Fear of the Dark fjm-3

by Walter Mosley

  239

  Walter Mosley

  Sitting in front of Useless was a brown leather suitcase with two straps and three latches. It was old and weathered, but that just proved that it was stolen. Useless didn’t own a suitcase.

  Never had. He was always out the door one step ahead of the law or some other man or woman seeking revenge. He didn’t have time to pack, had no use for luggage. And so I was pretty sure that that traveling bag contained the reason why at least four men were dead.

  “I knew you’d come here to see Paris, Ma,” Useless was saying. “I knew it.”

  “What about all these things they sayin’ ’bout you, Ulysses?”

  Three Hearts asked.

  “What things?” Useless glanced at Angel with a sudden look of fear.

  “Blackmailers, thugs, and murderers,” my aunt said. “That’s what.”

  “It wasn’t my fault, Mama,” he whined then.

  It was the first time I had ever heard her cross with him. I wondered if it was his first time too.

  “Is that what you’re gonna tell the police when they arrest you?” she asked. “Is that what you’re gonna tell the judge?”

  “The po-lice ain’t after me, Mama. They don’t know about me.”

  “What about this girl here?” Three Hearts asked. “What about this sweet, innocent young thing that you done dragged down in the mud? I done read in her diary how much she loves you and how much you mean to her. How can a son of mine treat a woman’s love like that?”

  I wondered, then and now, if Angel was devious enough to lie in her own journal on the off chance that someone might read it and judge her.

  240

  FEAR OF THE DARK

  “I tried to save her, Mama. Ask her. Ask her if it isn’t true.”

  His entreaty was so compelling that I found myself looking to Angel for an answer. For her part, she was staring into her lap.

  “It’s true, Mrs. Grant,” she said. “I was already messed up with Hector and them when they brought your son into the business. Ulysses was just supposed to drive me around and pick me up when I needed it. He helped to fix a few poker games we played. Ulysses wanted to take me away from them.

  He wanted me to stop.”

  I bet. He wanted her to stop, all right, but not before the coffers were full; I knew my cousin that well.

  Three Hearts’s face filled with love. She put her arms around her son and kissed his brow.

  “Baby,” she said. “I’m so sorry. I thought it was you did all that.”

  It was him, I thought. Didn’t she know that he was up to his neck in extortion, blackmail, and now murder? Couldn’t she see that everything had fallen apart because of him?

  “Why were you runnin’, Cousin?” I asked when I couldn’t take the lies anymore.

  “I ran because after Angel took off, I realized that I wanted her more than the money they paid me.”

  Angel took that cue to put her arm around her man’s shoulder. Three Hearts nodded at the gesture as if it proved the bald-faced lie he was perpetrating.

  “What about the man with the scar?” I asked. “The man that kidnapped your mother and your girlfriend. Who is he?”

  “I don’t know,” Useless said, shaking his head and looking pitiful.

  “How did you know to call Twist to get us out of jail?”

  241

  Walter Mosley

  A liar’s desperation spread across Useless’s face, and I knew that I had him.

  But I was wrong.

  “I got a call from a guy who wanted us to get back into business. He told me that he had my mama and if I wanted her to be all right I’d have to give him what I got in this here suitcase.”

  “What guy?”

  “Paris,” he replied, “you don’t wanna get too deep in this, Cousin. These men is dangerous.”

  Now I was sure that he was lying.

  “Who was it, Ulysses?”

  “A white man named Lionel Sterling. He the one called me.”

  “He had your number?”

  “He called Jerry Twist and told him that if he talked to me to tell me to call. He said that I’d like to hear what he had to say.”

  Useless might have been the best liar I’d ever met.

  “Sterling’s dead,” I said.

  “Oh, no,” Three Hearts proclaimed. “Not another one dead.”

  “He wasn’t dead when he called me,” Useless said, approximating a man telling the truth.

  “How did you know we were in jail?”

