“Why you say that?”
“What?”
“About BB and the dead white girl.”
“You ever see BB when he wasn’t with a girl either white or look like she was?” I asked.
“No . . . but that don’t mean he was with her.”
“I’d lay odds that he was, though.”
“But even so, what’s that got to do with me?” Fearless asked.
“Kit bought his used trucks hot from BB. I got that from Milo, who heard it from that man lookin’ for you— Timmerman. Kit also knew Hercules, and he’d been to a rich black woman’s house. That woman is BB’s auntie and she’s the one hired Milo in the first place.”
“But does that tell us why the cops are after me?”
“You looked for Kit. Maybe somebody mentioned it somewhere along the way when them cops was lookin’.”
“Damn, Paris. You know I have broke the law a time or two and the cops never got me. Wouldn’t be a kick in the head if I went down for somethin’ I don’t even know about?”
“Did Kit have any partners in the business?” I asked. “I mean, leasin’ the land and gettin’ those trucks must’a cost somethin’.”
“Maybe Maynard’d know.”
“That’s the guy used to ride Kit in?”
“Uh-huh. He might know sumpin’ ’bout that Hercules too.”
“I don’t know, Fearless. If he didn’t tell you I don’t see why he’d tell Maynard. Were they good friends?”
“Not really.”
“What about that big payday Kit was braggin’ on?” I asked. “Did he say anything more about that?”
Fearless pulled his lips into his mouth and shook his head.
I sat back then, letting the brass horns wash over my recent memories. I remembered being scared awake by Fearless and then by the white man.
“And then there’s Teddy Timmerman,” I said.
“What about him?”
“Milo is the one that sent him after you. So it just stands to reason that Milo knows more about you than you do.”
“So then we got to go ask Milo some hard questions,” Fearless said.
“But he ain’t gonna open up unless we have the right words.”
“What’s them, Paris?”
“First we got to get a little closer to BB. Best way to do that is to go out and see Esau.”
“Who’s that?” Fearless asked.
“That’s BB’s father. He’s the man owns that used car lot down near Compton.”
“Your car or mine?” Fearless asked me.
“You got a car now?”
“I took Ambrosia’s Chrysler.”
“I thought she was mad at you.”
“No, Paris, she’s mad at
“Let’s each of us drive,” I said. “’Cause if the cops drop down on you, at least I’ll be free to get you out.”
“Okay.”
“So let’s get goin’,” I said.
“Hold up, Paris. Ludwig is playin’. Might as well let him finish the number.”
So we sat through the movements of Beethoven’s Fifth in Watts, California, 1955. While listening I smiled thinking about the balding Officer Morrain. If he had come into the lounge, he would have suspected it as a front for some devilment because of that music. That’s why the police had so much trouble with the Negro community: they refused to see us as we appeared right there before their eyes.
ON THE DRIVE OVER I WAS BEHIND A BEAT-UP DODGE that didn’t have much pickup. The Dodge pulled out as the light turned amber, entering the intersection. The driver obviously thought he could make it before the crossing traffic made its move. Maybe he was used to driving a car with more pickup. But an oncoming Pontiac was already into a left turn and a Ford had come to the light moving fast. Between those two automobiles the Dodge was bent nearly into an L. I stopped but a few pedestrians got to the accident first. They dragged the body of the driver out and then his passenger, a middle-aged white woman. Blood covered her face and she was speaking rapidly.
I wanted to help but the sight of blood repelled me. I don’t have a strong stomach or a brave heart. One of the reasons I remained friends with Fearless was that he never looked down on me for being scared.
“Scared as you are,” he’d tell me, “you still get up every day just like men think they brave.”
