“They didn’t say why. Only that he’d been let go and they didn’t know where he’d gone.”
“Did you look up his name in the phone book?”
“Yes. I called information too, just in case he’d gotten a new number recently.”
“What about any friends?” I asked. “Or family.”
“I don’t know any of his girlfriends’ numbers, and he was divorced two years ago.”
“Maybe his ex-wife knows how to get in touch with him,” I suggested.
“I don’t know her maiden name.”
“Does she have kids?”
“Three.”
“Then maybe she’s using their last name.”
Friar went back into the bedroom, closing the door behind him.
“You plenty smart, Paris,” Fearless said, pouring himself another shot of cognac. “It’s like you look at everything like one’a them books you read.”
“Yeah,” I said. “I know enough to jump in the Pacific but I don’t know how to swim.”
Fearless brightened at that.
“That’s where I come in,” he said. “You know I can swim like a dolphin. Yes, I can.”
When Friar returned, he told us that Mrs. Irene Motley was indeed listed. She’d known Friar from a happier time and so was willing to tell him where her ex-husband had moved. He 216
FEAR OF THE DARK
had no phone, but that was okay because I had no intention of calling the man.
“Let’s go over there,” I said to Friar and Fearless.
“I should go alone,” Friar said flatly. “Brian doesn’t know you guys, and I’m the one in trouble.”
“Hector LaTiara,” I said, “the man you know as Paul Dempsey, is dead.”
“Dead?”
“Murdered. Angel, who you know as Monique, has disappeared and so have Maurice and his mother. They blackmailed you and done worse. It is in your best interest to have somebody backin’ you up when you go to see this guy.”
“Brian’s harmless. He wouldn’t have anything to do with people like that,” Friar said, dismissing my worries.
“Did he introduce you to Monique?” I asked.
“Yes.”
“He’s been involved with black people and gambling, and once you were in the same situation you got blackmailed. He’s the connection between you and the trouble you’re in.”
Martin was quiet then, contemplative.
“He’s been fired and he can’t even afford a phone. You know there’s something wrong there.”
Friar maintained his silence.
“Look, man,” I said. “They got you on embezzlement. You can’t go to the cops and you’d be a fool to go it alone. Let us go wit’ you. That way we go in strength.”
“Why should I trust you?” Friar asked. “I don’t even know your name.”
“Robert,” I said, holding out my hand for him to shake.
“Robert Butler, and this is Mr. Tiding. Frank.”
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Walter Mosley
“Why should I trust you, Mr. Butler?”
“Because I came to you,” I said. “Because I didn’t ask you for any money. Because I know the trouble you’re in and you haven’t told me a thing about it.”
Friar’s eyes were alive with thoughts and ideas but they hadn’t, as yet, settled on a verdict.
“Because you’re in trouble and Monique might be too. And maybe, if we’re lucky, we might pull your fat out of the fire along with hers.”
Finally the self-important white man nodded.
I let out a big sigh and Fearless rose to his feet.
218
B r i a n M o t l e y l i v e d in a residence hotel called Leontine Court on the other side of 34 downtown. The building was made from bricks that hadn’t been cleaned since the day they were laid and edged in once-white marble. The sidewalk leading to the door was so soiled and marked that it was almost as dark as the asphalt of the street. There were eighteen stairs rising to the front door. The climb told me that this hotel had been a fancy place that had come down with the neighborhood. Years ago you could have ordered sirloin steak with red wine from room service. Now the men hanging out around the entrance carried their day-old wine in back pockets. The only steak they ate had gone through the grinder.
There was a solitary figure at the front desk sitting under a sign that read rooms $2. The gatekeeper was a
