“See anything?” Jewel asked.
“Nothing bad,” Sarge answered, pulling one of his feet up onto Hannibal’s desk, which he was sitting on. She knew he was supposed to make her more relaxed, but sitting there, staring out the window with a baseball bat always in reach, he made her feel as though violence was imminent. She hopped to her feet and started pacing, but Sarge sat as still as before. Damn it. If she was nervous, anyone around her should be.
The sound of the doorknob turning made her spring to the next room. Through the half open sliding double doors she saw an old woman shuffle in, her stout, round form wrapped in a long red flowered dress. Sarge got to his feet, apparently out of respect.
“Well, good morning,” the old woman said. “Looks like I got somebody to talk to today.”
“Morning, Mother Washington,” Sarge nodded with a big smile. “Yeah, I’ll probably be around pretty much today.”
“How are my boys?” Mother Washington asked, setting her purse on the small desk.
“Everybody’s fine. Hannibal, he’s out on a case. I think Ray’s with him. Virgil and Quaker, they working a job for a local landlord.”
“Praise the Lord,” Mother Washington said, her face split into a broad smile. “Long as they all working, they ain’t getting in no trouble. Suppose it’s the same for an old woman, so let me get to the kitchen and get my supplies.”
The woman took three steps toward the next room and came face to face with Jewel. It was a full face, Jewel saw, and very dark, topped with gray hair pulled to the back and held by a rubber band. Mother Washington turned to Sarge whose face fell into a guilty expression.
“I’m sorry,” Sarge said. “This is Jewel. Jewel, this is Mother Washington. She’s kind of adopted the guys who live here.” The woman turned back to look Jewel over. It was an uncomfortable experience. While Sarge’s eyes on her made her feel sexy in her tight miniskirt, tank top and spiked heels, Mother Washington’s gaze made her feel naked. The woman had certainly marked her as a street girl, but her eyes held pity rather than disdain.
“A girl in trouble,” Mother Washington said with a knowing smile. “Well I’m glad to know you. I come by most days to straighten up and answer the phone.”
“What do you mean by that?” Jewel whined, drawing her fists up to her hips. “A girl in trouble. You saying I look like somebody in trouble? What makes you think I’m in trouble?”
Sarge almost gasped, but Mother Washington looked at her the way she often looked at the mildly retarded.
“You hiding here in Hannibal’s office,” Mother Washington said. “The door to the street is locked in the daytime. You got Sarge here watching over you. Your eyes don’t hold still for a minute. Don’t take a genius to see you in trouble. But you got nothing to worry about, child. You found sanctuary.”
With a nod she stepped off toward the kitchen. After a moment, Jewel followed. Mother Washington hummed an old spiritual as she gathered furniture polish, a feather duster and cloths from a cabinet. With those tools in a small pail she pulled a broom and dustpan from behind the refrigerator and headed back toward the front of the house.
“I know that tune,” Jewel said trailing behind her.
“It’s gospel,” Mother Washington said. “Throw Out Your Lifeline.”
As Mother Washington started dusting the desk, Jewel picked up Hannibal’s IN box. “What did you mean by that? I found sanctuary.”
“I mean you’re safe here,” Mother Washington said. “Once you got Hannibal Jones protecting you, you got nothing to worry about. People in trouble, that’s his stock-in-trade.”
Jewel stood with her arms crossed as Mother Washington dusted everything that was not permanently attached to the room and a few things that were. “You make him sound like some kind of saint.”
Mother Washington looked at Jewel with a kindly light in her eyes and suddenly the younger woman felt calmer. Then she handed Jewel the dustpan and started sweeping. At appropriate times, Jewel would crouch to let her sweep dirt into the pan.
“Let me tell you something about Hannibal Jones,” Mother Washington said. “See this here building? It don’t look like much, do it? Kind of wonder why a man would have his business office here, don’t you?”
“Now that you mention it,” Jewel nodded.
Mother Washington looked toward the big desk and, without being asked, Sarge grabbed one end and swung it around so she could sweep beneath it. Jewel did not see a speck of dirt underneath, but Mother Washington swept there anyway.
