“Wi, and I appreciate it.” Curtis parked five houses down from the contact’s house. They got out and he hunkered down and turned the crank on his steam-auto. It sputtered into silence. Both had dressed in dark pants with suspenders and high collared shirts. They wore black suit jackets to hide their holstered muskets.
He got to his feet. A low male voice spoke. “You’re walking into a trap.”
“You hear that?” Harold said.
“Yeah,” Curtis turned toward the bushes on Harold’s right, the direction the voice had come from.
“Don’t look for me. Look at each other.”
“Say, man—!” Curtis protested.
“Shut up and do what I tell you! Melvin Ashe has betrayed you. There are men waiting to kill you as soon as you walk into his flat.”
Stunned, the detectives turned to face each other. Whether the phantom voice spoke the truth or not, he knew their contact’s name and he’d shown up at precisely the moment they were supposed to meet with him.
“Alright, let’s say we believe you,” Harold said, aiming his words at Curtis. “Why won’t you let us see you—or at least tell us who you are?”
“Why should we trust you?” Curtis added. “You could be the one who sold us out.”
“Look down the street. You see those men? There are three more in Ashe’s flat. Climb back in your auto and get out of here. I’ll be in touch.”
“Wait—!” Harold protested. There was only silence.
“What do you think?”
Curtis eyed the three men up the street. “Let’s go.”
They walked back to his steam-auto and Curtis hunkered down and turned the crank. Suddenly, the men were watching them very closely. As the two detectives climbed into the steam-auto, they raced toward them. Curtis pulled away from the curb, and the men stopped short, watching the steam-auto’s retreat with gimleted eyes.
____
Chapter 22: The Ties that Bind
“What the fuck was that?” Harold said.
“Ashe set us up,” Curtis’ voice was tense. “Somebody thinks we’re getting too close.”
In the darkness, Harold’s face was strained and worried. “Is my life ever gonna be normal again?”
“You already know the answer to that.”
Harold glanced over at his partner and said nothing. For a moment, he hated Curtis for bringing all this turmoil in his world. But Curtis was just one man; he couldn’t blame him for all of this. Still, it was easier to be angry with Curtis, then to grapple with the events unfurling around him, and the dawning realization that the Constabulary was rotten to the core.
“Listen ...” Harold fished for right words. “I understand how you feel. It’s just—I believe in the law, not vigilante justice.”
“Yeah man, I know.” The law is setting murderers free. And you still don’t understand. “Why don’t you check in with the Chief?” Curtis said out loud. “Tell him he’s got WMU working under his command. After what happened today, he’ll believe you.”
Harold laughed sourly. “Oh, he’s gonna love that.”
“Meet me at The Sojourner tomorrow night, say between seven and eight. I got a room there with Mona.”
“Alright.” Harold got out and shut the door. He lingered a moment longer. “We still friends?”
Curtis nodded. “Wi, still friends.”
“Watch your back.”
“You too.”
——
Harold peeked into Chase’s bedroom to say goodnight, while his wife, Joanne, a slender red-haired woman with freckles, warmed up his dinner. Joanne fixed them both cups of coffee and sat down with him. “How’d your meeting with Ashe go?”
“We didn’t—he wasn’t at home.” Harold decided not to tell her the truth. He didn’t want to worry her.
“Maybe you shouldn’t have taken Curtis with you.”
“I didn’t think it was good idea to go alone.”
“Why are you still working with him?” Joanne said peevishly. “He’s not even on the force.” She rose, fixed his plate and set it in front of him.
Harold cut off a piece of roast and stuck it in his mouth. “This is good, babe ... The Chief has us working a case.”
“I don’t think it’s a good idea,” Joanne trailed off and looked down into her cup.
Harold gazed at her quizzically. “We’ve known Curtis for years. Why are you down on him all of sudden?”
“I’m not. It’s just that—well, White Men United has been doing a lot of recruiting lately and some people … our people, they’re listening. They say colored folks have gotten too big, that they’re pushing us out.”
“Joanne, who’ve you been talking to?”
She averted her eyes again. “Nobody. I just hear things.”
Harold stared at her, his appetite gone. The ambush at Ashe’s house, did she set us up? She could have without even knowing it. Just a whispered word in the wrong ear. On the heels of this, Curtis’ words were still fresh in his mind. “You got a blind spot when it comes to racism, like a lot of white folks.” Horror quietly and completely stole over him. “You know,” he said slowly, “if WMU has their way, they’ll reverse the Great Experiment.”
