The Ragtime Fool

by Larry Karp

  Pepper held up a hand. “There’s never a one hundred percent guarantee, Mr. Campbell. But yes, I would bet a little money that you will in fact collect your inheritance. Can you hold off Mrs. Joplin for a month?”

  “No, that’s the problem. Some other guy who wrote a book on ragtime wants to get his hands on Mr. Joplin’s journal now, and publish it with a bunch of his own comments. He’s working on a deal with a publisher, and I hear tell it’s gonna go down next week. So, if I don’t come up with the scratch…”

  The frown on Pepper’s face brought Brun to a halt. “Mr. Campbell, I do see your problem, and I really would like to help. But I can’t go around proper procedure. I wouldn’t want to lose my license to practice law.”

  “Well, sure, sure. I can understand that, but hold on a minute.” Brun’s face went crafty. “You said you’d bet a little money that it’s all gonna go through, right?”

  “Mr. Campbell—”

  “No, wait. Listen to me. How about you give me five thousand now, and I sign all the sixty-four hundred over to you? Then inside of a month, you make a clear fourteen hundred profit. What about that?”

  “You’d want to take a hit like that? Just to get the money a few weeks earlier?”

  “Like I said. After this weekend, it ain’t gonna do me much good.”

  Pepper went deep into thought. Looking at him, Brun drifted back sixty years in memory. Boy sitting on a riverbank in Oklahoma on a warm summer day. Little tug on his line, then a second, harder one. Set the hook, boy. “Mr. Pepper, you could draw up papers saying this whole thing, start to finish, was my idea, that I want to sign over the…what do you call it again?”

  “Estate.”

  “Yeah, right. Put down on paper that I’m signing over Roscoe Spanner’s whole estate to you for five thousand dollars on the spot.”

  Pepper bit so hard on his lower lip, Brun thought he might draw blood. “You’re serious?”

  “Never been more serious in my life. What do you say?”

  Pepper’s smile was like a field of reeds on a windy day. “Well, if that’s what you really want…” He glanced at his wristwatch. “I’ll need to take out a loan myself, but it’s after four, the banks are all closed. Can you come by my office tomorrow, say about eleven?”

  “That’ll work just great.” Brun looked at the business card, still in his hand. “This’s your address, right?”

  Pepper nodded. “Waiting overnight will give you more time to think this through. Talk it over with your wife. Make sure she doesn’t have a problem with it.”

  Brun grinned. “Mr. Pepper, don’t you worry about that. I’m sure my wife ain’t gonna have the least little problem.”

  After Pepper left, Brun turned the sign in the door to CLOSED, locked up, then hustled down Venice Boulevard to the Rexall. He strode across the black and white tiles to the phone booth, pulled out the slip of paper with Bess’ phone number, asked the operator to connect him.

  “Forty cents.”

  Brun dug change from his pocket, dropped a quarter and three nickels into the slots. A couple of rings, then he heard, “Martin’s Pharmacy, Ted Martin speaking.”

  “I’m calling for Miss Bess Vinson,” Brun said. “She told me she lives upstairs.”

  “Right, right,” said Martin. “But she doesn’t usually get in till after five. You want to call back then, or give me a number?”

  “I ain’t got any phone where she can get to me,” Brun said. “Okay if I leave a real short message with you?”

  “Go ahead.”

  “Thanks, I appreciate that. Just tell her Brun Campbell called and says she should come by tomorrow, in the afternoon, and I’ll have the money for her.”

  The pharmacist laughed. “Bet that’s one message she’ll be glad to get. Does she know where to go?”

  “Same place as always. My barber shop.”

  “Okay, Mr. Campbell. I’ll tell her to meet the barber at the clip joint.”

  Brun chuckled. “Much obliged.”

  ***

  All the way down Market Street to Selvin’s Music House, Alan sneaked side glances at Miriam. Something going on with her today. At their lunch-hour concert, she’d been up and down on the piano bench, ants in her pants the whole hour. Once or twice, he’d been sure she was about to say something, but she never went through with it. When he’d asked if she was all right, she’d said, well, sure, of course, why shouldn’t she be, why was he thinking that? And all the way downtown from Hobart High, seven blocks, she’d danced at his side, couldn’t seem to walk three steps of a straight line.