“Not too long ago this place was a crack house,” Mother Washington said. “Junkies and dealers just moved in here and set up shop. Everyday there was somebody trying to sell my grandson that poison. Police didn’t do nothing. People who lived here didn’t think they could do anything either. Then Hannibal Jones came around.”
Sarge righted the big desk and slid the smaller one across the floor for cleaning. Shafts of sunlight coming through two big front windows illuminated the few remaining dust specks in the air. Jewel noticed she was catching the radiant calm the other woman generated.
“Hannibal said the man who owns the building hired him to clean it out,” Mother Washington went on. “He brought this big fellow and a few other friends and they came in here with some big sticks and just cleaned house.” Her broad smile revealed a gap between her front teeth. “Just spanked them and put them in the street. More than that, he involved everybody on the block, gave our men some pride again, brought our people together again.”
Mother Washington began gathering her cleaning equipment. “Now, I was real glad to see the bad element go, but I knew as soon as Hannibal and his friends left, the trash would just come back in. That’s the good part. He decided he liked this old building too much to leave. And the neighborhood liked him just as much. So he stayed right here, and his friends moved in too, upstairs. I think he made a deal about the rent, because his being here does keep the trash from coming back. And he’s kind of the super for the building.”
“So you’re part of his company?” Jewel asked Sarge. “A professional troubleshooter like him?”
“Me? I’m just an old gunny sergeant who works as a bouncer in a few local clubs. When I met Hannibal I was homeless and jobless. We all was. He just hired us to help with that one job. And I pay rent for sure. But it’s a lot better than a homeless shelter and Hannibal helps me keep working. Like now.”
“So, he lives on that side, keeps an office on this side, and you,” Jewel nodded toward Mother Washington, “You’re like his maid and secretary both?”
Mother Washington stopped in her tracks. “No, dear. I’m his friend and I help him out.”
Hannibal wondered how long Daisy had been waiting for him to walk into the coffee shop. She had chosen a booth which offered a certain amount of privacy, while giving her a clear view of the door.
He spotted her easily enough. She had not told him how striking she was for a woman in her forties, but she had described herself as a natural ash blonde. Her hair was straightened, then waved in almost a Marilyn style. It struck a stark contrast against her coffee colored skin, but her face was pretty enough to pull his attention away from her hair. Her body was trim, nicely filling her simple yellow shift.
After asking Ray to stay at the counter and asking the waitress to bring him coffee, Hannibal joined Daisy in the booth. Her posture was erect, her eyes bright and intelligent, her nails meticulously manicured.
“Good morning,” he said. “Sorry to drag you out like this.”
“Is this trouble?” she asked. “Will you be followed by the police?”
Hannibal accepted his coffee and waited for the waitress to move away before he answered. The fresh perked aroma both energized and relaxed him for the unpleasant job ahead. “I didn’t want you disturbed so I didn’t mention you to the police. I found your name and address among Ike Paton’s effects.”
Daisy’s brows knit together and she leaned in on her elbows. Her carefully manicured vo
ice formed careful, measured words. “His effects? Just what is going on here Mister Jones?”
“I’m afraid your ex-husband is dead, Mrs. Sonneville.” Hannibal dipped his head to push his dark glasses more firmly into place. “I’m sorry to tell you he was murdered yesterday. I know you’re not regularly in contact with him but I just thought you should know. I barely knew Ike, or is it Pat?”
“Pat, please.” Daisy sat back, her arms wrapped around herself. “He was Patrick Louis all his life until about a year ago. My first husband was a criminal, Mister Jones. My present husband doesn’t know the kind of people I used to associate with. That’s why I asked to meet you here. Pat and I have been divorced for seven years now. Seven years, but this still…” she swallowed, and apparently decided she had said enough. After a moment she said “Thank you for this. You didn’t have to come here.”
Hannibal smiled. “My woman insisted I tell you, and not over the phone. But if you don’t mind my asking, you were still in contact? Usually when a woman remarries that ends that.”