“Well,” Joanne was pleading now, “it wouldn’t affect us. We’re white. Right honey?”
He thought he might vomit. “Joanne, did you join White Men United?”
“No! I just—I don’t want you to get hurt.”
She’s lying. He knew he had to choose his next words carefully. “I know, babe. Maybe working with Curtis isn’t a good idea. I don’t wanna put you and Chase in danger. And I know,” he forced himself to say it, “I know WMU has our best interests at heart.” Did a tiny part of him believe this?
Joanne looked relieved. “Oh honey, I knew you’d understand.” She reached across the table and squeezed his hand. “I’ve been so worried.”
He forced himself to look at her, afraid to meet her eyes, afraid of what she’d see in his. “I’ll ask the Chief to take me off the case.”
——
Curtis picked up a spare key from the desk. He opened the door to Mona’s room and found her sitting on the balcony in one of the wrought iron chairs, holding a cup of tea, staring out across the city. A pot of tea sat atop a copper plate on the dresser, beside another cup, a carafe of water, and glasses.
Mona heard him and walked back inside. “You’re back early.”
He poured himself a cup of tea. “Ashe set us up.”
_____
“So, this mysterious voice said you were walking into a trap?”
Curtis nodded. “Wi. At first I thought he was trying to stop us from meeting Ashe. Until I saw those guys posted up outside his house ...” He told her the rest of what happened.
He scowled. “I don’t know why these supernatural types have to be so damn cryptic all the time.”
Mona smiled dryly. “Oh baby, didn’t you know? That’s part of the fun.”
“For them maybe. How’d it go at Richard’s.”
“Well, I locked his door. But seems like this is the night for being attacked.”
“What happened?”
“I’ll tell you about it.” She rose, put her cup on the dresser, slipped off everything but her chemise, and got into bed. Curtis finished his tea, undressed down to his under-trousers and climbed into bed beside her. They curled up next to each other, Mona’s head on his chest, and she told him about her encounter.
“I’m no expert, but that sounds like a sorcerer.”
She looked up at him. “Most definitely. If he had been there, I might not have survived. He scared the shit out of me.”
“You sure it was a he?”
“Positive. He’s white too. That’s all I could see. His features kept shifting.”
“He doesn’t want us know who he is,” Curtis said. “Secrecy’s his weapon.”
They were quiet for a while. “Junebug’s lady friend is Julia Dearborn,” he said, breaking the silence. “I’m
gonna have to tell her husband tomorrow.”
“Curtis, do you have to?”
“Baby, it’s my job. I took the man’s coins in good faith. Without her last name, all I can say is her identity is unconfirmed but that I’m reasonably sure it’s her. That’s the best I can do for now.”
Mona stroked his chest. “I’m going to send Elconia a post too, now that I have good news. Isis is alive. I just have to find her.”
“Can you put a protection spell around my folks and maybe Harold’s? I know it’s a lot to ask ...”
“I don’t mind. The thing is, the spell would be around their houses, not them. Unless I mark them like I did you and Harold.”
Curtis smiled wryly. “Mama would probably love that. Papa not so much.”
“I don’t think you have to worry about your folks. What would be the point in hurting them? Unless this sorcerer wants them for leverage. Then he’d have to let us know who he is. But I’ll still mark them if you want me to.”
“So, what’s our next move?”
“You’re asking me?”
He smiled down at her. “Yeah, I’m asking you. This is your case.”
“Our case, and I don’t have a clue.”
Curtis stroked her shoulder. “Alright, what do we have so far? A kidnapped child who turns out to be a sorceress.”
“A sorcerer who might be working with White Men United,” Mona said. “Scratch that. He’s working with them. They keep popping up. And then there’s your voice. I sure hope he’s on our side.”
“A doorway between worlds,” Curtis said, “and a Guardian who says she’s here to help you save our world.”
“Wait a minute!” Mona said. “My dream—I’d almost forgotten about it! In my dream, Richard was giving a speech, but he was surrounded by the dead.”
“When I first saw Opal, she was surrounded by the spirits of black folks murdered by Constables. And tonight, Harold and me were on the trail of dirty Constables. Yeah, it’s White Men United.”
“And the unmasked sorcerer, is probably pulling their strings,” Mona said.
“The Constables who were killed, that’s Richard’s doing. That’s why he was in your dream.”
