like a guest and the guest always brings a gift so everybody knows how happy he is to come there.” Primo raised his hand like a country teacher. “But when you got a problem bringing a gift is like, like a snake making with pretty eyes.”
As he grew older Primo studied philosophy by considering all of the things he knew in Spanish, English, and life. His thoughts were always powerful because the pictures he used to describe them stayed with you over time.
I managed a chuckle and clapped his back. He was still a strong man.
Big black Panamanian Flower came out of the front door. She gave me her wide grin and a big kiss.
“Easy,” she said loudly. “You don’t come out here enough.”
“Working, you know,” my mouth said. But Flower could hear my heart. Her welcoming smile turned sad. She kissed me again and then cupped the back of my neck with her big hand.
“You take care of him now,” she said to her husband.
“Window on my passenger’s side is busted out, Primo,” I said, looking after Flower as she went back into the house. Two little brown kids came running from around the screen door. They had dark and almond-shaped faces and slanting eyes, from the oldest American stock, like Jesus. They were stalking up to us with silly grins on perfectly balanced feet.
“Oh,” Primo said. “You have a accident?”
“Somebody shot my girlfriend through the window while I was droppin’ somethin’ off down the street. She’s dead.” I said it all at once; partly just to say it, to know that it was true, and partly because I didn’t want to get Primo mixed up in anything that he didn’t know about from the beginning.
“What?” he asked.
“I’m just tryin’ t’stay outta trouble, man.”
Primo nodded his head and said, “So clean it up and put in a new window, huh?”
“If you wouldn’t mind. I’ll pay ya for it.”
“You need a car. I got a nice Chevy right out here.”
It was a late model, fierce metallic blue with balloon tires in back.
“Don’t you have somethin’ a li’l quieter?” I asked.
“Sometimes a loud noise is the best way to hide what you don’t want somebody to hear.”
“Do you have another car?” I asked the philosopher again.
“Not that’ll drive.”
“So then this one is just fine. Fine. Fine.”
Primo laughed and I managed to shake my head. The two boys made roaring noises and leapt at us.
“My grandchildren,” Primo told me proudly. “They are jaguars from the deep forest. Killers of great birds.”
THE RAIN HAD STOPPED by the time I made it home. I had just pulled Primo’s souped-up Chevy into the driveway and gotten out to go into my house.
“Mr. Rawlins.” I didn’t need to turn around to know Sergeant Sanchez.
He was getting out of a parked car.
I cursed under my breath for not checking out the street before parking. For some reason I felt safe at my own home—a mistake that a poor man should never make.
“Sergeant.” I smiled, trying to read in his bearing whether or not he knew about Idabell Turner’s demise.
I was pretty sure that he didn’t intend to arrest me. He’d come alone, and policemen never arrest a man single-handed if they can help it.
“You’re not at work today,” he said as he approached.
I remained silent.
“Do you have some time for a few questions?” he asked.
“Sure,” I said. “Whatever you wanna know.”
“Can we go in your house?”
Remembering Pharaoh moping around the front door I said, “House is a mess, officer, we better stay out here.”
“Oh.” His eyes were looking for an opening through my defense. “That’s a wild car you got there.”
“It takes me from place to place. That’s all you could ask for.”
“Is it yours?” he asked.
“No.”
“Where’s your car?”
“I lent it to my friend Guillermo to ride out to Las Vegas. My car’s better than his and he wanted to trade just for his vacation.”
“Where does this Guillermo live?”
“Out past Compton.”
