“Did you?”
“I don’t know where he is, man.”
“So what did you give this dude?” Fearless asked. “’Cause I know you would’a tried to get in on that coin.”
“I told him that Kit had that watermelon farm and that he made deliveries for that cosmetic line. That’s all I knew.”
“Not worth much,” I said. “No hundred dollars there.”
“He gimme twenty though,” Maynard admitted.
“For what?”
“I’ont know. He didn’t know what I told him. Maybe he might’a got to his man because’a what I said.”
“The man I saw didn’t have the kinda cash to be throwin’ twenty dollars at somebody don’t give him what he wants.”
“Well he did,” Maynard said.
“What else he give you?”
“Twenty dollars, like I said.”
“No,” I said. “Not money. He give you a way to get in touch with him.”
Maynard shook his head and looked away. He wasn’t a liar by nature and so found it hard to deny what he knew to be true.
I was sitting sidesaddle behind the wheel of Ambrosia Childress’s Chrysler. Fearless was a shadow on my right and Maynard Latrell was in front of me with the key to a room full of money like an ocean waiting to drown some unsuspecting fool.
“He give you a number,” I said in spite of my mother’s advice. “He told you how to get in touch with him.”
“No,” Maynard said.
“Yeah, he did. But don’t worry, Maynard, we ain’t gonna jump you for it. ’Cause you see, Kit don’t owe that Brown a thousand dollars.”
“He don’t?”
“No. If Brown find ’im he could get it. But so could me and Fearless. So I’ll give you a hundred and ten dollars right here, right now, for that number he give you and anything else you got.”
Maynard Latrell was a beautiful man. He had strong but not extreme features, bright eyes, and skin that almost glowed orange. His mouth curved into a smile, then a grin.
“Okay, men,” he said. “I got it up in my room.”
HIS STUDIO APARTMENT was on floor five of the gray building. There were gray carpets down the gray hall to his black door. The carpeting was the same in his one room but the walls had once been white. Now the dim green plaster was showing from under the thin coat of water-based paint.
The room was neat, though. The bed was up against the wall and covered with a printed yellow cloth. The pillows were set up like the bolsters of a couch. His chest of drawers had a bare top. And there was a chair next to a window that had a radio on its ledge. It was a room that a poor man could survive in, make plans in. One day, if the man was smart, he could move out of there and buy a small house with a backyard. He’d have to have a hard- working wife. They’d raise kids together, send them to college, and spend their twilight years happy in the knowledge that they’d made something out of nothing.
Maynard took two scraps of paper from the bottom drawer of the bureau. He held these in a clenched fist.
“Where the money?”
“You got ten dollars, Fearless?” I asked my friend.
He pulled out a fistful of ones and counted out the cash. I reached into my pocket and peeled five twenty-dollar bills off of the roll Bradford the secretary had given me. I was good at peeling off money from bills in my pocket. You learned to do that when you didn’t want people around you to know just how big your wad was.
I handed the money over and Maynard happily gave me the crumpled snippets.
I read both numbers and asked, “What’s this? Double vision?”
The numbers were University exchanges, both exactly the same.
“One was the girl,” Maynard said, “and the other was that guy Brown.”
“Girl called Leora Hartman?”
“Even if she is, I ain’t givin’ you no money back,” Maynard said.
“Let’s go, Fearless.”
After we were just a few steps down the hall I could hear Maynard whoop for joy.
29
WE CALLED FEARLESS’S MOTHER’S HOUSE from a phone booth on the street. I told Milo to make sure that