She sighed. “We figured all this out, and there’re still too many pieces on the board.”
“Let this shit rest,” Curtis said, “at least for tonight … We’ll figure the rest out later.” He leaned down to kiss her softly. She climbed on top of him, and he wrapped his arms about her. “Mwen renmen w.”
They stayed that way for a while, kissing and stroking each other. At length, she put her legs on either side of his, reaching down to unbutton her chemise. He unbuttoned his under-trousers ... entering her, his thrusts exquisitely slow … He lowered his mouth to her nipples, and she cupped his head grinding her hips to match his unhurried movements ... Taking refuge in each other’s embrace.
_______
Chapter 23: Divided Loyalties
Dressed in a cap, high-collar shirt, knee-length jacket and boots, Curtis climbed out of his steam-auto, while Mona, dressed in a mini-top hat, corset, blouse, and wine-colored skirt, got out on the passenger side. Curtis was treating her to brunch at Monterrey Cafe. They walked into the restaurant, sat at a table beside one of the glass windows, and ordered cheese omelets, toast, and coffee.
Mona sipped her coffee. “Are you gonna send Dr. Dearborn a post?”
Curtis sliced into his egg. “I sent him one yesterday. I’m gonna pick up my posts and see what time he wants to meet.”
“What’s gonna happen to Julia?”
He shrugged. “Hard to say. Maybe he’ll divorce her, or maybe he’ll hold it over her head to try to make her behave. I get the feeling that Mark Dearborn loves his wife, and she probably loves him.”
Mona bit into piece of toast. “She might just want attention.”
“Helluva way to get it,” Curtis said dryly. “That Junebug, he’s quite a ladies’ man, n’est-ce pas?”
“Yes, he is. But you can’t blame him. If it wasn’t him, it would be somebody else.”
Curtis nodded and said no more. He had the feeling that Mona and Junebug might have made love. He knew they were close, and he’d been no saint during their breakups. Mona picked up on the tension and kept quiet as well.
They finished breakfast and Curtis drove to the postal building, a brick edifice with columns. Mona walked into the high-ceiling building and sat at a copper-topped table with envelopes scrolls, quill pens, and tiny jars of ink, while Curtis walked over to a gated window to pick up his messages. Now that she was here, she couldn’t figure out what she should say to Elconia. Finally she wrote: Isis is still alive. I’ve tracked her kidnappers to Monterrey. I’ll be in touch. She hesitated, then added: Keep the faith.
——
Harold had just finished breakfast. Now, he was helping his wife clear the table. Chase, his nine-year-old son, red-haired and freckled like his mother, ran into the kitchen. He’d hastily dressed and was holding a ball.
“Can I go outside?” Chase asked.
“It’s kind of early,” Harold replied. “Who’re you gonna play with?”
“I just wanna play with my ball. I can’t do it in the house.” He bounced the ball on the floor and caught it.
“Don’t do that in the kitchen!” Joanne said.
“See,” Chase said, grinning.
Harold smiled indulgently and ruffled his son’s red hair. “Okay but stay in front of the front yard.”
As he was leaving, Joanne walked up behind him. “Did you mean what you said last night? Are you really dropping the case?”
“Yeah, I am.” Harold kissed her goodbye and walked outside to his steam-auto. He stopped and looked back at the house. Joanne was standing at the window watching him.
On the way to the station, he had a sudden epiphany. He stopped at a print shop and brought ink, a quill pen and a scroll. He climbed back into his auto, wrote a note and let it dry. Then he folded it, put it in the pocket of his trousers, and drove to the Constabulary station. Inside the station, the tension was palpable. Half a dozen officers cast hostile looks in his direction. He remembered the demonstration and the Constables who’d refused to follow Maxwell’s orders.
Some of them might have been at Ashe’s last night. What the hell have we become?
Stone faced, Harold looked straight ahead and headed for the chief’s office. Before he could get there, he was waylaid by Melvin Ashe, a white man with thinning black hair and a moustache. “How’s it going Polanski? Can I talk to you for minute?”
Harold followed him into a deserted hallway. “What happened to you last night?” Melvin said in a low voice. “I waited half the night.”
Yeah, I just bet you did.
The fact that Ashe was still alive, that he didn’t have so much as a bruise, spoke volumes. “I changed my mind. This is above my pay grade,” Harold said, matching Ashe’s low tones. “Let Internal Affairs handle it.”
Mona Livelong Page 12