  “Sterling told me. He had his men question Three Hearts about the men she’d been wit’ —”

  “That’s right,” my auntie said. “They asked and we told them that you had been arrested.”

  “Why would they ask you that?” I asked Three Hearts.

  “I don’t know.”

  My frustration was rising. Something was a lie here. Something wasn’t true. And Useless knew what it was.

  “When Fearless and I went to see Sterling,” I said to Use-242

  FEAR OF THE DARK

  less, “he was scared the minute he saw that we were black.

  That’s what frightened him. Now, if he’s afraid of black people so much, how he gonna get three black men to kidnap your mama an’ girlfriend?”

  “Maybe he wasn’t scared,” Useless speculated. “Maybe he only pretended to be afraid so you wouldn’t suspect him.”

  I wanted to ask: That’s why he had a heart attack an’ died in my arms?

  “People out here dyin’ because’a you, Cousin,” I did say.

  “Leave him alone,” my aunt countered. “You’re the one gettin’ people in trouble. You’re the one see somebody and then he turns up dead.”

  That was the last straw for me. I said, “You come to my house, drag me out in the street where I get my butt kicked, thrown in jail, surrounded by murderers, blackmailers, pimps, and thieves . . .”

  “Paris,” Fearless said in a low warning tone.

  “. . . You shoot a man with your own gun, kill him dead, don’t even cross your heart for a blessin’ when you talk about it, and still you gonna sit there next to that liar you call a son and blame me for killin’ the man Useless here just said ordered your kidnappin’.”

  “His name is Ulysses,” was her reply.

  “Maybe to you,” I said. I realized that I was hovering over my relatives. “Maybe to you he’s some Greek hero, some descendant of a poor slave woman got in the way of a war. But to me he’s useless, hopeless, inadequate, futile, a waste of time.”

  Three Hearts stood up.

  “I’m leaving,” she said.

  “Get out, then,” I said, not myself at all. “Get the hell out.”

  “Come on, Ulysses,” was her reply.

  243

  Walter Mosley

  Useless stood. So did Angel.

  “But you ain’t takin’ that suitcase.”

  Fearless hopped down from the counter.

  “You don’t wanna mess with the contents of this bag, man,”

  Useless assured me.

  “Why not? What you got in there?”

  “It’s the stuff Sterling used to blackmail them men.”

  “Fearless an’ me know one’a them men,” I said. “Martin Friar.”

  “Marty?” was Angel’s first word in a while.

  “He sends his best,” I said to the young beauty. “I think he thinks he loves you.”

  You couldn’t have read her face with a microscope.

  “Leave the bag, Ulysses,” Three Hearts said.

  “But Mama . . .”

  “Leave it. That’s the devil’s work in that bag. I’m sure Fearless will make sure it gets back to the men that have been wronged.”

  “Yeah,” I said. “Fearless’ll do it. Fearless, not Paris. Not your nephew, who you dragged down in the trough with your son.”

  Fearless reached down for the bag. Useless took it by the handle.

  “Don’t cause a ruckus, Ulysses,�
� Fearless said.

  “Do you have a car, Ulysses?” Three Hearts’s voice was stiff and angry.

  “Yeah. Jerry Twist lent me his car.”

  “Then let’s get out of here.”

  “Two questions, Useless,” I said.

  Hearts was about to protest my bastardization of her son’s name, but he put a hand on her shoulder.

  “What, Paris?”

  244

  FEAR OF THE DARK

  “Who killed Mad Anthony?”

  Useless never could lie very well in the presence of his mother. She forgave him everything and loved him fiercely.

  Her passion made him honest, or somewhat so.

  “He was tryin’ to kill me, Paris. I swear.”

  “What about Hector?”

  “Come on, baby, let’s go,” Angel said.

  “I don’t know,” Useless said to me. “I shot Tony in a alley off ’a Alameda. He would’a kilt me if I didn’t, but I don’t know about Hector.”

  Our eyes were locked for a long minute. I believed him . . .

  but that didn’t make what he said the truth.

