by Jabari Asim
“You said you do these things because you care for me and I deserve it,” Guts said.
She shook her head. “It’s because I care for us and because we deserve it.”
“I thought you were happy with the way things are. I thought you understood.”
“Lorenzo, you treat me like a goddamn secret.”
Guts tried a gentle approach. He took her hands in his.
“Baby,” he said with a smile, “at least wait until sunrise before you start cursing.”
It didn’t work. “Lorenzo,” she said. “Let go of my drawers.”
Pearl put on the rest of her clothes in a furious rush. “You claim to be looking out for me, but you’re really looking out for yourself,” she said. “You’re scared, and not of somebody coming to kill us while we sleep. You’re afraid to commit to a real-life, grown-up relationship.”
“Baby.”
“Stop with the ‘baby.’ I’m obviously not your baby. Look, you can be a gentleman and drive me home, or you can watch the doorknob hit me. And don’t fret. I’m going out the back door.”
Guts drove her home in silence. Pearl refused even to look at him, let alone speak.
They arrived at her apartment far too soon. She put her hand on the door handle. “Violence follows you. I get that,” she said, looking out the window.
“That’s not it,” Guts said. He paused. “I am violence. Last night, a man almost had a heart attack just looking at me. I saw everything I’ve ever done in that man’s face.” “That’s who you were, Lorenzo, not who you are.”
“Then, there’s Fish—”
“You think Fish got killed just because you went to see him? You weren’t the only one there.”
“I know. It just got me thinking.”
“You been thinking on this a while, from what I can tell.”
“Well, I’m thinking on it more. If I care about you like I say I do, why do I put you in danger by being with you?”
Pearl rolled her eyes. “You sound like a dang fool. This is North Gateway.”
“Meaning?”
“Meaning I face a little more danger every day as these neighborhoods change. We all do. People talk about Vietnam. They should spend some time north of Delmar. At the supermarket on Easton, a snake came out of the collard greens and bit a woman on the neck. A tree branch fell in the Clark Elementary schoolyard, crushing a little girl. It ain’t just crime, Lorenzo. It’s death, and it’s been hanging around more and more since the fires. Sometimes I feel funny walking from my job to the bus stop, like somebody’s watching me. And that’s the nice part of town. You can’t protect me from every little thing. But loving me means doing the best you can.”
“I’m still trying to figure things out.”
“After three years together?” Pearl got out and shut the door. She turned and leaned in the window. “It’s easier when you pay for it. Isn’t it?”
Guts got no sleep. He ate nine eggs and a box of bacon for breakfast. He washed it down with a quart and a half of milk. Hygiene was a half-hearted affair. His head and upper lip, normally shaved, each displayed a thin layer of shadow. His beard, usually kept somewhat in check, was bushier than usual. Bits of food glinted in it here and there and remained firmly nestled as the day progressed. Guts was wondering if the folks at White Castle had given him decaf coffee by mistake when Playfair poked his head in the office.
Guts tried to be perky but couldn’t quite pull it off. “What do you say, Play?”
“Nothin’ to it but to do it,” Playfair replied. He lowered his voice. “Look here, I have to pull your coat again. Remember that leather blazer I let you have for half price?”
“Yeah,” Guts said. “I remember you had a trunk full of ’em but only one XXXXL.”
“Uh-huh. That baby was so rare it could have been a collector’s item. I’m guessing it was custom-ordered by some defensive lineman somewhere.”
“Sounds about right,” Guts agreed. “It’s a little bit roomy even on me. Wait, don’t tell me you got hold of another one.”
“Naw, nothing like that. It’s just that I would know that jacket anywhere on account of it being so unusual. I was rolling down Lexington over there by Kingshighway and I spotted it on a pile under a window. A whole lot of extra-large stuff, if you know what I mean.”
Playfair watched as the reality of Guts’s situation settled upon him. “Lexington near Kingshighway? Damn!”
