“Useless ain’t gone be found he don’t want it.”
“You think you can find Fearless?” I asked then. “Could you find him?”
“Oh, yeah. I think I know where he’s at.”
He probably did. For a man who stayed inside 90 percent of the time, Bobby had more knowledge about the comings and goings of Watts personalities than a station full of cops.
Wh e n I g o t b a c k t o G o o d N e w s the evening clientele had begun to arrive. My plate was still at the bar, but Ha had moved to the back in order to work with his immigrant kitchen help.
There were four waitresses on duty, two more than he needed at that hour, but the trade would be brisk soon.
Mum came up to my station and smiled, not that she needed to; she would have been beautiful frowning or crying or bemoaning the dead. Her skin was olive with a hint of lemon therein, and her dark eyes were both wise and youthful — I never really knew how old she was. Unlike the common impres-sion that most people had of Asian women, Mum was full of good humor, quite forward, and blessed with a great figure.
I was appreciating this last quality when she asked, “So how are you, Mr. Paris?”
“Quite fine, Miss Mum. Quite fine. I got money in my pocket and someplace to be in the morning. I don’t have a job, which is a good thing, and nobody’s trying to get me put outta my house.”
She didn’t have to smile to maintain her beauty, but it didn’t hurt.
122
FEAR OF THE DARK
“How are you, honey?” I asked.
“Getting better.”
“Better? Was something wrong?”
“All kinds of things,” she said, pushing a shoulder forward deliciously.
“Like what?”
“I move outta my place on Grand Court over to Peters Lane. I got a nice green door with a red lantern over it.”
“You like the new place better?”
“Yeah. It’s closer, and you know I don’t get off till ten and so I like to get home before the news.”
“It’s closer but is it nicer?”
“It’s nicer because I don’t have stupid Vincent in there anymore,” she said with a sneer.
“Who’s Vincent?”
“He call himself my boyfriend but he wasn’t no friend to me. Don’t have a job, don’t do a thing. When my mothah get sick he won’t even go with me to the hospital.”
“How’s your mom?” I asked, following my cue. “Is she okay?”
Mum smiled and put her hand on mine.
“You’re sweet, Mr. Paris. She much bettah now I have free time to come see her every day.”
“Sometimes gettin’ rid of a boyfriend is better than gettin’
one,” I said.
She laughed and laughed. At Ha Tsu’s Good News I was a laugh riot.
I s a t o n m y s t o o l watching the devotees of Ha Tsu’s cuisine come in. It was a loud establishment when it was in full 123
Walter Mosley
swing. Some people recognized me and came my way, but after a while I pulled out a paperback copy of
I liked reading about the heat of North Africa combined with the oppression of European culture.
N o w a n d t h e n a well-dressed man or two would show up and speak to one of the waitstaff. They’d linger around the checkered curtain until Ha would come out and admit them to the stairway to Jerry Twist’s.
Mum came by every fifteen minutes or so to touch my hand and ask if I needed anything.
The Stranger, Meursault, found himself getting deeper and deeper into trouble just for living a life in the world.
“ H e y, F e a r l e s s ! ” someone shouted. “What’s happenin’, man?”
My friend was wearing a loose white shirt with big red flowers patterned on it and dark brown pants. Fearless’s hair was always close cut, and he had a slight limp from one time when he saved my life by taking two others.
He slapped hands and kissed women all the way to the counter. Fearless was popular, and unlike Van, no one felt that he was about to go crazy on them.
“Paris,” he announced. “What you need?”
“I got a hankerin’ to see some pool bein’ played,” I said.
“Well, let’s go there, then, my man,” he said.
I must say that no one in my life elated me like Fearless did.