  The three headed for the door. I followed them through the bookstore and out onto the porch. I don’t think I’d ever been angrier. All the trouble I’d gone through, and my aunt still treated me like a throwaway waxed paper milk carton.

  “You welcome for our help finding your son,” I called after them. “Make sure you don’t call back any time soon.”

  Three Hearts wheeled around and stared at me, her evil eye glowing in the night. But I didn’t care, not one bit. A man can only be pushed so far and then he has to stand up and say what he feels.

  “She’ll cool down in the mornin’, Paris,” Fearless said at my back. “She’ll see that you did right by her with the dawn.”

  “All I want is for them to leave me alone,” I said. “I’ve had enough. You hear me?”

  245

  B a c k i n s i d e , Fearless picked up the suitcase that Useless had left in my kitchen.

  38 “I’ll hold on to that,” I told him.

  “You sure, man?”

  “I wanna check it out.”

  “Okay, Paris,” Fearless said. Then he chuckled. “You must be boilin’.”

  “She drive me crazy, Fearless,” I said. “Here I done helped her do what she want, an’ she still wanna look at Useless like he the one did it all.”

  “That’s her baby there,” Fearless said. “You cain’t do nuttin’

  about that.”

  “It’s not only that,” I said. “Sterling was workin’ for somebody, somebody he was scared of. That means the one who had Angel and Hearts kidnapped is still out there. That man’s a killer an’ he might be thinkin’ about us. And you know Useless not tellin’ us everything.”

  Fearless stood there while I ranted and gulped tea. He leaned back against the counter, with moths darting through the darkness behind him. It’s not that he didn’t care about what I was saying. It’s just that there was nothing to do about it. Fearless lived a life filled with dangers. Walking down the 246

  FEAR OF THE DARK

  street was a threat to him. But he just moved through it, living by a code that I doubt he’d have been able to articulate.

  The phone rang about then.

  It was after midnight.

  “Hello?” I said, hoping that Three Hearts did not want to apologize.

  “Paris,” he said in a low tone.

  “Hold on.”

  Fearless had followed me into the bookshop part of my home. I handed the phone to him. He muttered a word and then listened. After forty-five seconds or so he grunted and then hung up.

  “You wanna go for a ride?” he asked me.

  There was no doubt in my mind that Fearless meant to drive into trouble. Trouble was where he was coming from and it was most often his destination. But the alternative was to sit in my house alone with the fear of a killer who could take you out with a straightedge or a heart attack.

  “Okay,” I said, and Fearless clapped my shoulder.

  I wa s s o m e w h a t s u r p r i s e d that Fearless took us to Ha Tsu’s Good News. I almost asked if he was lost when we pulled to the curb a block down from the restaurant–pool hall.

  Maybe, I thought, the blows of Chapman Grey had loosened a connection in Fearless’s brain.

  “Fearless?” I said, and then a brown shadow appeared next to the driver’s window. My shoulders rose, preparing for the shot I knew had to follow. My fingers gripped the door handle.

  Then I saw that it was Whisper.

  Fearless let down his window.

  247

  Walter Mosley

  “Where is he?” Fearless asked.

  “Right smack-dab across the street from Ha Tsu’s,” Whisper said. “Him and Rex Hathaway.”

  “Why here?” I asked.

  Whisper hadn’t noticed me. He glanced at Fearless, the question in his gaze.

  “We on sumpin’ together,” Fearless said.

  “Albert Rive been in town a week,” Whisper said to me. “I been lookin’ for him, but he got sneaky. Then somebody let

  ’im know that Fearless been seen at Good News.”

  “I thought Al was after Milo,” I said.

  “Yeah, but Fearless in the way. He must figure if he can take out the bodyguard, Milo be like a clam wit’ no shell.”

  “Let’s go,” Fearless said.

  “Hold up,” Whisper said. “Why don’t we have Paris here walk down the block just a minute before us? That way we see if he got somebody else there.”

