hoist and get it to your car.?
Socrates nodded.
Bob helped him tie up the ugly green refrigerator. Socrates used the nylon rope to carry it over his right shoulder. It was a tight fit through the hallway to the front but Socrates made it. He paid his twenty dollars and then thought of a question.
?You got one'a them caller-ID gizmos??
?Uhhhh, hm. Yeah I think I got one up on the shelf over there next to Julio.? Bob was frowning. ?Why??
?You just connect it to your phone??
?Naw,? Bob said. ?You gotta pay the phone company to let the information in. But there's a better way to do it.?
?What's that??
?Pick up the phone and ask who's there.?
Socrates spent his Saturday bringing in a double outlet for his refrigerator and caller-ID display. Michael Porter came over on Sunday to check the connections. Porter was a tan-skinned Negro who was small and round. His lips were thin and his nose was turned up like a bulldog's snout.
?She perfect, Socco,? the little electrician said. ?You don't need my help.?
They played dominoes after that.
When Porter left it was after nine thirty. Socrates realized that the phone had not rung for three days.
That Monday he called the phone company and had his caller-ID turned on. When the phone rang that night the name Howard Shakur shimmered in green across the small screen.
?Darryl?? Socrates said. ?Where you been, boy??
?How you know it was me?? the startled boy asked.
?Who else gonna be callin' me this time'a night?? The glee of a secret was in Socrates' tone.
?I don't know,? the boy answered uncertainly. ?But anyway Howard and Corina and them havin' a picnic next weekend and they wanna know if you comin'.?
?What day??
?Uh, hold on.? Darryl put his hand over the receiver and shouted something then he said, ?On Sunday afternoon.?
?I'll be there,? Socrates said. ?How you doin', boy??
?I got a A on my math test.?
?You did??
?Uh-huh. I like to divide an' stuff.?
?I always knew you were smart, Darryl.?
?So how did you know it was me on the phone??
?But you not that smart.?
At about eleven P.M. the small glass screen shimmered, then the phone rang and the name Moorland Kinear appeared with a number beside it. Socrates had a pencil and a pad of paper ready to jot down the information. In case of a blackout he didn't want to lose the memory in his first computer device.
He didn't answer the phone. Instead he studied the name for clues to the caller's purpose.
It might have been a white man's name except that Socrates felt something familiar when he mouthed it. And there weren't that many white men who knew his name, not to mention his number. In his nine years in L.A., from