  As they drew up to Sweetie’s Shoppe, a few doors before Selvin’s, she tugged at his arm. “Let’s go in and get a soda.”

  Here it comes, Alan thought. Bet she’s been trying to get up the nerve to ask me to take her to the Senior Prom. The idea of renting a tuxedo and spending a whole evening in the damn thing didn’t appeal to Alan, but he knew if she asked, he’d do it. He cut across the sidewalk, and opened the door for her.

  Only one customer in the place, an old man sitting at the counter, sipping coffee, but she led Alan to the booth all the way in back, then slid onto the slick orange bench facing the wall. As he moved toward the bench opposite her, she grabbed his hand. “Sit here.” She patted the seat. “Right next to me.”

  He smiled, if uneasily, then sat at her side.

  The waitress’ face said clearly what she thought of a couple of kids who’d made her walk all that way for no good reason. Alan ordered a chocolate soda with two straws. The corner of the waitress’ mouth twitched.

  Miriam watched the woman all the way back to the counter at the front, then turned back, rested a hand on Alan’s arm, and murmured, “I’ve got something to tell you.”

  Finally, Alan thought. “Okay. I’m listening.”

  “Just one thing.” Miriam shot a glance over her shoulder. “Whatever you do, don’t shout or make a fuss. Don’t say or do anything that’d make people look at us.”

  “What people? There’s only one other—”

  “Alan, please. And when the waitress comes back, make like we’re just gabbing.”

  “Okay, fine, don’t worry.”

  “Promise.”

  “I promise. Now, tell me, already.”

  Huge sigh. She opened her purse as if she were afraid a dangerous animal might spring out, then reached inside and grabbed a crumpled white envelope, which she pressed into Alan’s hand. “Put this in your pocket.”

  “Huh? Miriam, what the hell’s going on?”

  “Just put it in your pocket. And keep your voice down.”

  Without taking his eyes off Miriam, Alan slid the envelope into his shirt pocket. Again, the girl looked over her shoulder. “That’s your ticket,” she said. “To Sedalia, Missouri.”

  “Ticket?” Alan grabbed for the envelope, but Miriam stayed his hand. “Alan, stop. I told you, don’t…oh, Alan, you’re such a tease. You stop that right now.”

  “Huh…oh.” Alan looked around to see the waitress, holding a tray with a chocolate soda and two straws. “He’s such a tease.” Miriam mugged at the waitress. “He buys me a soda and thinks that means I owe him a kiss.” She leaned over and planted a buss on Alan’s cheek. “There. Paid in full. Okay?”

  Alan grinned. “Yep. You want a receipt?”

  Chocolate soda spilled onto the table as the waitress set the glass in front of them, then stalked away.

  “I thought you didn’t want to draw attention to us,” Alan said.

  “I don’t. And if you’d just keep your hand out of your pocket, and your voice low, we won’t. Now, listen. There’s five thousand, two hundred dollars in that envelope. Five thousand for you to pay Mrs. Joplin for the journal, and the rest for train fare and food. I don’t want you to starve.”

  The ball of ice cream slid off the edge of the glass, into the soda; more brown liquid splashed onto the table. Miriam sucked at one of the straws, then pulled
a napkin from the holder and mopped at the table top.

  Like nothing else is happening, Alan thought. It took all his will power to keep his hand from snatching the envelope out of his pocket. “Miriam—”

  “Mmm, this is really good.” She pointed at the other straw. “Have some.”

  “But—”

  “Alan, it’s going to look funny if you just sit there like a dummy. Go on, drink. Then, give me a nice smile.”

  He did as she said, though the smile fell considerably short of convincing. “Miriam, this is some kind of joke, right?”

  “It’s no joke. It’s for real. You can get the journal, take it to Sedalia for the ceremony, and give it to Mr. Campbell. And then you can tell him he owes you a bunch of piano lessons.”

  “Where did you get fifty-two hundred dollars?”

  “Ask me no questions and I’ll tell you no lies.”

  “Oh no. I’m asking you, and you’re going to tell me the truth.”

  “It’d be better if you just take it.”