Playfair stepped aside as Guts blew past him. The big man raced to his car without so much as a nod at Shadrach and Cherry as they huddled over their dominoes. “What’s up with the boss?” Cherry asked.
“My man’s business is literally in the streets,” Playfair explained. “I think he’s on his way to clean it up.”
Pearl was tossing the last of Guts’s belongings out her apartment window when he roared up in his car. He got out and hollered up at her.
“Pearl! What are you doing?”
“That’s the same thing you asked me last night,” she shouted back. “And once again I’ll say to you, what does it look like I’m doing?”
“Sweetheart, let’s not be so public about this.”
“I ain’t paranoid like you, Lorenzo. Have I ever said anything to you about coming in and out of my house through the back door? About keeping the shades drawn?”
“You know I got good reasons for all that.”
“Uh-huh. And I got good reasons for pouring gasoline on your stuff and setting it on fire! That’s what I’m going to do next if you don’t hurry up and get it from under my window.”
“Pearl. I take care of you. I buy your groceries. I help you pay your rent so that you can save up and open that dance studio one day. Isn’t that enough?”
“Obviously not, Lorenzo.”
“Okay, Pearl, what more do you want?”
“I want to know that you’ll carry me through the fire.”
“What fire?”
“Sometimes you are so dense. Not a real fire! Through whatever I might have to face.”
Pearl slammed her window shut. Guts gathered his things and tossed them in his trunk. One wrong move and everything’s shot to shit, he thought. Maybe I overreacted about the unlocked door. No, I had to be straight with her. She thinks she knows these streets but not really. I guess I could have said that better. He was still second-guessing himself when he got back to the cabstand.
Inside, Trina waved a fistful of phone message receipts. “That ballplayer’s been calling and calling,” she said.
Guts sighed and dialed up Crenshaw. “Hey, this is Guts,” he said.
“Them bitches took my shit!” a voice yelled through the phone.
“Crenshaw, is that you?”
“Damn straight it’s me! Find them bitches and get my shit back.”
“Slow down. Take a sip of whatever it is you’re holding and—”
“How did you know I was holding—never mind. Let me hit this right quick.”
Guts heard the sound of a bottle being tilted and slurped.
“That’s better.”
“Good,” Guts said. “Now let’s try it again, only slower. All right?”
“All right. Them. Bitches. Took. My. Shit.”
“The girls you partied with last night.”
“That’s right. April, May, and June.”
“You mean Summer, Spring, and Autumn.”
“That’s what I said!”
“Okay. They robbed you?”
“I woke up and my wallet had been cleaned out. My chains are gone. Worst of all, them bitches took my World Series ring. I need you to find ’em, get my ring back.”
“Do you know their real names?”
“Um, no. We were partying and…well, there just didn’t seem be any need to catch those details. But you can find out. You’re a problem solver. Go out and ask around. Break some legs, goddammit.”
“You want me to risk my neck for a bankroll and some chains?”
“I thought you ran this town.�
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Guts scratched his nose. “I never told you that. Besides, it’s not like it used to be around here. When King died, people set their own streets on fire. Burned down the biggest grocery in the neighborhood. People will do anything. I used to be able to draw a line and dare a man to cross it. He still might not cross it, but he’ll give me lip now.”
“Sounds like you scared.”
Guts paused. There was that word again. “Naw. Just alert.”
“Look, I know it was Goode or Washburn who paid you to take me around. Just add this to the tab. Might even be a bonus in it for you.”
“Yeah, what’s that?”
“My friendship, baby. I know we clicked. We’re like two peas in a pod.”
“I could see that your chains weren’t cheap, Crenshaw. But they’re just trinkets. You can get some more.”
“I don’t care about the chains. It’s the ring. It really means something to me.”
Guts could almost swear that Crenshaw’s voice faltered. Was he choking up?
“That ring gives me strength,” he continued. “They can fine me, suspend me, make me look bad in the papers. But they can’t take back that ring. It says I’m a world champion. My name’s in the books and they can’t take it out. It doesn’t belong on any finger but mine.”
