“Wait here,” the man in the green suit told me.
He went through a door. The men peered at me from their seats.
I was remembering the wet heat of the Louisiana summers of my boyhood. Old folks used to say that it was so hot that even God was sweating.
“What’s the skinny, shine?” a roly-poly man in a dark suit asked. His slight accent was eastern European but he’d been down among my people once or twice; the twist on his words told me that.
His tone also told me that my mortal troubles might soon be over. But I was pacific. I had a .38 strapped to my thigh and a slit cut into my pants so that I could get to it fast. I could kill the moonfaced talker and maybe one or two of his friends before I went down.
It was that thought that saved me. I didn’t lose my cool. I gave that man a look that said, “Don’t mess, motherfucker, don’t mess.” If I had gotten mad or scared he would have been on me in a second. This way he had to consider first. He had to wonder what it was that I had.
The other men started to laugh. They liked a good standoff. The man I was looking at had probably killed a dozen men, and every one of them begged for life. But not this time.
“Hey, Aaron,” a slappy-looking guy dressed in clashing browns said. “Looks like you met your match there.”
All the men laughed.
Moonface tried to grin, but failed.
I took a deep breath and he measured it. He tried another smile and I lowered my shoulder to go for the gun. I was a fool but I didn’t mind.
“Hey you.” The man in the green suit was standing in the doorway to the doctor’s office.
I looked at him feeling unconcerned. I was in no hurry.
“Yeah?” I asked.
“Come on.”
Aaron smoothed back the little hair he had as I walked by. I felt a sort of comradeship with him. For a moment the violence that we both wanted seemed okay, like it was just an expression between men—rough humor, healthy competition, survival of the fittest.
As I passed into the big man’s office I shed the feelings of impending violence I had with Aaron. Now I had to be ready for a new game. I didn’t know what to expect, but that’s what street life is all about—you get thrown into the mix and see if you can get your bearings before your head’s caved in.
“THIS IS HIM, Mr. Stetz,” the green suit said.
“Thanks, Arnie. You frisk him?” Stetz asked.
Arnie and I looked at each other.
Stetz shook his head.
“Get outta here, Arnie.”
Arnie wanted to say something but Stetz said, “Just go.”
Something about the way Stetz sent Arnie away made me like the man. In those two words he said, “You’re hopeless, Arnie, but I’ve got to keep you around because we’ve known each other so long and because I can still squeeze an ounce of worth out of you now and then.” It reminded me of my job at Sojourner Truth.
Stetz was a good-looking white man. Tall and comfortable with the elevation, he had a good tan and light brown hair. His eyes wavered between brown and yellow and his shoulders had seen their days of labor.
His suit was dark blue.
“Sit down,” he told me. I heard the door close on Arnie at my back.
“Jackson Blue sent you?” Stetz asked. His eyes looked bored. I had the feeling that he’d asked me in because he didn’t have anything else to do.
He waited for me to sit first.
“Not exactly,” I replied. I didn’t give much because I was still trying to figure the right approach with him. Stetz had kept the doctor’s office exactly as he had found it. There were medical books on the shelves; big oak filing cabinets along the opposite walls. The meandering vine that grew in the window behind him looked as if it had been growing there for over a decade. The central stalk had gone woody.
The desk in front of him was empty except for a Modern Library edition of
“You read?” His question startled me.
“Yeah. Some.”
“You read this?” He held the volume up.
I shook my head no. “But that was his journal, right? He was waging a campaign against the Germans or somebody and wrote down his thoughts about bein’ a right man.”
“What do you want, Mr. Rawlins?”
“I got a problem, and so does Jackson. As I see it your waters might be gettin’ a little rough too. One thing I learned down home was that sometimes men can trade off their losses and come out with a profit.”
“You’re losing me, friend,” Stetz said.
