by Jerry Brown
Leaving the drug store, he looked in all directions. The men he noticed at his apartment were nowhere to be seen. He reached the racetrack entrance, and decided to go to the park and try to find Emrick. Bowman knew about where he would be, if he was there. He heard the harmonica wail long before he located Emrick. Not one of his "hot" numbers, but the sound carries well over the open field. Surely Em's "Strange Dude" should have heard something as distinctive as that music. Maybe he's deaf. That's probably it. He stood in the shade of a large tree, watching Emrick from a distance and scoped the surroundings with his eyes. Emrick spotted him and waved his arms. Bowman returned the wave and walked over to the tree where Emrick was playing. "Hey Boss!"
"Hi Em. Have you seen your friend today?"
"Naw, I've been lookin' fah 'im hard, but I ain't seen hide or hair."
"It's just as well. Why don't you come on down and we'll walk over and get somethin' to drink. I need to give you some money anyway."
Emrick swung down from a limb of a tree and lighted alongside Bowman, his wonderful grin working overtime. As they walked away, Emrick boasted: "I done good at that joint las' night. Everbody jus' went on an' on about how good I wuz. Bigges' trouble I had was knowin' when to come in for solos and how long to play. Ole fellow who played a trombone started pointin' when I wus 'posed to go an' stop. Went pretty good after dat." "Can I come listen to you now?" "No, I gotta get a whole bunch better'n dat fo' den."
The sounds of the street traffic below filled the apartment and dominated his hearing. The glow of the streetlights cast shadows throughout the room. Another Friday night alone. He considered walking to a phone booth and calling Annie in Baltimore. He knew he should. They had not talked since he left Woodville. He knew that she would be concerned about him. He wasn't pressed or concentrating on his work. He knew that if he called, he would probably end up flying up there for the weekend. He also knew he would likely look for no new direction of inquiry before Monday. He told himself that he was responsible for Emrick and should be available if he was needed. He didn't buy the argument, but neither did he make the call.
He looked out the window of his apartment and spotted the same two men on the corner watching the front of the apartment building. He turned off all lights in the apartment and stood back to be certain he could not be seen. After about ten minutes, the men walked to a dark sedan and rode off together. He was able to identify a Louisiana tag on the car, but he could distinguish none of the numbers. He made a conscious decision not to tell Flint. Those guys are too amateurish to be a threat.
Chapter 27
He must’ve walked to the opened Venetian blinds of the apartment one hundred times. The two men he spotted previously were not at their post. Patience and waiting were not among Bowman’s long suits. The fact that he had no choice did not make it any easier. Arceneaux had not shown the previous afternoon, neither had she dropped by this morning. He wondered. Isn’t that exactly what you wanted?
The phone rang. It was Flint.
“I’ve got an appointment for you with Womack. He’ll meet you at the sidewalk café at four o’clock.”
“ How did he sound?”
“About what you’d expect. Like talking with a recorded message. How early will you get there?”
“ Just early enough to select a well placed table. He won’t come early or late.”
He arrived and set claim on a table in a shaded area only a few minutes before the appointed time. Removing the reading glasses from his comment, he placed them far down his nose so as not to impede his far sightedness any more than necessary. As he surveyed the surroundings , he spotted Flint’s patrol car parked about a city block away and chuckled to himself. He just couldn’t withstand the temptation. I’ll bet he has binoculars sited in on me right now.
Bowman sipped on a soda while he looked in the direction of the elementary school and watched Womack walking toward him from a distance. That could be a good sign. I wouldn’t have been surprised if he had approached from the opposite direction. He’s so suspicious and guarded.
He held Arceneaux’s report in his hand as if he had been studying it and watched Womack’s approach, stiff and erect. When the man neared, Bowman rose to greet him. Womack stared at him, There was a minute movement in the corner of his lips. I guess that’s as near to a smile as I could have hoped for. The unoffered hand was no longer a surprise. He had not offered his own for that reason. His chair was turned toward the one Womack had taken and was backed way away from the table. Womack faced the table, pulled his chair close and sat erect , his back not touching the chair.