“I left Pat, Mister Jones, he didn’t leave me. See, Pat was one of those men,” she glared defiantly at Hannibal as another member of a dirty species, “who believed who he slept with had nothing to do with who he loved. I could put up with his gangster friends, an occasional slap, but not that. So I left, but he never stopped chasing me. Then about a year ago he wrote me from Atlantic City saying he had finally found the perfect business opportunity and he was about to get rich. I wrote back to tell him I wasn’t interested. I guess this plan was as risky as everything else he ever did.” Her voice dropped with her eyes. “I guess it finally caught up with him.”
Hannibal subtly checked his watch. He had done the right thing, but he was burning daylight, Kyle’s time. Still he hated to waste a possibility, so he would gamble two more minutes.
“Mrs. Sonneville, I’m involved in an investigation here in Baltimore and if you have a couple of minutes you might be able to save me some time.”
“Sure,” she smiled, seemingly relieved to change the subject.
“Have you ever heard of Jacob Mortimer?”
Her eyes rolled up the way people do when they’re pretending to search their memories. “No, that name doesn’t mean anything to me.”
“How about Bobby Newton?”
“Nope, sorry.”
“The Moonglow Club?”
“Sure,” she said along with the first genuine smile she had given him. “It’s over on Fells Point. Place has been there forever. I’ve got to get back to the University, but if you’ve got a notebook I can give you good directions.”
“Great,” Hannibal said, pulling a pad and pen from his inside jacket pocket. As he had guessed, a glimpse of his gun did not bother a woman who had lived with Ike Paton, AKA Patrick Louis. She wrote in a script as precise as her speech.
“Math department.”
“What?” Daisy asked, looking up.
“I’ve been sitting here trying to decide what you teach at Maryland. I think math.”
Daisy raised a small hand to cover her squeaky giggle. Her eyes flashed at him, almost but not quite flirting. “Mister Jones, that makes my day. I don’t teach at Maryland. I’m a cleaning woman.”
-10-
The door was open but the place was obviously closed. Hannibal and Ray walked into a dark cavern filled with dancing shadows bounced off the long mirror behind the bar. Chairs were turned up on tables, their legs thrust toward the ceiling. The odor of stale beer rose from the tables, the chairs, the floor itself.
Quick footsteps violated the silence of the sleeping club. The man stalking toward them wore a plaid jacket and pants that, incredibly, did not match. Wire framed aviator style glasses shielded his eyes. Even in the dark, Hannibal could see the blond thatch on his head was not all his own hair. The man was two or three inches shorter than Hannibal, but he looked his visitors up and down with a hard eye.
“Sunglasses, as dark as it is in here?” the man said. “You the police or the mob? Don’t matter. Got no use for either of you. Get the hell out.”
“Not a cop,” Hannibal said, offering his card. “Not the mob. Name’s Hannibal Jones. You the owner?”
“Quentin Moon,” the man said, examining the card closely as if he expected it to yield additional information, some deeper meaning. “Yeah, I’m the owner. I’m also the manager, part time bartender, clean up boy, bouncer, chief cook and bottle washer.”
“Mister Moon, I just need five minutes of your time.”
“I’m kind of busy,” Moon said, tucking Hannibal’s card into his shirt pocket. “Hit the road, Jack.”
Before he could say anything else, Hannibal felt a hand on his arm, then heard the door open and close behind him. He imagined Moon had a woman meeting him, which would explain his inhospitable welcome. But it was a man who brushed past Hannibal on his way in. A man who Hannibal thought looked like an eerie, white fun house mirror image of himself. He was taller and broader than Hannibal, and wore cheap sunglasses with his black suit. And, of course, Hannibal had a neck.
Never willing to miss a possible conflict, Hannibal followed the bigger man into the club, with Ray at his side. The new man glanced at Hannibal, then removed his own glasses and focused on Moon.
“You know why I’m here,” the newcomer said. “You ain’t paid.”
“And I ain’t going to,” Moon bellowed back. “You think you scare me? You don’t scare me. I been hustled by experts.”
