“Who was the third man?” Joanelle asked.
I could see by her face that Fearless had her complete attention with his tale of derring-do.
“He was the radioman,” Fearless said. “If we came across something that we couldn’t attack properly, he was to call in for our bombers to take over. . . .”
The story went on for a long time. One of the demolition men had called Fearless a nigger before they went out. He told Fearless to stay away from him. But along the way the other two men were killed when they stumbled across a land mine. There were a few close calls and the surviving demolitionist was wounded in the leg. They found the secret air base, though, and Fearless was able to set the charges with the racist’s help. He also dragged the wounded man all the way back to Allied territory.
“Why didn’t you just let him die?” Little Lisa asked. She had her head on my lap but she kept awake for Fearless’s story.
“I saved him because of the uniform,” Fearless said. “He was my fellow American, and because’a that I had to save his butt.”
“Did he change his opinion?” I asked, as rapt in the tale as those young women.
“I have no idea,” Fearless said. “I dropped him off at the infirmary and never saw him again. You know he shouldn’ta said nothin’ bad about me in the first place. What you want? I got to save every redneck’s life in order for them to think I’m a man?”
Joanelle and Lisa had a thousand questions for Fearless. They’d never known a Negro who had autonomy in the war. Lisa pressed her head against my stomach and squeezed my hand. Joanelle had her head on Fearless’s shoulder.
When I woke up at dawn we were all pretty much in the same positions. The chipped ice was nearly melted and the blackberry liquor was gone.
For a moment I regretted the missed opportunity but then I remembered how friendly the night had been. I could have slept with Charlotta for a year and never had the warmth or closeness I had with those girls. I sat there for over an hour with Lisa’s hand between my thighs. I didn’t move to wake them until seven-fifteen.
The good-bye kisses and hugs were warm, and they made us promise to come back when we were through with our business so that we could have another good time.
I FOLLOWED FEARLESS back to Ambrosia’s house. We left my car in her garage and kept hers. I didn’t want to be too far away from our money or my book. Then we drove over to a big apartment house on Alameda near Vernon. After a few minutes a tall man came out of a green door on the side.
Fearless stepped out and called, “Hey, Maynard!”
You could tell by the way the man looked at us he was considering escape. Fearless had a small limp that might have given Latrell the edge. Still, he would have to stay away from his own door if he ran.
He put on a smile and waved.
“Hey, Fearless. What you doin’ here?”
“Lookin’ for you, my man. Me an’ my friend Paris here needed to know a thing or two.”
“Maybe this afternoon. I got to get to work right now,” Maynard said. He moved to walk away.
“Arthur North Construction let you slide fifteen minutes, brother,” Fearless said, still friendly.
Maynard shook his head and then he nodded.
“Okay. All right. What you need?”
Fearless had walked up to Maynard by then. He shook the man’s hand and guided him back to our car. He opened the passenger’s door for Maynard and then climbed into the backseat.
“Okay, Paris,” Fearless said. “There he is.”
“We were wondering about Kit Mitchell,” I said.
“You an’ everybody else,” Latrell replied.
“Everybody else?” Fearless said. “You didn’t say that anybody else had said nuthin’ when we talked.”
“That’s ’cause you talked to me five days ago. People been to see me ever since then.”
“Who else?” I asked.
“White guy said he was in insurance, black guy said that they were old friends, a colored girl said that he was her husband, and the cops. The cops dropped on me only about a hour after you, Fearless. You know they had me down at the station for three hours. For a while there I thought they was gonna keep me.”
“An’ you told ’em that I been askin’ about Kit?” Fearless asked in a too-neutral tone.
“Naw. Uh-uh. But when they asked me who knew Kit best I said it was you. Why not? I didn’t think you was in any mess.”
“What was the black guy’s name?” I asked.
“Brown.”
“Middle-sized guy?” I asked, thinking about my chess opponent at Miss Moore’s rooming house. “Looks young at first but then you see that he’s older?”
“That’s him.”
“What did he want?”
“He said that Kit owed him a thousand dollars, that I could have ten percent if I could tell him where Kit was.”
