“And what about women killed that you found killers for?” I asked. “What about some innocent men up in jail for women that Harold killed?”
Melvin hadn’t thought of that. He turned his eyes toward a tan filing cabinet in the corner.
“One thing at a time,” he said. “Tell me what you know about this Harold right now.”
I told him all I knew. It wasn’t much. He was on the short side and medium brown. I remembered that his hairline was beginning to recede and his beard hairs were at least half gray. When I’d met him he looked about fifty to me, but on thinking about it later, I thought that street life had aged him prematurely. He had big hands that seemed a little bloated. He had spent at least a few nights in the drunk tank and he drove a shopping cart. His mother was still alive and lived in L.A., a fact he let drop in the one three-minute conversation I had with him. He had never looked me directly in the eye.
Suggs took notes while I talked and when I was finished he snapped his little notepad shut.
“Not much,” he said.
“I know. I’ve spent months driving around South L.A. looking for him. But it’s a big city. I thought maybe he migrated away. But if his mother is here, I hoped that he either came back to see her or that he never left.”
“I’ll put out the word on this Harold,” Suggs said. “But you should be out there lookin’ for him too. Did you find out anything about the white man that stayed with Nola?”
“No.”
“Well,” he said, “that’s probably for the best anyway. Jordan’s office won’t care about our theories on some black Jack the Ripper out around here. No sir they sure wouldn’t. Find the white man and truss him up like a Thanksgiving turkey—that’s Jordan’s speed.”
26
Suggs accompanied me out of the precinct. Half the policemen in the station came out to watch our passage. If I’d gone alone I would have been drawn into a fight I could have never won. Suggs knew that and walked me all the way to my car. There he extended his hand to me again. I shook it. It had been a long time since I felt that a white policeman saw eye to eye with me. The least I could do was take his hand in friendship.
I had the urge to get out in the streets and search for Harold but I knew better. Los Angeles is a big place. Anyone can hide there. There are docks and train yards and so many back alleys that it would take you two months to search them all once.
No, I wouldn’t get far by driving around, so I went home to see my beautiful patchwork family.
The little yellow dog, Frenchie, met me at the door. He snarled and barked his disapproval at my presence.
“I’m home,” I called, thinking that Bonnie and Feather would be in the kitchen sharing girl talk and making dinner.
“Hey, Easy,” a somewhat masculine voice said.
Jackson Blue rose up out of the love seat.
Jackson was very dark, slender, and short. I’d known him since my early years in Houston. We were what you would call friends but he certainly was not someone I could trust.
Jackson’s own mother couldn’t trust him. He was a liar by nature and a thief from the first day he could close his hands around some other baby’s rattle. But on the plus side he smiled easily, knew all of the important gossip within a twenty-mile radius, and had an IQ probably on a par with some of the greatest geniuses of history.
One of Jackson’s most endearing qualities was his cowardice combined with a willingness to get involved with some of the worst criminals you could imagine. He was always looking over his shoulder or cowering in some dark corner. He laughed easily and I was sure that he stayed so slim so that he’d have the edge when he might have to outrun some irate partner in crime.
“Jackson,” I said.
Now that he was standing I could see that he was wearing a tailored two-piece gray flannel suit with a white shirt, a dark maroon tie, and glasses with thick black rims. I tried to think of why he would be wearing such a getup. But no matter what came to mind there was no justification for it.
“You like?” he asked with a grin, holding up his cuffs and giving a wink.
“Halloween?” I asked, gesturing at the suit.
“You a regular Redd Foxx. No. This is a business suit. I’m a businessman.”
“Hi, honey,” Bonnie said, coming out of the kitchen.
“Daddy!” Feather yelled, careening between Bonnie and Jackson and slamming into my legs.
Feather hugged my right thigh, Bonnie kissed my cheek, and Jackson got into it by giving me a handshake. It was one of the few moments at that time that stands out for me as peaceful and whole. There I was, a man surrounded by friendship and love.
“Uncle Jackson says that there’s people in the South Pacific got two heads,” Feather said.
“Maybe if they buy a head of lettuce at the store,” I told her.
Feather giggled and then laughed until she fell to the floor.
Bonnie picked her up and I kissed her.
“What you doin’ here, Jackson?” I asked.
“Anybody ever need help, they come to Easy Rawlins,” he said.
