mr. Jones, how good to see you. I assume you’re here for the money?”

  An exasperated Jones stood there as he normally did; arms crossed, arrayed in black, stern in visage.

  “This ain’t a personal visit, Buttman.” He accented the name with a certain brio.

  “How disappointing.” I reached into my pocket, retrieving the twenty-five bills. Jones came closer as I raised my hand.

  “I’m sure it is, but that’s life.”

  “It sure is. You know when we began this partnership it was my understanding that you were adept at finding people, yet I’m the guy leading this clusterfuck, how come?”

  “You got me.”

  “They said you were good at this sort of thing.”

  “They lied, get used to it.” Jones took the money and deposited it in the pocket of his jacket. “So we keep an eye on the woman, and I use that term loosely, to see if she leads us to Desiree, correct?”

  “Correct.” I sat there contemplating the reserved black man, a man whose race had been systemically persecuted for generations, yet he had no compassion for a man whose gender he felt trapped by, or so I assumed, but what did I know? “Why are you so worked up by that woman Dahlia?”

  “Cuz she’s a dude, man. That’s the way God made her, him. You may think it’s ok, Buttman, but it’s bullshit to me. Why don’t I just run around calling myself a fucking white dude because it makes me feel better to do so, huh? You are what you are. Live with it. Why can’t people be who they are? It doesn’t make any sense to me, that’s why.”

  “Alright, I was just curious. So, yes, have your man, or woman, keep an eye on Dahlia to see if she slips off to the beach. I mean a beach house. I don’t care if she g
oes to the beach. You know what I mean.”

  Our uncomfortable conversation had hit the skids.

  “I know what you mean.” He stood there looking off at the walls. “Will there be compensation as we pursue this?”

  “Yeah, I don’t think money will be a problem so long as we’re reasonable with our requests.” I assumed that to be true.

  “Then I’ll keep in touch.”

  Mr. Jones left as he entered. Me, I just watched. It was that kind of day, and yet it wasn’t over. I would need to head back to Agnes’s house. I was ready, I just wasn’t moving. The breeze was traversing the room, carrying me away from Jones and Agnes, from Judith and Durant. I closed my eyes.

  Nice and easy.

  Joanie had quietly come into the room and was sitting on the couch, watching me. I opened my good eye.

  “You know it’s kinda creepy when you sneak in like that. Especially given what’s happened here lately.”

  “Kinda. I saw your door open and came in to make sure you weren’t curled up on the floor in a pool of blood. Those things are kind of traumatic. But, you seem to be in decent shape, for now.” She looked over at the pile by the door. “Plans?”

  “As a matter of fact, yes. Since you were unwilling to go to the farm with me, I talked Agnes into it. Well, that and we’re going to see her daughter in San Francisco, she kinda talked me into that.”

  “It might not be a bad idea for you to get away for a while. San Francisco is nice.”

  “Yeah…” I didn’t like the way she was being so agreeable. “It’ll be good to get out on the road.”

  “Plus, it’ll keep you away from the rich woman, Judith.”

  “You don’t like Judith, do you?” Joanie actually seemed jealous.

  “Not particularly. I don’t think she has your best interests at heart.”

  “As if I have hers in mine?”

  “You know what I mean.” I did, but I’d seen Judith’s softer side, and I wasn’t willing to see her as overly calculating where I was concerned. I was the delivery boy, for Christ’s sake, nobody important. Sex will blind you like that. “Well, it looks like you’re ready to go. I stopped by to make sure everything was all right. I guess you are.”

  What an odd comment.

  “I guess so. You have plans?”

  She smiled. “I have my new gig in San Francisco. Maybe you should bring Agnes to the club. It’ll be fun.”

  “Maybe… What’s the name of the club?”

  “The Mind’s Eye, it’s a nice place.” Agnes would love that. She was already worried about Judith. Why don’t we throw Joanie in the mix? It’ll be fun.

  “I’m sure it is.” I got up from the chair and straightened myself out. “I haven’t heard you sing in a while, maybe we’ll do that.” I picked up the cooler and basket.

  “Need a hand?”

  “Maybe.”

  Joanie picked up the suitcase, and we walked to the car after I locked the door. I loaded up the trunk as she watched. It was awkward and I didn’t quite know why, like I was leaving the family, or our little support group. Maybe that was it. For years we’ve always had each other to cling to because our love lives were either non-existent or a mess. Now with Mikal and Agnes gumming up the works, our future companionship was uncertain. No matter what anyone says, it’s hard to be friends with the opposite sex when you’re in a committed relationship.

  Committed relationship.

  I had to let that swirl around my head.

  Committed relationship.

  Me and Agnes, Mikal and Joanie; theirs seemed more real, mine more illusory. I guess that’s what this trip was for.

  Joanie was staring at me. I had to stop thinking.

  “What?” It was all I had.

  “I was about to ask you the same thing.”

  “If you must know, I was thinking about the two of us, whether our newfound romances would change us and our relationship.”

