something to do with the Watermelon Man.
“Who?”
“Don’t fuck with me, Miles,” I said. “You know as well as I do that you done sent Fearless down a dangerous road. You know it.”
Milo pulled out a cigar.
If I didn’t know that I was in trouble before, that stogie was the final proof. Milo smoked to hide his nervousness—and he never got nervous until the walls were caving in.
“Talk to me, Milo.”
“What do you know, Paris?”
“Enough to put you in prison.”
The bail bondsman’s eyes widened. I liked that for two reasons. One was that I had gotten to him, raised the stakes. And also I liked to see bright white eyes against black skin—it made me feel like home.
“I don’t know nuthin’ ’bout no prisons,” Milo said. “I know money and I know power, that’s all.”
“So which one did you send Ted Timmerman out after?”
“You met Mr. Timmerman, then?”
“Milo, do I have to go get Fearless? I mean, do you want to do this song and dance with him?”
“I’m not afraid. I haven’t done anything wrong.”
I snorted.
Milo blew out a cloud of smoke.
It was hot in that room. I was sweating even though all I had on was green gardener trousers and a white T- shirt. Milo wore a three-piece suit with a red tie knotted up to his throat, but he was still dry as a bone.
“What’s goin’ on, Milo?”
“Money, son,” the dark-skinned ex-lawyer proclaimed. “Only money, and nuthin’ else.”
“I got twenty-three dollars seventy-five cents in my pocket,” I said. “And compared to Fearless I’m a millionaire.”
“I know you got money in the bank,” Milo said. “Money in the bank and papers on that bookstore. You ain’t broke.”
Milo had been an equal third partner when Fearless and I got our thirteen thousand dollars and almost killed. His money was gone too. But Milo had squandered his cash on foolish investments. He wanted to be rich so bad that he never had a dime.
“Winifred Fine come to see me four, no five, five days ago,” he said.
“And?”
“That’s Winifred L. Fine.” Milo pronounced the name as if he expected me to faint dead away.
“Yeah. I know her. The one own that fruit market down on Avalon.”
“And three gas stations, two hardware stores, and Nathan’s Bakery,” Milo added.
“She own Nathan’s too?”
“She also make Madame Ethel’s Beauty Supply line.”
“Never heard of it,” I lied.
“Black women all over Georgia, Tennessee, Florida, and Alabama use Madame Ethel’s.”
“When did you get to be such an expert on women’s beauty products?”
“I’m an expert on money,” Milo said. “Money, boy. Big money. And when Miss Fine come to me five days ago and says that she needed to locate her nephew, I knew that big money was on the rise.”
“What nephew?”
“Bartholomew Perry.”
“BB’s her blood?”
“You know him?”
“Seen ’im around. He come down Watts all the time, thinkin’ he’s slummin’ just ’cause his daddy owns that used car lot.” An alarm went off in my head but I didn’t let it show.
“So you know where he hangs out?”
“Naw. I just seen him. At Baptiste’s mainly. That’s all.”
“What was he doin’ when you seen ’im?”
“Stuffin’ his fat face,” I said. “He’d bring his high-yellow and white girlfriends down there.”
“All right now,” Milo complained. “Ain’t no use tryin’ to run a man down like that. I’m sure he got black girls too.”
“Not that I ever saw.”
