Ulysses got in a whole mess of trouble, and I didn’t know what to do.”
As I have said, Three Hearts is my blood. I have known that woman since I could speak my own name. Never in all the time before that moment had I witnessed her allow man, woman, or child to lay blame at her son’s feet.
“What did he do to you, child?” Three Hearts asked Angel.
“I see it stitched in your face. What did he do?”
“It wasn’t him,” Angel said. “He couldn’t help it. He got 169
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mixed up with those men and before he knew it we were in too deep.”
“He tries so hard,” Three Hearts sobbed.
The women hugged over their love. It was almost as if they were competing over who could love the little rat more.
I drained my glass. Fearless refilled it. I drained it again and Fearless was right on the job.
Half the way through my third glass of bourbon I looked around me. There I was, a mortal man flanked by Venus, Mars, and Juno. I wondered if Fate was standing outside the door, if he would allow me to stand up and walk away, just walk away from all that craziness. Maybe if I asked her right, Mum would take me in. We could discuss Spinoza and Karl Marx over dumplings and white rice.
That was a beautiful thought. I allowed myself fifteen seconds to wallow in it. I’d go to college and teach English at a boarding school in Jamaica.
“Excuse me,” I said when the daydream was done.
Angel and Three Hearts turned to me.
Fearless refilled my glass for the fourth time.
“What is it, Paris?” my auntie asked. She didn’t like her grief being interrupted.
“I know you ladies can read each other’s minds and all,” I said. “You seein’ invisible scars and like that. But for the men-folk here who don’t have your powers, could somebody please tell me where Ulysses has gone to?”
“I don’t know where he is,” Angel said. She rose up from her knees as if there were no gravity at her feet.
I felt some consternation because when I looked at her the rest of the room got fuzzy. At first I told myself that it was the 170
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whiskey, but then I looked at Fearless — the world around him was clear.
So I tried not to look directly into Angel’s eyes. That way I could converse with her without falling into some kind of crazy enchantment.
“But you an’ him was in business,” I said, all business myself.
“No,” she replied.
“What about Mr. Katz and Reverend Drummund?” I said.
“Mad Anthony and Hector LaTiara?”
“You know about them?” Angel asked, seeking but not finding my eyes.
“I know about thirteen churches, banks, insurance companies, and investment firms,” I said. “I know about at least seventy thousand dollars that you and Use . . . Ulysses had in your apartment at Man’s Barn.”
Angel gasped at every other syllable. She fell onto a chair that sat next the sofa. Three Hearts was glaring at me for being so cruel to her new best friend — the woman she had wanted to murder less than half an hour ago. But I didn’t feel the effect of my auntie’s evil eye. I realized then that alcohol was proof against her spells.
“How did it work, Angel?” I asked.
“You know my name,” she replied, “but I don’t know either of yours.”
“Jones,” my friend said first. “Fearless Jones.”
“Oh,” Angel crooned. “I’ve heard all about you. You’re famous.”
Fearless smiled. Even he could be flattered by an angel.
“Paris,” I said. “Paris Minton.”
“Oh, yes. You’re Ullie’s cousin. He felt really bad about that 171
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time the police arrested you. He didn’t know that they’d come to your house.”
“Who was the man you left with when you ran out on Ulysses?” I asked.
“It’s not like it seems, Mrs. Grant,” she said. “I left, but it was because Ulysses wanted me to. He said that LaTiara was after him and he didn’t want me to get hurt.”
I laughed then.
I don’t get drunk all that often. And I don’t believe that ine-briation is any panacea to a poor man’s problems. But now and then a good buzz will help you through when the ground is trembling and the mountains are coming down.
“Angel,” I said slowly and deliberately, “Hector is dead, had his throat cut.”
“Whaaat?” Three Hearts sang.