Womack wasted no time in pleasantries and went directly to his presentation. “Mr. Bowman, I feel that I have little positive to offer. I have studied the figures. They seem primitive and lack definition. Never the less, I can say they are not cuneiform characters and certainly bare no resemblance to Egyptian or other middle Eastern hieroglyphics. It occurred to me that perhaps the figures had some Asian stem . I shared the drawings with an associate with vast Asian experience. Unfortunately , he could make no connection.”
Bowman leaned toward the table, his resting on his hand and turned toward Womack.
“ My eventual reaction ,” Womack continued , “Was that there may be some similarity in design with Mexican bark paintings. The figures are somewhat symmetrical and are enclosed in a border , but of course, the nature of the characters is all wrong. The figured also do not appear to have an American Indian stem , that is to say, no thunder or animal symbols that I could distinguish. I must say the figures are extremely primitive and almost childlike.”
He look at the drawing and gave it a broad brush with his right hand. “Referencing the central figure, perhaps a child psychologist will be of some assistance to you. Frankly, I am somewhat embarrassed at failing to find anything definitive. There are other avenues I could explore, but with little chance of success , and I know you are under some time pressures.”
“ Please don’t be embarrassed “ Bowman responded. “ I realized when I asked for your help that this was graspin’ at straws. I sincerely appreciate your efforts. By the way, I do have something that may be of interest to you. I had a colleague do some research on the swastika. You may find intriguing.”
Womack held the paper in front of him. Bowman caught a brief glance at his glasses. Backing his chair from the table, Womack placed his attaché case in his lap. He carefully opened the case, shielding the contents from Bowman, then removing a pair of pink rimmed plastic glasses and placed them on the document. He then placed the case at his feet on the other side of his body from Bowman, adjusting the chair to its original position, put on the glasses using both hands, and proceeded to read the report in its entirety. He removed the glasses, pushed back his seat , carefully replaced the glasses, returned the case to its same position and readjusted his chair.
“ That was interesting. I had not considered the bit about the Navaho sand painting. That is a possibility , but my comments about Mexican bark paintings would apply to that as well.“
Womack paused then looked directly into Bowman’s eyes with his usual facial detachment and said :” Tell me Mr. Bowman, have I passed your test?”
Bowman smiled and answered : “ For the time being , yes, you have.” On impulse he added :”By the way, your two associates have been identified and can be expected to be contacted soon.” It was a lie but he was very glad that he said it. Womack’s forehead broke out in a sweat. He rose abruptly, snatched up his case and stomped away. Well that answered a couple of questions. He knows , no doubt about it.
Bowman was afraid Flint would join him to soon. He did not want Womack to have the pleasure of seeing that, so he rose from the table, and left enough money to cover the tab and tip.
He walked back toward the apartment and had not gone far before Flint drove up behind him and tapped the horn. He walked to the car and took the passenger seat.
“ I take it he passed with flying colors,” Flint said.
&n
bsp; “Yes, he did. He told me nothin’ we didn’t already know, but it was clear that he did make an effort. He was still very guarded but I didn’t expect him not to be. I’m turnin’ him completely over to you now. There’s no need to be cagey any longer. I’m goin’ to have to change directions but you can put the pedal to the metal. It just didn’t work out. You ‘rolls the dice, you takes your chances’. In a way I ‘m glad. I kinda feel sorry for the guy in spite of myself. It’s good to think he wasn’t involved in somethin’ as horrible as this. But, he’s up to no good. Maybe you can uncover it and make our time and effort count for somethin’.”
“ Sorry Bowman. Listen I’m goin’ to be off all weekend. If you need me, call me at home. As far as I know now, I’ll be there.”
“Well, you certainly deserve the time off. I won’t call if I don’t absolutely have to. See you Monday morning.”