  “Just take it.’ Miriam—”

  “Alan, dear, lower your voice.”

  “Jesus!” A moan. “I can’t ‘just take’ over five thousand dollars, say thank you and walk away.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because. That’s as much money as my father makes in a year, and you casually hand it to me in an envelope, and say go have a good time?” He shook his head. “Uh-uh.”

  She planted another kiss on his cheek, then motioned toward the soda: take a swallow. He opened his mouth to object, but as Miriam flashed him a death look, he rolled his eyes and sucked at the straw. The girl pulled a napkin from the holder, wiped at the lipstick on his face, all the while flashing a smile that said without doubt he was her sweet patootie. “I’d really rather not tell you.”

  Alan painted a matching grin over his own face. “You’re going to anyway. Or else I’m giving it back.” He reached toward his pocket.

  She grabbed his hand. “You’ve got to promise not to tell anyone. Not for anything, ever.”

  He swung his hand up to cover his heart.

  “All right, I’ll trust you.”

  Alan felt a terrible tug at his throat.

  “My father keeps a suitcase up in the attic, all full of money.”

  “What? Doesn’t he believe in banks?”

  Smug smile. “Listen, I’ll tell you. Late one night, a couple of years ago, I got hungry, so I went down to the kitchen. I was just about to go in when I heard a noise, so I peeked around the corner. My father had a pile of money on the table, and it looked like he was sorting it or counting it up. When he finished, he went out the far door, up the stairs to the attic. I went up after him, just far enough so I could see over the landing. He lifted a couple of floorboards, and pulled out an old suitcase, you know, one of those big, heavy tan leather things. He set it on the floor, opened it up, and put the money inside. Then, he turned and looked all around. I don’t know if he was just nervous, or if I’d made a little noise. Anyway, I ducked down and ran back to the kitchen, grabbed a few graham crackers, and got myself back in bed PDQ.”

  “But why does he keep money in the attic? That’s weird.”

  “Maybe not so weird. I don’t know for sure, but I’ve got a pretty good idea. You saw the way my father likes to quiz me about money and investments. Well, I’m not a dope. A lot of my father’s patients pay him in cash, and I think he keeps that stash in the attic because then he doesn’t have to declare it as income and pay tax on it.”

  “Whew!” Alan wiped the lipstick-smeared napkin across his forehead. “Do you make a habit of borrowing from the First National Bank of Dad’s Suitcase?”

  She giggled. “No, of course not. I never even touched the floorboard until yesterday, after dinner. My parents were in New York for a play, and Wednesday evenings, Slim always drives Sally down to the Baptist Church on Hamilton Avenue for some kind of ladies’ meeting, and waits around till she’s ready to leave… Alan, you’re red as a beet. Are you okay?”

  He’d been thinking that Slim probably didn’t just sit around and wait at the church. “I’m fine. Go on, tell me what you did.”

  “Easy. Soon as they were out the door, I ran up to the attic, lifted the floorboards, and pulled out the suitcase. Boy, was that thing ever heavy. Then, I set it on the floor and opened it.”

  “It wasn’t locked?”

  Miriam shook her head. “Those old things didn’t have locks on them, at least this one didn’t. I threw the catches on the left and the right and…oh, Alan, I couldn’t believe my eyes. No wonder it was so heavy. It was loaded with money. Twenties, fifties, hundreds. I took out what I just gave you, closed the suitcase, and put it back exactly the way I found it. Then I waited for morning. I could hardly sleep, I was so excited.”

  “Isn’t your father going to notice there’s some missing?”

  “I don’t see how. There were thousands of bills in there, and it looked just the same after I took what I did. I can’t imagine he counts what’s already in the suitcase. That would take hours.”

  Alan felt as if his shirt pocket might have caught fire. He glanced down, then shook his head. “Miriam, I just don’t think I can do this.”

  “Why not? My father’ll never miss it or need it.” Her voice shook, eyes shimmered. “Didn’t you mean what you told me, about how much you wished you could get that journal and take it to Mr. Campbell in Missouri?”

  “Well, yeah. Of course I did. But—”

  “But nothing. You said you wanted to do it, so I got you the money. Now, all you’ve got to do is give it to Mrs. Joplin, get on a train, and there you are.”

