Jerry was from Louisiana too. He’d grown up not seven 128
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miles from the hovel I called home. He was my senior by a decade, but I remembered him — ugly and gawking, different from the rest. I used to think that we had something in common.
But years later I realized that the only experience we shared was our separateness from the people around us.
“Hey, Jerry,” Fearless replied.
I nodded, noticing that I didn’t deserve a
“What you all doin’ here?” he asked, peering at a spot both above and between us.
“As you know,” I began. “Useless Grant’s my cousin. . . .”
I told an edited version of the story. There was no reason to mention Tiny or Jessa, stolen money, or the particulars of my meeting with Mad Anthony. I didn’t even tell Jerry that Useless’s mother was the one who had initiated our search.
When I’d finished talking, Jerry was quiet for quite some time. Finally he sighed and glanced at Fearless.
“You in this, Mr. Jones?” he asked.
“All the way up to my elbows.”
“Come on, then,” he said, turning toward the depths of his establishment.
He guided us along an invisible path, between tables, to the wall opposite the entrance. There he opened a door and admitted us to his office.
I had expected dazzling light, crystal chandeliers, mirrors on every wall. But instead Jerry’s office was almost as dim as the poolroom. There was a red lamp on the desk and weak blue radiance coming from the wall on my left, enough light for us to see the chairs we were meant to sit in.
Jerry placed himself in the manager’s seat and lit up a cigarette without offering us one. I took out my own pack and shook it at my friend. Fearless waved away my wordless offer.
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“Okay,” Jerry said. “Now, what does all this falderal got to do with me?”
“I’m just worried about my cousin,” I said. “And I hear you been seein’ him on a regular basis.”
“That’s business, Paris,” he said. “You know most people come in here don’t speak ten words the whole night.”
“But you got eyes like a eagle and a owl,” I said. “You see ten times what normal men see and twice that at night.”
“I ain’t seen nuttin’ on Ulysses Grant,” he said, and I knew by his use of my cousin’s proper name that he was lying.
Fearless knew it too.
“Look, Jerry,” my friend said, “we not tryin’ to get nobody in trouble. We not tryin’ to mess up nobody’s game. Paris here just need to talk to Ulysses, that’s all.”
Jerry took a moment. He wasn’t considering the request, it was just that he was trying to show respect, that he was at least thinking about what Fearless was saying.
“I’m sorry, Mr. Jones,” Jerry said. “But you know I got a reputation to maintain. I don’t tell nobody’s business to nobody. If I was to talk to you it might get out. Ulysses might figure out how Paris fount him. An’ if he did, my whole game is out the windah.”
“When he came to my house he was worried for his life,”
I said.
“The last time I seen ’im he was just fine,” Jerry said.
“When was that?”
“Five days ago.”
Jerry stared at me and Fearless, resolute in his conviction.
Whether it was because he was committed to his reputation or some more intricate involvement with my cousin, I was not sure. But I did know that I had to break Mr. Twist’s resolve.
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“Okay,” I said. “You know I don’t wanna make you do somethin’ go against your moral code. But I got to bring Three Hearts over here for you to tell her that.”
“Three Hearts? What’s Three Hearts got to do with this?”
Jerry was looking me directly in the eye.
“That’s Useless’s mama, man. She got everything to do wit’ it.”
“She, she down Louisiana,” he said.
“Not no mo’,” Fearless said, nodding sagely.
“She in L.A.?”
“Right outside’a Watts,” I said. “I can have her here in twenty-two minutes — tops.”
