Mrs. Henry recovered enough to laugh once more.
“You show him, mister,” she said to me. “Knock some sense inta him.”
With that Ross’s mother went off down the hall.
“I’m gone, Saul,” I said.
“Hold up, man.” That was Ross. “Hold up.”
He stood and held out a hand.
“No hard feelings, brother,” he said. “It’s just that you caught me right in the middle’a the pussy, man. I was gettin’ it but when she heard you comin’ she jumped up off me and put on her clothes. Then when you made her leave—shit, I lost it.”
“Are you crazy, Ross?” Saul asked. “Why do you want to have a woman in here when you’re in so much trouble?”
I think I was the first one to laugh. But Ross and Saul followed soon after. We all knew the answer to that question.
“All right now,” I said. “It’s time to talk turkey.” The smiling stopped.
Ross rubbed his mustache and leaned against the sink. Saul sat in the sill of a small window.
“You didn’t rob your boss?” I asked.
“What kinda shit question is that?” Ross said, half rising from his perch.
“You swing on me again and I’ll break that jawbone.”
“No, man. No. I did not rob Gator.”
“Then who did?”
“How should I know?”
“I don’t know, but if the cops don’t have nobody else they gonna give you to the judge. And you and I both know what he’s gonna do.”
“Over twenty-five guys work for him,” Ross said. “They come and go all the time. Must be a hundred different people know about the safe and that torch.”
“How many of them have access to a key?” I asked.
Ross winced and turned his head away.
“How’d you come up with the money for Amiee?” I asked.
“What you mean?”
“She’s a prostitute, right?”
“Man,” Ross said. “You just wanna get your ass kicked, don’t you?”
“She’s your girlfriend?”
“Today,” Ross replied. “Maybe not tomorrow.”
“Lemme see your wallet.”
Ross turned to Saul but only got the shrug.
You could see around Ross’s eyes that he was in his thirties. But in his heart he was still a young man, barely out of his teens. That’s why I treated him like a child.
He took out a black wallet that was maybe ten percent leather and the rest paper. He had a driver’s license, a library card, and three dollars. Under the secret flap he had a two-dollar bill that had the upper right corner torn away to avoid the bad luck associated with that denomination. If he had robbed a safe of thousands of dollars his wallet would have been stuffed with cash—I was sure of that.
“You do much reading?” I asked him.
“So what?” he replied.
I handed him the wallet and asked, “What kind of job could I get if I go down there?”
OLIPHANT’S GARAGE was an ultramodern auto repair and body shop. Everything was chrome and concrete, glass and white paint. The gleaming cylinders for the hydraulic lifts were well oiled and flawless. There was no trash or built-up grease in the corners. The mechanics wore dark-blue coveralls.
There were white men and blacks working together. If I was unemployed this would be the first place I’d look for a job.
“Can I help you?” a red-headed kid asked. He was no more than fifteen, with a big friendly smile on his face. I felt that I’d met him before but put that down to his engaging manner.
“Lookin’ for a job’s all,” I said.
“What kind of job?”
“Mechanic.”
For a frown the young man smiled just a bit less brightly.
“You been a mechanic before?” he asked.