  “Just like that. Bad enough what I got from my father last night. What’s he going to say when I tell him and my mother I’m going to Missouri to attend a ceremony for a ragtime music composer, and meet a ragtime piano player who uses lousy grammar and punctuation?”

  Miriam’s face went wry. “I didn’t think you’d bother to tell them you were going…oh, damn, Alan! If I’d known you were such a chicken, I wouldn’t have bothered—”

  He grabbed her by both wrists. “Keep your voice down. Listen, how the heck am I even supposed to find Mrs. Joplin, let alone give her the money and take the journal?”

  “I thought of that. We’ll go down to the library and get a phone book that has Harlem in it, and find her address. Do you know her first name?”

  Alan squinched his eyes in thought. “It was in They All Played Ragtime. Lucy? No, wait. Lottie. Yeah, that’s it, Lottie. But suppose she doesn’t have a phone?”

  “Suppose, suppose, suppose. Then we’ll think of what to do next. Maybe there’s a New York City Directory at the Library.”

  Alan sighed.

  “Then, in the morning, you’ll get up and get dressed just like you’re going to school, but you’ll go downtown instead, hop on a New York bus, take the subway up to Harlem, and get the journal. Then, you’ll go down to Penn Station and catch the next train to Sedalia. Easy.”

  “You sure it’s Penn Station? Maybe it leaves from Grand Central?”

  “No. I guess I’m not really sure. But after the library, we can go over to the Lackawanna station and ask the ticket agent.” The girl slid off the booth seat, extended both hands to Alan. “Come on. Pay for the soda and let’s get moving.”

  Chapter Twelve

  Friday, April 13

  Morning

  When Brun got an eyeful of Samuel J. Pepper’s law office, he stopped mid-stride and gawked. The lawyer worked out of a shabby storefront, the white paint on the sign above the door weathered and chipped, black letters faded. It looked more like a bailbondsman’s office than a lawyer’s. On the other hand, how many poor colored clients in Venice were going to haul themselves downtown to see a lawyer with a posh office up in a skyscraper? Brun muttered a rebuke to himself, then pushed the door open and walked inside.

  The small anteroom held three green vinyl and ch
rome chairs, and a receptionist’s desk. An attractive young woman smiled at Brun. “I’ll bet you’re Mr. Campbell, right?”

  “That’s me,” Brun said. “I must be a pretty important customer, you know me right off.” He looked closely at the woman. “And I bet you’re Mr. Pepper’s girl.”

  She laughed. “You’d win. I’m working for my dad till I can get enough money together to go to law school myself. It’s good training.” The woman stood. “I’ll show you in.”

  As the door to his office opened, Pepper looked up from behind his desk, dropped the document he was reading, slid off his black horn-rimmed glasses, and reached across to shake hands with Brun. “Mr. Campbell, glad to see you.” He motioned toward a scratched wooden chair at Brun’s side. “Make yourself comfortable.”

  Brun sat. Pepper watched his daughter out of the room, then turned to the barber. “So, Mr. Campbell. Are you still interested in that proposal, or have you picked yourself up some patience?”

  Brun loosed a low whistle. “It ain’t a matter of having patience, Mr. Pepper. Plain fact is, I need that money now. I told you why.”

  Pepper nodded. “All right, then.” He slid the document he’d been reading across the desk to Brun. “Look it over. I want to make sure you understand all the details.”

  Brun adjusted his spectacles, and slowly mumbled his way down the page. Toward the bottom, he stopped, squinted, then looked up. “This says if I pay you the money back before the estate is settled, I get the whole ball of wax, less however many days-worth of interest got charged on the loan. And if I don’t pay it back, I get what’s left of the estate, except for the interest.”

  Pepper gestured with his glasses. “That’s right.”

  “But there’s no way you’re going to make anything on the deal.”

  Pepper folded his hands on the desk in front of him, then blinked several times, a dark-skinned owl. “Roscoe thought very highly of you, Mr. Campbell. He told me you’re one of the few people he met in his life who genuinely didn’t care if a man was white or colored, and that you’d stood up for him several times when it really mattered.”