“Uh-huh.” No Neck threw a hand around Moon’s neck and put his weight behind a right hook into Moon’s belly. Moon doubled into a ball and dropped to the floor. Hannibal looked back at the door, to see No Neck’s backup grinning there, no gun drawn.
“Wait a minute man,” Hannibal said, smiling like an old friend. “You going to shake the man down with me standing here?”
“You a cop?”
“No,” Hannibal said, hands stretched wide.
“Then piss off.” No Neck stiff-armed Hannibal hard enough to send him into the bar.
“You getting to be a problem, Moon,” No Neck said, kicking Moon in the chest. “Last guy had this beat was too easy, but I ain’t allowing no exceptions.”
“Maybe just this one.” Hannibal’s words made No Neck turn. Hannibal’s gloved fist raked across his jaw.
No Neck shook his head to clear it, and his lips spread into a broad grin. “You ain’t got enough ass, stud.”
No Neck raised his fists like a seasoned boxer and bounced a couple of crisp jabs off Hannibal’s forearms. As he stepped in to deliver an overhand right, Hannibal sidestepped and whipped a front snap kick into his gut. His enemy grunted, so Hannibal kicked him again. Backup Man had not drawn yet. Good.
No Neck lowered his guard and Hannibal jerked the man’s head back with a straight left. Dazed, No Neck charged, but Hannibal easily moved aside, pounding the back of his head as he went by. When No Neck wheeled around, Hannibal put an uppercut through his guard. It put the mob man on his butt.
Now Backup Man reached to his waistband, but Hannibal filled his own left fist with automatic first. “Don’t,” he said. “I’d have to kill you, then your partner. Why don’t you just come help him to his feet?”
When Backup Man came near, Ray slapped his head and took his gun. Then Hannibal motioned to him to help No Neck up.
“Now, I don’t know either of you, and I don’t want to know you,” Hannibal said. “But I want you to know me. Call your friends down in DC and ask them who Hannibal Jones is. Then cross this place off your list, understand? Because, my friend, if I have to come all the way back up here to talk to you, I will seriously fuck you up. Understand?”
The action had taken less than two minutes. Hannibal was not even breathing hard. After the two shakedown artists backed out of the room, Hannibal put his gun away. Moon regained his feet, using the bar for balance. His breathing was deep but ragged.
“Now, five minutes of your time?” Hannibal asked as if the unpleasant i
nterruption had not happened.
“You kidding? After that, you can have all the time you want. Come back to my office.”
Quentin Moon’s office was brightly lit and colorfully decorated. Money was scattered across his desk, mixed in with cash register receipts and small notes, probably IOU’s. Moon lurched to his chair and waved Hannibal and Ray to two others.
“Those bent nose types been hassling me since I opened the place twenty years ago,” Moon said. “They come around every so often to slap me around. I learned long ago that if you say no and stick to it, they eventually decide you ain’t worth the hassle. But thanks for saving me some lumps.”
“My pleasure,” Hannibal said, his eyes following Moon across the floor. “So this was your place from the beginning?”
“You got it,” Moon said, returning with three beers and glasses. He handed Samuel Addams bottles to his guests, keeping a Miller Lite for himself.
Hannibal shared a smile with Ray while they opened and poured their brews. “So, Quentin, do you remember a kid named Bobby Newton?”
“Do I?” Moon pulled an Alka Seltzer packet out of his desk drawer and dropped the tablets into his beer. “That kid made me more money than anybody I ever had in the club, before or since. Everybody was looking for the new Al Green, and I had him right here in my place, three times a week for eight months. He had the soul, man, but when he wanted to, he could turn around and be as funky as Sly.”
Moon’s eyes drifted into the past while his beer threatened to boil over. The fizzing sound dominated the room for a moment. Abruptly he grabbed his glass and swallowed half its contents. Hannibal turned his head to hide his disgust.
“I know it’s been a long time, but his family’s lost track of him and I’m trying to find him. Did you know him well enough to have an idea where he went?”
“Hey, I knew Bobby pretty well,” Moon said, starting to search through a set of cabinets on the far side of his office. “Went over to his pad lots of times. Sat and listened to records and got high with him and his wife.”
Blood and Bone Page 5