“Maybe it was an accident,” the ex-lawyer suggested.
“I don’t think so,” I said. “Theodore said that the police thought it was started with gasoline. But I should probably check that out anyway. I mean, maybe somebody saw something.”
Milo nodded.
“But what I wanna know,” I continued, “is why should we even be talkin’ ’bout this? I mean, the bond is gone, and we don’t even know who has it. It could be Elana, it could be the man Fearless saw running down the alley. And whoever that was, it might be somebody in on it or just some bum got scared when he heard shots.”
“It wasn’t no bum,” Fearless added.
“How you know that?” Milo asked.
“ ’Cause Latham was farther up the alley. He was runnin’ an’ I don’t see Latham runnin’ from one man. He was tough. There was two men after him, and the one who got away was the one who kilt the cop and tore open the purse.”
“You don’t know that,” I said, but I wasn’t sure that he was wrong.
“If Grove’s partner has the bond, then it’s over,” Milo said.
“We don’t know if that was his partner,” I said. “And we don’t know if he got the bond. Elana took off in Latham’s car. She lit outta there wit’out lookin’ back. Maybe she got it.”
“Maybe,” Milo said. “But that’s an
We turned to Fearless then.
“What?” he complained.
“You the one he likes,” I said.
“I told him that I’d protect his wife, and you see what that did?”
“You couldn’t help that, son,” the suddenly paternal Milo Sweet said.
“He’s right, Fearless,” I added. “Sol’d want you to tell him about what’s happenin’. He would. You don’t have to tell him about Fanny.”
“You think he don’t know? You think he don’t know that his wife for forty-some years ain’t comin’ to the hospital t’see ’im? He knows. But you right, I should go there. I should go there an’ make sure nobody else come into that room.”
“You’ll ask him about the bond?” Milo suggested.
“I’ll tell ’im what I know,” Fearless said. “And then he can tell me what he wants.”
“I’ll go back over to the bookstore,” I said. “Maybe somebody knows about the fire, if it was set like the cops and the firemen suspected.”
“Okay,” Milo said. “Okay, you guys go out and do what you think is right, what you think is gonna get somethin’. But remember, this is money here. Money. Don’t go out there actin’ like this is everyday goin’ to work or throwin’ some dice. This is the big time. You go out there and your life is on the line. So try an’ bring somethin’ back wichya.”
I was moved by Milo’s pep talk, but I doubt if Fearless was. From the few political books I had read I knew Fearless was a natural-born anarchist. If he had what he needed, he thought of himself as a rich man; if he had less, well, that would have to do.
“What you gonna do, Milo?” I asked our partner.
“Ask a few questions. Get a few lies. Ask somethin’ else and then see what don’t jibe.” He was a poet of the lawyer’s caste.
25
FEARLESS, MILO, AND I WERE all set to go, Fearless to ride shotgun on Sol’s hospital bed, and Milo to gather information in his own secret ways.
Milo’s gas tank ran on schemes. He was into clandestine realestate deals, small-business investments, and some more shady enterprises. He was serious about everything he did, and most projects he got involved with, I felt, had a good chance of making it. But Milo was impatient. He wanted to see the money. He wanted a Cadillac and a fat Cuban cigar. After a few months he’d always start pushing. He’d expand before the business showed a profit or sell out for another, more promising scheme before the one he was into had a chance to grow.