Flint nodded and exited the car.
That evening was another one of waiting and random walking. Returning to the apartment he flopped down on the couch, then crammed one of the pillows behind his head. He searched for positives and thought At least Emick has some exposure to the outside world. Then sleep overtook him.
Startled by the sudden break in silence, he rolled over and grabbed for the ringing phone.
“ Mr. Bowman?” It was the voice of a black woman. The sounds of people laughing and talking in the distance almost drowned out her voice.
“ Yes, it is.”
“ This is Earline , Emrick’s friend.”
He sat up on the couch. “ Is something wrong?”
“ No, I thought maybe you might wanna hear Emrick play.”
“ Is that him I hear in the back ground?”
“ Yea, he jes got up there. I been talkin’ wid Simon Beal. He runs the place. I tole him ‘bout you. He knows a place you can stand where Emick can’t see you ‘cause of the stage lights. Says you axe for him at the door.”
Bowman paused and rubbed the base of his nose as he considered what he should do. “ Where are you Earline? What is the name of the club?”
“It’s Deuces. Go up by the place where y’all always eat on the street then go lef’ for about a block. You’ll see it. I’ll be behine’, the stage an’ I spect you’ll be gone ‘fore he quits, so I won’t get to meet you.”
“ Okay, Earline. Thank you for thinkin’ of me. I’ll be there as soon as I can throw on some clothes.”
He selected the blue button down shirt , khaki slacks and navy blazer he’d worn on the trip down, dressed quickly and walked at a fast clip. No trouble finding the club. Emick’s style was distinctive and he heard the music a half block away. The weathered gray lap siding showed beneath the glare of the single bulb overhead light fixture. A mountain of a dark, black man blocked the door. His height was average but everything else about him was massive and struggled against the confines of a stretched polo shirt. The black of his shirt, slacks and shoes was broken only by a brown leather belt. Bowman caught his eye as he walked up.
“ Yo’ name Bowman?” He asked. Only his lips moved.
“ Yes.”
“ Boss tole me to see to you. You come stand by me.”
He turned and held open a screen door while turning the knob of a wooden door. Bowman grabbed the screen door and followed him. Once inside, the man signaled with his head for Bowman to wait against the wall while he positioned himself beside and a little in front.
The club consisted of one large room filled with people seated at four place tables. A relatively short bar with eight stools stood on the far right, and far across the room was a brightly light stage. Emrick was on stage doing his thing with four other musicians. His brow covered with sweat and eyes glued to an old man playing a trombone.
A short man, whose thinning hair was heavily oiled and neatly parted, sidled over from the bar and offer his hand, but not his eyes. Bowman accepted the hand and the man’s eyes rose.
“ Mr. Bowman, Simon Beale’s my name and I’m glad to be able to help. You need anythin’, tell Big Willy an’ he’ll get it fo’ you.”
“ Thank you Mr. Beale. Big Willy doesn’t waste a lot of breath with talkin’ does he?”
“ Don’t need to,” the man answered with a grin. “ A stare from him usually stops most arguments . The reason I’m havin’ you stand back here is ‘cause you can see the band, but they won’t notice you. Stay as long as you like.”
“ Thank you very much Mr. Beale. I’ll just to a few songs and slip out the door. Emick would be angry if he caught me sneakin’ in on him.”
Simon Beale nodded his head and moved away to the table area.
After several tunes were played, a ruckus broke out between two young men at the left rear of the room. Big Willy made his way between tables with unbelievable ease for a man his size.
Bowman’s attention to the band was interrupted by the action of two other young men who moved to the bar and were standing with their backs to it. They passed comments between themselves while leering at him. He read the signs and decided to fade away, but before he reached the door, one of the men moved ahead of him and blocked his way. Bowman held up his palms and said: “ I’m not lookin’ for any trouble , just move out of the way and I’ll leave.”
