They ate in her small backyard under the thin branches of a pomegranate tree. Iula made the second batch of pancakes. Socrates helped by standing behind her with his hands on her hips.
?You ever meet a man name'a Lavant Hall?? he asked after kissing her ear twice.
?Mmmm,? the diner owner crooned. ?Smell like a whole bot-tle'a perfume done falled on his head. I always thought he was one'a them funny men. Why??
?I don't know. I met'im 'bout a month ago. He had this fluffy red dog. He said somethin' that I didn't think about at the time but now I wanna talk to'im about it and I was wonderin' where he lives.?
?He stay up in Theda Johnston's garage. He don't pay rent but I think he know somethin' about electricals and he rewired and did some other stuff for her.?
Socrates and Darryl and Killer made it to Theda Johnston's house on Denker at two in the afternoon.
It was a big house for the block. Only one story but wide, with a front porch that almost ran the full length of the property. The porch was shaded by overhanging eaves. There was a sofa on either side of the front door and a huge dark evergreen tree in the front yard. Everything about the house looked cool and relaxing. Except for the loud African music coming from the backyard. The three Sunday strollers followed the music back to a garage that was newly painted yellow with crayon blue trim.
Johnny B. Goode leapt from some secret hiding place growling and barking and wagging his tail. Killer lunged forward to nuzzle his old friend.
?Dang,? Darryl said, frightened by the sudden attack.
The music cut off.
?Who's out there?? someone shouted from behind the partially open yellow door.
?Socrates, Lavant. Me and a friend come by to see where you live at.?
The door swung open and Lavant Hall came out holding a claw hammer in his left hand. He was wearing the same purple clothes with what looked like the same sweat stains. His eyes registered fear and distrust.
?You remember my dog don't you, Lavant?? Socrates found himself trying to put the man at ease again. ?We met at the park last month. You remember.?
?What you want?? the purple man asked.
?Just wanted to say hey, brother.? Socrates hoped that his words didn't sound as unnatural as they felt in his mouth. ?And to ask you somethin'.?
?Ask me what??
? 'Bout the raggedy flags of America, man. About them yellow posters you been puttin' up from here to the sea.?
?Who told you that??
?You did.?
?Me??
?I remembered you talkin' 'bout raggedy flags but even before that?I don't know, it was like that poster reminded me'a you. Neat but all handmade.?
The wary look on Lavant Hall's face slowly turned into a smile. He lowered his hammer and called Johnny B. Goode. Then he threw the door to the garage open and waved an inviting hand at his uninvited guests.
The garage had a high unfinished ceiling. The rafters were piled with junk, but it was neat. There was a platform loft halfway up the far end where Socrates spied a bed. The main room was dominated by a huge worktable supported by boxes and sawhorses. On the table was a big rectangular tub full of a pasty yellow fluid. There were coffee cans that held artist's brushes. A yellow poster page was spread out in front of a high swivel chair that had been set up for Lavant to write out one of his political manifestos.
?This is it,? he said proudly, holding up his skinny arms.
?Dog,? Darryl said, looking around the darkly cavernous room. The only lights were one overhead lamp that shone down on the yellow sheet and another, smaller bulb that lighted the loft space above.
?It's sumpin',? Socrates agreed. ?But what is it??
