Sacrifice

'Not so many white men call here, mahn.'

'You have people watching me?'

'No, mahn. For sure. You have been a friend.'

'That past tense?'

A cloud passed over the sun in his voice. 'We were watching you, mahn, you would not know to ask.'

'Any chance of Clarence free-lancing?'

'No chance. No chance at all. You have enemies, my friend?'

'I don't know yet. Maybe I'm just spooked.'

'That is a racist slur, mahn?'

'Lighten up…I mean, look, a crew's been following me, I think. I'll know for sure later— there's not that many places they could watch.'

'Our people?'

'I didn't talk to them, just saw them.'

'We just look alike, mahn.'

'Who does your material, Jacques? Listen up: I got a crew on me, maybe it has something to do with you, understand?'

'Let us know, mahn. Everybody knows, West Indians, we pay our debts.'

One more call. I couldn't make it from the restaurant. I told one of the cooks I'd be right back. He said something in Chinese.

61

Found a pay phone near the OTB on the Bowery. Dialed Albany, listened to the operator tell me the toll for the first three minutes, forked over the coins. Good thing the State gives commissioners private lines— I'd use up the money I had on deposit just getting past the secretary.

He grabbed it on the first ring.

'What's wrong now?' Resigned good humor, a faint bluegrass flavor to his speech.

'Trouble on 7-Up, Doc. Microwave Marvin's not coming out of his house— the fool thinks he's got hostages in there with him.'

'Who is this?'

'Your old typist, Doc. Please don't say my name on the phone.'

'Good to hear from you, hoss. You must be on the bricks, talking like this.'

'Yeah. For now, anyway. I need you to see someone, Doc. Give me an opinion.'

'I don't make house calls anymore.'

'This'd be outside. I need you to do your trick with the girasol.'

'I've been hearing stuff about you, over the years. Never could be sure, jailhouse gossip and all that. What do you want me to look at?'

'A baby killer.'

'Forget it. That's what I heard about you. You want information, go to the library.'

'Not a freak who kills babies, Doc. A baby killer, you understand?'

'You mean…a killer baby?'

'Yeah. That's exactly what I mean.'

'I'll be in the city in a couple of weeks. Some stupidass budget meeting. Give me a call at…'

'There's no time, Doc. None at all.'

'Look…'

'Sophie would want you to do this, Doc.'

'You calling in the marker?'

'If that's the only way.'

'I'll be on the early train tomorrow, son.'

62

I let myself back into Mama's joint. It was like I'd never left. It's always like that. I came home from jail one time— walked in, sat down in my booth. Mama came and sat down across from me, serving her soup. Maybe that's why she doesn't age— in her spot, she controls time.

I called around. Left word for the Prof, dropping seeds on the ground. He'd turn up. Michelle used to do that kind of thing for me, fronting between our world and theirs. She'd be back. I knew my sister— missing, not lost.

Then I called the Mole. To make a reservation.

When Mama made no move to come over, I got up, went to the register. Luke was sitting next to her on a