  “Yeah.” She gave me a kiss, followed by a face I didn’t recognize. “It’s kinda scary isn’t it?”

  “I suppose.” I didn’t want to think about it. I looked around for a different topic. “The yard looks nice. I was surprised to see them fixing it up after so many years.”

  “I know. I asked Ardis about it. She said it was a promotional gift. You know to advertise their services to the neighborhood. They certainly do nice work, don’t you think?”

  “Yeah, they do.” Free services, why? I was leery of the advertising gimmick. Maybe they were fishing for more maintenance services later. Old people were more susceptible to that kind of trick. It was like these phones, a hook to keep you on the line for more and more money. I opened the car door and got in. “It’s time for me to go. Maybe we’ll see you at the club?”

  “I’d like that.” Joanie stepped back. “See you, Monk.”

  Why did I feel like I’d never see her again? “See you.”

  Joanie walked back to her bungalow as I struggled to remember where I was going. Agnes, I was going to see Agnes. I looked up. The sky was falling, taking the sun with it. I called Agnes, asking where I should meet her.

  She told me to come home.

  Those two words started rolling around in my head again.

  I pulled into the driveway, and took out the luggage, basket, and cooler. I put up the top as Agnes came out. It was then that I realized her tan was fading. Why hadn’t I noticed that before? She picked up the basket and led me through the front door. After I put the cooler and the luggage down I went out to lock the car, but mostly it was to check the gun and the sap. I considered leaving them back at the bungalow, but I changed my mind, they were still in the trunk. Now I had to decide whether to leave them in the car or bring them in the house. I hesitated to ask Agnes what she thought. After a few minutes I waved her over.

  “I need to ask you something.”

  Agnes moved closer as I put the key in the trunk lock. “There’s not a body in it, is there?”

  I had to laugh. “Sorry, no body, but there are weapons, a gun and a blackjack, a sap. Should I bring them in? Are you comfortable with that or do you want me to leave them here? Since this is your house, I wanted to ask.”

  “I don’t know. I don’t like guns, but do you think we’ll need it?”

  “I hope not, but I don’t know.”

  We stood there contemplating our options. On the one hand, I worried that Artie and Gordy might grab a couple more knuckleheads from the gangbang and go for a third try, in which case a gun would come in handy. On the other hand, I was no professional, quick and able with a gun. I was more likely to shot myself, Agnes, or the both of us. Neither was particularly appealing. I looked around the street.

  “Beautiful, do you see any cars you don’t recognize around here?”

  Agnes, responding to her new name, put her arms around me and surveyed the street.

  “I don’t think so. Why?” A puzzled expression joined the hug.

  “I have an idea.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Yeah. We’ll leave these here for now. Later I’ll show you what I have in mind.”

  Agnes ran her hand along the front of my shirt. “Is it that thing you like to do?”

  “Focus woman!”

  “I am,” She was licking my ear.

  “Save that for later, we need to go to the store.”

  “If you insist.” Reluctantly, she let go, locked the house, and we got in the car.

  The store was six blocks away. I methodically inventoried the vehicles we passed on the way. I had Agnes do the same. S
he found this exciting, like a Bond girl she said. If nothing else, I told her, she had the boobs for it. Ha, ha, but I knew she didn’t mind. Between the two of us I hoped we would notice anything odd or out of place. I realized neither of us was trained or conditioned by experience to be good at something like this, but it made for an interesting drive. Agnes noted two homeless couples panhandling, and I couldn’t stop focusing on the poor condition of the road, as I seemed to hit every pothole.

  The store was its own adventure. Turns out Agnes has a yen for junk food, whereas I’m more the fruits and nuts type; partly due to my time farming, and the fact that I didn’t often eat junk food. I didn’t have a taste for chips and cookies. Agnes, on the other hand, did, so we brokered a compromise, after considerable debate, and ended up spending more than I would have liked. It was obvious that Agnes ate junk when she was anxious, and anxiety was on the menu. I decided being the “you should eat healthy” nag would not pay dividends, so I let it go.

  Dinner, however, was a different matter, so I ruled out a pizza. Chicken and mushrooms over rice with a side salad. I told her if she didn’t like it, she could cook.

  “You don’t like pizza?” The shock on her face made the whole argument worth it.

  “I like pizza just fine, but not the awful frozen kind. There’s a great pizza place in San Francisco. We’ll have pizza there.”

  Agnes scrunched her face. “I can see you’re a lot more judgmental than I thought!”

  I scrunched back. “You got that right. Do we have everything?”

  “How would I know?” she pouted.

  “Exactly.”

  Having gone through her pantry I knew what she had and what she didn’t and what we’d need that wouldn’t spoil while we were gone. Agnes groused about soda, followed by my grousing as well. All in all it was an outing befitting two people on the cusp of the dreaded two-word description of two people who can’t get enough of each other. On the way back we eagle-eyed the road for possible bad guys. I didn’t notice any, and neither did Agnes.