“Why were you wearing it in the first place? Why don’t you keep it in a safe deposit box or something?”
“I wasn’t wearing it. I was carrying it in my pocket. I’m telling you man, them bitches went through my stuff. Say, Guts—you ever killed a woman before?”
“Naw, and I don’t plan to start.”
“Just asking, just asking.”
“Tell you what, All-Star. I’ll put the word out. But I don’t want to promise something I can’t follow through on.”
“Okay, whatever you can do. ’Preciate it.”
Guts hung up and yelled for Playfair.
He entered the office immediately, almost as if he’d been listening outside the door.
“What it is? You heard about my wedding dresses?”
“Come again?”
“Wedding dresses. In my trunk. Bridal veils and trains and whatnot. I can let you have one today for half of what I’ll charge tomorrow. One I’m keeping, though. For Nichelle.”
Guts waited for an explanation.
“Nichelle Nichols. Uhura, baby! I got one she’ll look perfect in when we walk down the aisle. But from the look on your face that’s not why you called me in here.”
“No, although I wish you the best of luck with Uhura. Actually, I’m looking for a ring.”
Ananias Goode, like Guts, was no fan of churches. Although Rev. Washington was Goode’s best friend and he contributed generously to Good Samaritan, he had absolutely no interest in going inside. Even a memorial service for a man he’d known since childhood wasn’t incentive enough to end his decades-long avoidance. So he sat outside the church in his New Yorker while Rev. Washington conducted Fish’s homegoing service. Oddly enough, Sharps had asked for and received permission to attend, although he’d hardly known the man. Alone in the backseat, his eyes hidden by dark glasses, Goode lifted his glass of bourbon and raised a silent farewell toast.
Nearby, Guts was outside the church, too, leaning against the side of his Plymouth while Mr. Logan bid Fish goodbye. Mr. Logan had practically raised Guts after his parents died. With his eyes failing, Mr. Logan didn’t need to be anywhere near a steering wheel, So Guts took him where he needed to go or made sure someone was available to do it when he couldn’t. Mr. Logan’s fidelity to Good Samaritan was the reason Guts drove the van every Sunday.
Throughout Goode’s rise to prosperity, the word “gangster” had clung like white on rice. For example, Good Samaritan was frequently whispered about as “the gangster’s church” because of its pastor’s curious friendship with him. By 1970, however, Goode had begun to reinvent himself in earnest. His friend Levander Watts, publisher of the Citizen, had helped with timely photographs of Goode engaged in community service. His annual turkey giveaway for Thanksgiving, his dedicated service as a board member of Harry Truman Boys Club, his contributions to the Abram Higgins Memorial Garden in Fairgrounds Park—all received front-page coverage. As a result, over time “the gangster” came to be referred to, with admiration, as “Mr. G.”
The new nickname pleased Goode. Underneath the displays of power, the long trail of bloodshed and intimidation, the penchants for bourbon and good cigars, Ananias Goode, like most human beings, harbored a desire to be loved and appreciated.
Few men were as aware of this as Guts Tolliver. He tapped on Goode’s window.
“Mr. G., I’m sorry to bother you, especially at a time like this,” he said. “I need to ask you a big favor.”
Goode rolled down his window. “Guts, always good to see you,” he said. “Come on in, let’s talk. It will be like old times.”
PeeWee Jefferson woke up to giggling. That meant his sister and her stuck-up roommates had rolled another sucker.
He got to his feet and ambled toward the sound, scratching his balls. The three women had open suitcases spread out on the beds. They were throwing in dresses and shoes, talking a mile a minute. PeeWee heard something about Chicago.
“I’ve always wanted to see the Windy City,” he said. “I hear they got some fine females up there.”
His sister made a hissing noise. “Shut up, PeeWee. Ain’t nobody even talking to you.”
“I’m your big brother, girl. Show some respect,” he said, eyeing the tangle of chains and jewelry on the night table.
“I’ll show you some respect when you find some place to sleep other than my couch. Twenty-five fucking years old and ain’t got job the first.”
