When we came in I expected him to turn on a light but instead he whispered, “We got to go down to the back.”
We went through the sitting room up front and then down the long hall that led to his “recreation room” toward the back of the house. We were halfway there when a light snapped on and a woman’s voice called out, “Johnny?”
Johnny?
“It’s okay, Alva. It’s just a friend’a mines come by.”
“At four in the morning?”
John and I both turned.
From first glance I knew that Alva was John’s perfect mate.
John was an intense man. He was good-looking as looks go but if somebody asked you was he handsome you might say no because his hard stare made him seem intimidating and remote.
Alva was his complement. Tall and striking, her lips would have left their impression on bone. Even in that chiffon robe she seemed to be an ebony statue striding toward us down that hall.
“He got some trouble, Alva,” John explained.
“Who?”
“Easy Rawlins, ma’am. Pleased to meet ya.”
“Easy,” she said, looking me up and down. “I think they named you wrong, honey.”
All three of us grinned.
“Easy an’ I gotta talk, Alva,” John said.
“You hungry, Mr. Rawlins?” she asked me.
“Well, I better eat anyway.”
“You two go on down there an’ I’ll come in a while.”
JOHN’S RECREATION ROOM was where he had friends come. There were six chairs that he’d made himself from old-time beer barrels, a bar, and a Navajo rug on the cement floor. He offered me another drink but I refused it. (But I wanted it too.)
I told him the whole story from back to front; everything except for Grace and Bill Bartlett. I hadn’t seen John in a while and so he was surprised to hear that EttaMae worked for me. He was shocked to hear that Mouse had a job.
“I heard about him killin’ Sweet William,” John said. “You know back where I come from we woulda put that boy down.”
“That’s why he left outta where you come from, John. But you know he’s changed. Few days ago he was talkin’ about church.”
“Church?”
“You know the Gasteaus?” I asked, suddenly needing to get back to my problems.
“Met’em.”
“Met’em where?”
“It was Holland mostly. You know, he was tryin’ t’act all flashy and cool. Come in with a tramp on each arm and spendin’ all kindsa money. Big mouth too. One time he come in wit’ his brother. Made a big deal over him at first but then he started tearin’ him down. You get some people like that, Easy. They get a couple’a drinks in’em an’ some kinda shit come out. Holland wanted to arm wrestle, that kinda shit.
“But you know Roman was cool. He just laughed it off. That niggah had some cold in him. Cold.”
“You mean Roman?” I asked.
John nodded.
“I heard that Roman was sellin’ heroin.”
“Could be. That niggah’d do anything. Anything.”
“But you don’t know nuthin’ else?”
“Naw, Easy. I don’t wanna know. I don’t like the life no mo’. That’s why I’ma sell the bar.”
“You are?”
“Yeah. I bought these three lots over on Rice. I’ma build me some houses over there.”
“No jive?”
“I hope you like eggs, Mr. Rawlins.” Alva was coming in the door. On a cork-inlaid tray she had a plate with scrambled eggs, crisp bacon, and dark buttered toast. There was a cup of coffee too.
Alva knew how to cook but that was only window dressing on a woman like her. If she had the strength of mind and spirit to pull John out of the sour funk of his life; if she could get him out of the bar business and into gardens and building houses—then she was Helen and Cleopatra in one.
I was hungrier than I knew. John and Alva sat patiently while I devoured her meal.
When I was finished John asked, “What do you need, Easy?”
“A car and five hundred dollars.”
