out!”
Down on Court Street, the air was thick enough to swim through. Truck fumes coagulated around bits of dust, falling to the asphalt like volcanic ash. People on the sidewalk were defeated. A city bus stopped in front of me. A pair of brown eyes much like Carmella’s stared out at me from an ad on the side of the bus. The eyes were set in the face of a watch. The copy read: Timing isn’t everything. It’s the only thing. Harmony Watches.
“Kiss my ass,” I heard myself mutter. So too, apparently, did the woman standing next to me. She just shook her head no.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
The heat broke while I slept, massive thunderstorms washing away the haze and defeat. I bought a cup of coffee, walked across the street, and watched the fishing boats set out for blues or porgies or whatever else was foolish enough to bite at the thousands of tangled lines dropped into the Atlantic off the coast of New Jersey or Montauk. The decks were packed with beer-for-breakfast buddies full of good cheer and anticipation. A little chop on the water would wipe away those smiles in an instant, but for now the world was perfect. The boats’ throaty motors revved up and one by one they headed directly into the rising sun. One hour down, the rest of my life to go.
As tired of the wine business as I was, I didn’t do well with spare time. I’d made sure to never really have a lot of it. Between the wine stores and the agency and Katy and Sarah, I managed to keep myself pretty much occupied. But now with Sarah staying in Ann Arbor most of the year and with my more recent exile from Katy-ville, spare time seemed like it was going to be a bigger part of my life. I had at least the next two weeks off and I was bored silly an hour into my day. In the short term, my date with Connie couldn’t get here soon enough. In the long term, Carmella getting fat with child would mean more work for me at the agency. Hallelujah! Praise the Lord!
I bought every newspaper I could find, another cup of coffee, and headed back upstairs to read myself blind. The phone machine came to my rescue. I was halfway hoping it was Aaron or Klaus needing me to fill in at one of the stores, but it was a confused and impatient Marlon Rhodes wondering why I hadn’t taken him up on his offer. This time I called him back. I got his machine.
“Mr. Rhodes, this is Moe Prager returning your-”
“Yo, yo, yo! Marlon here, man.” He referred to himself in the third person.
“Sorry I didn’t get back to you sooner.”
“So, y’all still interested in Mr. White’s crazy-ass sista?”
“Depends.”
“Man, don’t play me like dat.”
“How should I play you?”
“I play for pay, man.”
“Yeah, I figured that out already. I got no problem with paying if I get a taste of what it is I’m paying for. But I have to warn you, Marlon, I’m not nearly as interested as I was that first time we spoke.”
He thought about that a second. “Fair ’nough.”
“I’m listening.”
“Mr. White, he was a good man. He really gave a shit ’bout his students and all. Helped me out with money sometimes too. Got me into treatment and everything, f’all the good dat did. When he died, his sista tried to make us into like some fucked up little family, havin’ us over for dinners and shit, but she wasn’t like Mr. White. She was all spooky Jesus and shit. She be playin’ us like old cassette tapes of Mr. White wishing her Happy Birthday or Merry Christmas. It was weird, man, hearin’ his voice and all. Then she get judgmental and shit, tryin’ to tell us all how to act. Mr. White, he wasn’t never dat way.”
“These cassette tapes, were they only Jack’s voice?”
“Mostly, but sometimes there was this other man on there.”
“Patrick?”
“If you say so. He was young. I can say dat. Been a long time, man.”
My heart was racing and my mind was a blur.
“Yo, Five-O, y’all still there?”
“Sorry, Marlon. I got distracted there a second. What happened with these dinners?”
“Without Mr. White, most of us, we went our own ways. Some of us went farther then others, if y’all hear what I’m sayin’.”
I read between the lines. “How long a stretch did you do?”
“Ten year bid in Kentucky for movin’ a little rock.”
“That’s a long time inside.”
“Man, when y’all doin’ nigga time in Kentucky, ten minutes a long time inside.”
“I can imagine.”
“No, you can’t.”
Touche. “So what happened?
“I don’t hear from his sista again until like eight weeks ago. I guess she heard I sometimes still went out to the cemetery. Dat’s how she got my number, from one of the others.”
“What did she say?”
“She all nice and shit now, sayin’ how she appreciates me still visitin’ her brother and all.”
“But…”
“But dat she askin’ everybody not to go out to the cemetery for a few weeks. She say some shit about them doin’ some ground work.”
“That’s weird.”
“I told you, man. She crazy.”
“Marlon, I gotta ask. Why didn’t you talk to me when I first called you and why’d you wait until now to call back?”
He didn’t answer. It was price-setting time, but I didn’t feel like haggling.
“How much?” I said.
“Five hundred.”
“Sold. Now let’s hear it.”
“Y’ail think I’m some kinda fool nigga? Dat was way too easy. My price goin’ up.”
“Don’t mistake my impatience with stupidity, Marlon. I’ll throw you another hundred, but then the bank’s closing forever. There’s a limit to how much I’m willing to spend to satisfy my curiosity.”
“Okay, cool. Six hundred.”
“Six hundred,” I repeated. “So what took you so long to call me back?”
“She call me last Friday, all apologetic and religious and shit. Kept sayin’ she was sorry and dat the Lord will be with me. Hell, man, the next time the Lord is with me, dat’ll be the first time. But I didn’t disrespect her or nothin’. I guess she jus’ a crazy old lady after all.”
“Maybe,” I said. “Maybe. Did she say what she was sorry for?”
“I didn’t ask. Jus’ wanted to get off the phone.”
“Hey, Marlon, how’d you like me to hand deliver that money tomorrow?”
“Tonight would be better, but I s’pose I can wait.”
“I suppose you’ll have to.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
I knew something wasn’t right the minute I turned the corner onto Mary White’s street. There was a local agent’s For Sale sign up at the edge of the meticulous little yard in front of her house. Hung beneath the larger sign was a smaller one. “Priced to Sell,” it read. Both signs swung gently in the early afternoon breeze. A blue jay
