“We got to call an ambulance,” he said.
The man was on his back on the floor, bare-chested with one arm straight out to the right and the other down at his side. I knew Fearless was right. But if I had been alone, my moral responsibilities wouldn’t have become apparent until I was far away and safe.
We made the call from the phone in a corner of the living room, then hurried out toward the car.
There was a siren blaring somewhere off in the night. The young lovers were gone, and we weren’t far behind them.
9
THE DAPPLED SUNLIGHT on apricot-colored walls was the most delicate thing I had seen in a very long time. The lilac-scented sheets were soft and light. Even the mosquitoes silently batting against the outside of the window were a feathery tickle in my mind. But mosquitoes led unerringly to the notion of blood, and blood would always remind me of Conrad Benjamin Till.
Someone dragged a chair across a floor downstairs, and a dog barked. The aroma of coffee blended with lilac. I sat up and looked out of the window. There I saw East L.A. with its carob and magnolia trees, its unpaved sidewalks, and tiny homes flocked with children. Pontiacs and Fords and Studebakers drove slowly toward their goals. Brown- and white-skinned people made their way.
“Hey, Paris,” Fearless hailed when I came to the doorway of the kitchen. He was sitting just outside the back door in boxer shorts and a T-shirt on a chrome-and-vinyl chair, drinking coffee from a porcelain cup.
“Good morning,” Fanny Tannenbaum said. She was standing at an ironing board, working the wrinkles out of my pants.
I was in my underwear like Fearless, but I wasn’t embarrassed.
“What time is it?” I asked.
“Almost nine,” Fearless and Fanny said together. It was like they were old friends, even family.
I walked into the room and then jumped across the floor because of the low growl to my right. It was the mongrel from the night before, chewing on a big beef bone and warning me to keep my distance.
Fearless got up from his perch and came in to join us. “Shut up, Blood,” he intoned. The dog whimpered and ducked his head.
“I named him after last night,” Fearless continued.
“Mr. Jones told me that I should ask questions to you, that he didn’t explain things so good,” Fanny said.
“He did, huh?”
“Have you found out anything?”
“You know a guy named Conrad Till?” I asked her.
“No. Who is he?”
“He’s a black man, maybe one of the ones who came after you and Solly. Somebody shot him —”
“Oh my!” Fanny cried.
“But he wasn’t dead. We called the ambulance. He’s probably fine.”
Fanny sighed with relief. It had been a while since I’d been around someone who would care about a stranger, even when that stranger might have done her wrong.
“Did you find out why they hurt my husband?” she asked.
“No,” I said.
“It’s all so crazy,” Fanny said. She took my pants and folded them. I reached over to take them from her. It was funny, I didn’t mind standing there in my drawers, but I was embarrassed to put pants on in front of her. I turned sideways, and she, sensing my embarrassment, turned to look out of the window.
It felt like there was a sock in the right front pocket, but when I put my hand in there, I discovered a large wad of what I knew was money. Small bills, I figured, that she kept in a can used for household expenses.
“When did you come in?” I asked Fanny.
“Morris brought me over at seven on his way to the bank.”
“Who?”
“Gella’s husband. All the way he’s telling me what I should be doing. I should be careful. I should leave well enough alone.