  “We could go find out that for ourselves,” Fearless said, defending me. “We don’t need him.”

  Before Whisper could protest, I said, “No. I’ll do it.”

  Whisper nodded. “Walk by across the street an’ keep on goin’. When you come to the end’a the block, we’ll make our move. Turn around quick an’ shout if you see something.”

  I d o n ’ t k n o w w h y I did it. I suppose my interpretation of Aristotle’s logic had something to do with it. It didn’t make sense for Albert Rive to shoot me when he was after Fearless.

  At worst he might accost me, ask me where my friend was.

  And before I could answer, Fearless would be on him.

  248

  FEAR OF THE DARK

  But that wasn’t the real reason. I just needed to do something. I needed to move my legs to exercise my heart. I was in deep trouble and if I stopped moving I worried that the fear would overtake me and I’d be frozen like a child in the arms of a make-believe monster.

  I walked down the block, feeling cool on my left side, the side that faced the hidden Albert and Rex. The bouncer, Harold Crier, was gone from his post. I glanced up at Jerry Twist’s windows. They were dark, but that didn’t mean anything.

  I passed under the red lantern of the restaurant, across the street from the unseen killers, and into darkness. As night shadows fell on me, I thought of Tiny Bobchek’s corpse. The image upset my equilibrium. My toe kicked the concrete. At any other time I would have righted myself and kept on going, but in that sudden darkness, with the apparition of the man I had cuckolded in my mind, I tried too hard, lost my balance, and fell.

  I looked back to see Fearless and Whisper running toward a recessed doorway. Then I saw a movement above. It was a window coming open just as Fearless approached the darkened entrance.

  “Fearless!” I screamed. “Up above your head!”

  My friend took flight without even a glance upward. A rifle appeared at the window. Whisper came into view and pressed himself against a wall. When the first shot came, I expected to see the nondescript detective crumple and fall, but instead the bullet ricocheted two feet from where I lay. I looked up at the window, trying to understand how the assassin’s shot could have been so far off. The next shot shattered a barbershop window next to my head, and I understood in a flash that Whisper 249

  Walter Mosley

  had made himself invisible, and I,
with my loud cry, was the only target in sight.

  Instead of running, I looked for Whisper. He was gone.

  A series of shots exploded inside the assassins’ hiding place across the street from Good News. I could see them glimmer weakly through the windows.

  I got myself to a standing position and staggered away, around the corner. There I leaned against a wall, breathing as if I had just run a mile.

  More gunshots.

  A siren sounded somewhere.

  The sirens continued. I moved down the street and into an alley. I crouched behind a group of metal cans.

  “What’s happenin’?” someone hissed, and I almost leaped up.

  Behind me on a ledge big enough to hold him was a man who’d made his bed there. He was black and dressed in nighttime grays. There was hair all over his face and a frightened glint in his eyes.

  The sirens were getting louder.

  “I don’t know,” I said. “I was walkin’ down the street an’ all of a sudden there was shots.”

  Three police cars careened down the street I had run from.

  “Who was it?” the alley dweller asked.

  “Loud and Dangerous,” I said.

  My new friend and I waited a while. There were no more shots. After a few minutes there was shouting: military-like orders were being given. At that point I got up and walked down toward the hubbub — just a neighborhood resident wondering what was going on.

  There were at least a dozen people in front of Good News, 250

  FEAR OF THE DARK

  gaping at the commotion across the street. Smaller groups of Watts’s denizens appeared on stoops and in the street.

  The police were taking five men from the building, all of them in handcuffs. Whisper and Fearless were among the prisoners. They’d be arrested, but that was all right; both men were certified to take in bail jumpers.

  I saw Albert Rive, his brawny body sagging under the beating that Fearless had surely given him. The other men, except for Fearless and Whisper, also seemed a little worse for wear.

  The moon hung at the end of the street. Under its constant stare a paddy wagon came, gathered my friends and their quarry, and took them someplace where Milo could go and set things straight.