“I want to go to Chicago with y’all.”
“You can’t, there’s a height requirement,” one of the women said. More giggling.
“We going to meet some real men and don’t need you hanging around,” his sister added. “We going to Hawthorne, play the horses and catch some big spenders.”
“Who’d y’all roll last night? That looks like real gold.”
“What makes you think we rolled somebody?”
“You didn’t get this at a prayer meeting.” He picked up one of the chains and held it to the light.
“You don’t even know what you looking at,” his sister said. “Put that shit down.”
“I just want to make sure you get the best price for your haul. I can boost it for you.”
“Like we need your help. Put that shit down.”
“Fine!” PeeWee made a big show of throwing the chain down hard on the table. “Just don’t come asking for me later,” he said.
He left the room. Grinning, he opened his hand and looked at the ring he’d just swiped. Well, well, look what we have here.
A large diamond was mounted on a black stone and surrounded by four smaller diamonds. Raised letters spelled “World Champions” around the outside. A major league team logo decorated one shank. “Crenshaw” was on the other.
When PeeWee realized what he had, he thought he might turn it in and get a big reward. Then he decided that doing so might risk being linked to the crime. He’d sell it to a fence instead. But the ring warmed his hand, felt good in his palm. Holding it, he felt stronger. He felt taller. He slipped it on his biggest finger. The world looked better, too. For the first time in a long time, the day felt full of promise. He took it off and put it back in his pocket. I’ll just hold onto it for a while.
A few days after Fish’s memorial service, Guts paced in the parking lot outside Aldo’s, an upscale women’s department store in the city’s West End. Pearl had started out as a customer greeter, then was promoted to elevator operator, and finally became the store’s first black salesclerk. Her post was in intimates, upstairs and far enough away to avoid offending customers uncomfortable with the idea of a Negro handling a cash register.
She came out to the lot, looked up, saw him, and marched right at him.
> “You can’t be here scaring white women. You trying to get me fired?”
“It’s your lunch break, right? I need to talk to you.”
“And people in hell are thirsty,” Pearl snarled. “I wouldn’t give you air if you were stopped up in a jug.”
“Come on, Pearl. I just want you to see something.”
“It better be a ring.”
“A what?”
“You heard me. A diamond ring. I know you got that Playfair running around asking about rings. You scared to go into a diamond shop yourself? If it ain’t a ring you want to show me, keep stepping. I want to be a wife, Lorenzo. A real wife, not no dress-and-breath.”
“I don’t think I ever told you that Mr. G. has a wife.”
Pearl paused to let that sink in. “All the pictures I see of that man in the paper, he’s always by himself. How come I’ve never seen her?”
“Few people have.”
“She doesn’t get out much, does she?”
“Never. She never gets out.”
Pearl put her hands on her hips. “Okay, you’ve got my attention. What do you want from me?”
“I want you to meet her.”
Pearl sat with her hands in her lap all the way to Lewis Place. Guts snuck a glance at each red light and stop sign, but all he ever glimpsed was her firmly set jaw. He found it hard to believe that she was the same woman who’d only recently danced naked to the Temptations in his living room. He turned on the radio. Tyrone Davis was asking, “Baby, can I change my mind?” In his husky voice he pleaded for a second chance.
Without looking at Guts, Pearl reached out and turned it off.
When they arrived at Lewis Place, Goode opened the door himself.
“Mr. G., this is Pearl Jordan.”
“Ah yes, the lovely Pearl. I’ve heard so much about you.”
“You have?”
“Yes,” Goode lied. Above Pearl’s head, the men exchanged glances. “I’m pleased to meet you at last.”
He led them into the living room. “My wife is resting. I have business elsewhere. Lawrence will show you in.”
Lawrence opened the adjoining door to reveal a fully outfitted hospital room. Where every other house on Lewis Place had a dining table and chairs, Goode had installed a large hospital bed and the best life-support equipment available. A transparent canopy was draped over the bed.
