“Two hunnert dollars,” Jackson said again.
“Why?”
“Terrance Tippitoe.”
“Who?”
“He’s one’a the attendants up in there. While I was waitin’ to see the receptionist we talked. Afterwards I told him I thought I knew how he could make some scratch. He be off at three.”
“Thanks, Mr. Blue. That’s just what I needed.”
“Let’s go get lunch,” he suggested.
“You just ate a little while ago.”
“I know this real good place,” he said.
I flopped back down and he started the car. I closed my eyes but sleep did not come.
“ y e a h , e a s y , ” Jackson was saying.
I was stabbing at a green salad while he chowed down on a T-bone steak at Mulligan’s on Olympic. We had a booth in a corner. Jackson was drinking beer, proud of his work at the Westerly Nursing Home. But after the third beer his self-esteem turned sour.
“I used to be afraid,” he said. “All the time, day and night. I used to couldn’t go to sleep ’cause there was always some fear in my mind. Some man gonna find out how I cheated him or slept wit’ his wife or girlfriend. Some mothahfuckah hear I got ten bucks an’ he gonna stove my head in to get it.”
“But now you got a good job and it’s all fine.”
“Job ain’t shit, Easy. I mean, I like it. Shoot, I love it. But the job ain’t what calms my mind. That’s all Jewelle there.”
2 9 0
C i n n a m o n K i s s
He snorted and wiped his nose with the back of his hand.
“What’s the matter, Jackson?”
“I know it cain’t last, that’s what.”
“Why not? Jewelle love you more than she loved Mofass and she loved him more than anything before he died.”
“ ’Cause I’m bound to fuck it up, man. Bound to. Some woman gonna crawl up in my bed, some fool gonna let me hold onta his money. I been a niggah too long, Easy. Too long.”
I was worried about Feather, riding on a river of sorrow and rage named Bonnie Shay, scared to death of Joe Cicero, and faced with a puzzle that made no sense. Because of all that I appreciated Jackson’s sorrowful honesty. For the first time ever I felt a real kinship with him. We’d known each other for well over twenty-five years but that was the first time I felt true friendship for him.
“No, Jackson,” I said. “None’a that’s gonna happen.”
“Why not?”
“Because I won’t let it happen. I won’t let you fuck up. I won’t let you mess with Jewelle. All you got to do is call me and tell me if you’re feelin’ weak. That’s all you got to do.”
“You do that for me?”
“Damn straight. Call me anytime day or night. I will be there for you, Jackson.”
“What for? I mean . . . what I ever do for you?”
“We all need a brother,” I said. “It’s just my turn, that’s all.”
t e r r a n c e t i p p i t o e
was a small, dark-colored man who
had small eyes that had witnessed fifty or more years of hard times. He had told Jackson to meet him at a bus stop on Sunset at three-oh-five. We were there waiting. Jackson made the introductions (my name was John Jefferson and his was George 2 9 1
W a lt e r M o s l e y
Paine). I set out what I needed. For his participation I’d give him two hundred dollars.
Terrance was pulling down a dollar thirty-five an hour at that time and since I hadn’t asked him to kill anyone he nodded and grinned and said, “Yes sir, Mr. Jefferson. I’m your man.”
A time was made for Jackson to meet Terrance a few hours later.
Before Jackson and I separated back in Santa Monica, he agreed to lend me the two hundred.
The world was a different place that afternoon.
2 9 2
45
Iwent back to the hospital and got directions at the main desk to Bobby Lee’s new room. Sitting in a chair beside Lee’s door was an ugly white man with eyebrows, lips, and nose all at least three times too big for his doughy face. Even seated he was a big man. And despite his bulky woolen overcoat I could appreciate the strength of his limbs.
As I approached the door the Neanderthal sat up. His move-ments were graceful and fluid, as if he were some behemoth rising from a primordial swamp.
