untied Timmerman, took him out of the car, and set him up against a wall.
“You can come after us or sign yourself into the emergency room across the street,” my friend advised.
Then he climbed back into the car and we drove off. Through the back window I could see the white man struggling down the alley. I wondered what his decision would be.
“That boy got some nuts on him,” Fearless said as we cruised down State Street.
“In his head.”
“Well,” Fearless opined. “Yeah. Most’a your brave men is a little bit crazy. Either that or they pushed up against a wall. But I got to hand it to your boy there—he not backin’ down for nuthin’.”
We got the home address of Esau Perry from his son. We told BB that it would be better if we found out from his father that night who he had spoken to about his whereabouts.
Esau’s house was on Piru Street, not far from his car lot. It was a rare brick home, with a fireplace and patch of lawn not even big enough to sun on.
Fearless knocked on the door and we heard a young child squealing from inside. A few moments went by. It was almost fully night by then. The last shreds of daylight were far off on the western horizon, a jarring combination of ember-orange and deep blue.
The door opened and Esau stood there, still in his coveralls. The child chirped out a glad note from somewhere in the house.
“Yes?”
“Mr. Perry,” I said. “Sorry to bother you at night, sir. But we have a problem that we thought you might want to know about.”
He knew something was up. He knew that he was involved too. That’s why he didn’t slam the door on us or at least ask me more about what I meant. Instead of a challenge he stood aside for us to enter.
He led us into a kitchen that was painted and furnished all in yellow, under a yellow light. There was a large young Mexican woman sitting on a small chair playing with a little brown boy who resembled Henry from the comic strips.
“Hey, Son,” Fearless said.
The boy looked up at my friend with a sense of confusion and wonder and said, “Hi.”
“Take him up to his bed, Trini,” Esau said to the woman.
“Okay, baby,” she replied, speaking volumes about their relationship with two small words.
The boy protested verbally but he let Trini pick him up and carry him out of a back doorway. As they left, Son held out his arms toward Esau. The older man’s arms moved toward the boy, saying good-bye and reaching too.
“How’s BB?” Esau asked after Trini and Son were gone.
“He might be dead if Fearless here wasn’t faster than Jesse Owens at a Nazi barbecue.”
“That white man hurt him?”
“Oh yeah,” I said. “He installed a sun visor over his eyes.”
“Shut up, Paris,” Fearless said.
“No. No. I wanna know why a father would send a man like that out to kill his own son.”
Esau went to the kitchen counter and poured himself a shot from a quart bottle there. He downed the drink and poured another.
“He took Son.”
“What?”
“He come out here and took Son.”
“Kidnapped him?” Fearless asked.
“Yes sir. Took him right off the front lawn when Trini’s back was turned. Called me up and said that he wanted to know where BB was.”
“And you turned him over,” I said in a voice that I didn’t mean to be so damning.
“Yes I did. Really he did it to himself. He got himself into all this trouble.”
“What trouble?” I asked. “You mean that pendant?”
“Pendant?”
“Yeah. Emerald job that Winifred’s father bought for her.”
“That piece’a green glass?” Esau said. “No. That’s a trinket compared to what BB and his friend did.”
“You mean Kit?”
“Yeah. That’s who I mean.”
“You got a phone, Mr. Perry?” Fearless asked.
“Right through this door,” Esau said. “Right on the right.”
Fearless walked out and I continued my interrogation.
