We finished off the bread. I broke out the chocolate. This time Clarence went for it, Belinda passed.
Peaceful there, delicate as an underwater bubble, the four of us in that park.
'What is that thing, mahn?' Clarence asked, looking at my pad.
'It's art.'
'It is, yes?' His black silk shirt rustled as he took it from my hands, examined it from different angles.
'Do you work with James?' Belinda asked Clarence.
'No, we are members of the same club.'
'What club?'
'A health club, miss.'
'Oh! I'm a member too. Which one do you go to?'
'You never would've heard of it, miss. Way out in Queens, by the train station.'
She got to her feet, patted herself like she was checking something. Her calves flexed under the exercise pants, heavy, shapely things. I got up too.
'I'll call you,' I said. 'Soon.'
'Do it,' she said, low-voiced. Stood on her toes, gave me a quick kiss near my mouth. Made her way down the hill, turned onto the track, jogged off.
'You were right, Clarence,' I said. 'She is a pretty woman.'
'She's a cop, mahn.'
147
Winter sun on my back, throwing shadows. Burning cold.
'You sure?'
'I been out here a long time, mahn. Not just today. She jogs around the park, got that Walkman in her ear. Only thing, she don't just listen, she talks too. Two white men, just past the Fifty-ninth Street entrance, two more, just off Central Park West on Eighty-sixth. Dressed like she is. Ankle holsters, walkie-talkies too. The black guy with the ice-cream wagon…the one by the big pond? Same thing. She talks to them all. That's all, mahn. She don't talk to nobody else.'
'Damn.'
'Yeah. Thought you knew, mahn, the way you change my name and everything. And she don't know yours, you think, yes?'
'Just playing it safe— I didn't know.'
'It's the truth, mahn. Sure thing. Somebody snatch that lady, he gonna get himself hurt.'
'You think that's what she's doing…trolling for rapists?'
'Wrong hours, mahn. Wrong time. She stays off the bad trails too. It's you she's working, boss.'
'Why?'
'Way I see it, the man in the white limo, he's made him a trade.'
'White limo?'
'This is Clarence, mahn. Your friend. Your true friend. Give it up. Don't look back. You follow that big bouncing butt right into the penitentiary.'
I lit a smoke, thinking about it. About not looking back. About how that comes natural to some people.
148
Clarence sat quietly next to me. Pansy swept the area with her eyes. Smarter than me, going in.
I packed my stuff in the gym bag, snapped on Pansy's lead, told her to stay while I folded the army blanket.
'Thanks, Clarence,' I said, holding out my hand, goodbye.
'That's not why I came, mahn. Got a message from the Queen. One of her people called Jacques. Said to come see her. She has your answer. Come anytime, after dark.'
'Anything else?'
'Word for word, mahn.'
We walked through the park, heading west. A collie galloped by, off leash, a kid chasing it. Pansy ignored the other dog— she generally does.
'You know about this obeah thing, Clarence?'
'I know some, mahn. What my mother told me, from her mother, she said.'
'Tell me.'
'It comes from the old ways. From slavery, way I heard it. It's all about sacrifice, mahn. When you die, you wait. To cross over. The sacrifice, that lets you come back. In spirit. There are many spirits…they call them loas…a joker, a warrior, a lover.'
'The bag…the one we found that night. That was a sacrifice?'