The man moved to Bowman’s left as if to allow him to pass, but Bowman moved by, he sensed movement and shifted to his right. The blow directed at his ear, glanced off his temple and in one move he closed in on the off balanced man and punched five blows –rat a tat a tat—at the man’s eyes with the knuckles of his fingers.
The second man jumped him from behind and began choking him with a hammerlock. Bowman fell back placing his weight down and against the man while turning enough to slip one leg behind him. That moved combined with the upper body pressure forced the man to lose his grip and fall back exposing his groin. Bowman threw heavy blows with his fist at the man’s testicles.
Before Big Willy could come to the rescue, the matter was settled. Both men lay in a heap. He looked over at Bowman and passed him a grin while nodding at the door suggesting he leave.
Chapter 28
Saturday mornings are made for sleeping in, and Bowman had intended to do so, but the ringing of the telephone changed all that. Fearing the party would disconnect because of the delay, he rushed and slid over the back of the couch and picked up the phone in one move.
“The word out on the street is that Simon Beale is goin' to offer you a job as a bouncer,”Flint laughed.”Damn, I'm embarrassed. I was hopin' you wouldn't hear about that.” “Not only heard about it , Snake's already completed his investigation.” Who's Snake? “ “ A vice detective. You've heard about the meanest SOB in the valley, well that's Snake. Any how, he assured me they weren't put up to it. Just bein' mannish. They were with two others in the back of the room. The other two faked a fight to draw the bouncer away. They thought you were big but not bad. Apparently you gave them a real lesson on bad. One of 'em has balls the size of coconuts and the other's eyes are maroon and black and swollen shut,” he chortled.
“Snake encouraged them to recuperate with relatives on the west coast. They left this mornin'.” “ Bill Ed, I'm sorry if I made problems for you,” Bowman spoke in a hushed, muted voice. “I try to keep that side of me pushed back. My mother witnessed a fight I had when I was a senior in high school. I was pretty special in her eyes before that, but her attitude changed. She refused to discuss it with me and she died before I could make it up to her. Best I can figure is that she had an older brother who was quite a rounder. I think she saw some of him in me.” Bowman paused then added: “I don't let myself go like that very often.” “Bowman, forget it. Nobody's upset about this. Simon made it very clear that you had no choice. Are you hurt?” “ Naw, I have scrapes and bruises, but nothin' serious.” “ Okay, I just wanted to check up on you. I'll touch base later.” He did not even look at his watch when he hung up the phone and walked to the bathroom. He showered then put on previously worn jeans and a red golf shirt. The sky was c
lear and the sun beamed down. The leaves on the trees were motionless.
He bought a newspaper and read as he waited at the bus stop. Exiting the bus on Canal Street at the fusion of traffic from Bourbon and Royal Streets to the east and St. Charles Avenue to the west, he walked toward the French Quarter, wandering aimlessly through the streets. He had done this many times since his wife died, though usually in the cool of the morning, especially early Sunday mornings when there was little traffic or sounds to disturb the ambiance. It was at those times he felt closest to the city, its history and the special feeling it gave him.
The wanderings usually ended with a strong, cafe au lait and an order of beignets. Whether he was hungry or not, there seemed never to be anything left on his plate except the heavy residue of powdered sugar. He and Carolyn strolled these same streets when they were newly married and he was in graduate school. They shared an excitement of the uniqueness of sights and smells. How did the excitement change to existence, he wondered. Toward the end, it seemed their only conversations involved her chastising him for putting his feet on the coffee table or leaving an interior door open. He did not go for coffee this day. He could not capture the mood. Perhaps the heat and humidity was too oppressive, though spring had hardly begun. He gave up and walked briskly to the bus stop, ignoring his heavy perspiration.
Once he returned to the apartment, he was at a loss on how he would spend the afternoon. As it turned out it was just as well that he did not. The heat from his body had barely subsided when he received a telephone call that would jerk him from the doldrums and supercharge his system.