Nice Girl Does Noir -- Vol. 2 (Intro by J.A.Konrath)

by Libby Fischer Hellmann

  During the break, a white guy came up to the stage. He’d been at one of the back tables, smoking cigarettes. With his baby face and eager expression, he couldn’t have been much older than Jimmy Jay. But his tailored suit and hair, slicked back with Bryl Crème, said he was trying to look well-off. He bought the band a round of drinks and nodded to Jimmy Jay. Then he turned to Inez and started talking quietly but earnestly. She looked from him to Jimmy Jay, then back at him. When she nodded, he took her hand and covered it with thick fingers. She didn’t pull away. After the next set, Jimmy Jay caught them talking behind his back. By the last set, Inez was favoring him with the same smile she’d shot Jimmy Jay the first night at Macomba’s ten years ago.

  By the time Inez left town with him a week later, the rain had changed to snow. Jimmy Jay went to fetch Calvin at school. When he got back, she was gone. At first he thought she was at the store, picking up something for dinner, but when she didn’t come home by six, an uneasy feeling swept over him. He checked the closet and drawers. Most of her things were gone. Except her gold cross.

  Word got around that she’d run away with Billy Sykes. He hadn’t worked for Capitol, it turned out. He did work in the record business, but dropped out of sight after he shorted some men who’d been financing a label with mob money. He reappeared a year later as a promoter. No one could say who his clients were.

  That winter Jimmy Jay sat for hours on the bed, running Inez’s gold cross and chain through his fingers. His mother moved in to look after Calvin who, at nine, was just old enough to realize his world had shattered. Word filtered back—someone had seen her in Peoria, someone else heard she was in Iowa. Jimmy Jay tried to play, but he sounded tired and flat. Inez was inextricably bound up in his music and his life; with her gone, it felt like part of his body—worse, his soul—had shriveled up and fallen off.

  One day Calvin came in and saw him on the bed, fingering the cross with tears in his eyes.

  “Don’t be sad, Daddy.” He came over and gave Jimmy Jay a hug. “I know what to do.”

  Jimmy Jay gazed at his son.

  “Mama just got lost. She don’t know how to get home. All we got to do is find her.”

  Jimmy Jay smiled sadly. “I don’t think she wants to come home, boy.”

  “Granny says every mama wants to come home. All we needs do is find her. Once she sees us, it’ll be just fine. I know it. “

  Jimmy Jay tried to discourage him, but Calvin clung to his idea like a leach to a man’s skin. He talked so much about finding his lost mama that after a while, his intensity infected Jimmy Jay. Could it really be that simple? Maybe Calvin was right. Sure Inez wanted to be a star, but she had a family. If they went after her, maybe she would realize what she’d given up and come home.

  The following spring Billy Sykes brought Inez back to Chicago for a show on the West side—no one on the South side would book her. She was singing with some musicians from St. Louis, Jimmy Jay learned. They were staying at the Lincoln hotel, a small shabby place near the club.

  Jimmy Jay waited until Calvin was home from school and had his supper. Then they both dressed in their Sunday best and took the bus to the hotel. Jimmy Jay slipped an old man at the desk a fiver and asked which room Inez Rollins was in. The man pointed up the steps. Jimmy Jay and Calvin climbed to the third floor and knocked on #315.

  A tired female voice replied, “Yes?”

  “It’s me, Inez. And Calvin.”

  The door opened and suddenly Inez was there, her body framed in the light.

  “Mama!” Calvin ran into her arms.

  Her face lit, and she clasped Calvin so tight the boy could hardly suck in a breath. When she finally released him, she turned to Jimmy Jay.

  “Hello, Jimmy Jay.”

  She looked washed-out, Jimmy Jay thought, although it gave him no pleasure to see it. Gaunt and nervous, too. Her eyes were rimmed in red, and her black mane of hair wasn’t glossy. He thought he saw a bruise on her cheek, but she kept finger-combing her hair over the spot.

  “Hello, Inez.” He looked around. “Where’s Sykes?”

  “He’s at the club. Getting ready for tonight.”

  Jimmy Jay nodded. He got right to the point. “We want you to come home. We are a family. Calvin needs you. So do I.”

  At least she had the decency to look ashamed. Her eyes filled. She gazed at Jimmy Jay, then Calvin. Then she shook her head.

  “Why not?”

  “Remember what I told you the first time we met?”

  “You told me a lot of things.”

  “I need to sing, Jimmy Jay. And Billy’s gonna make me a star.”

  Jimmy Jay saw the determination on her face, as raw as the first time he’d met her. His heart cracked, but he struggled to conceal his grief. He might have lost her, but Calvin didn’t have to. “Take the boy. He needs his mama. I’ll—I’ll pay you for him, ‘ifin you want.”

  “I’ll think about it.” Inez looked down at Calvin, trailed her fingers through his hair, and smiled. Calvin snuggled closer. “I’ll talk to Billy when he gets back.”

  Jimmy Jay nodded. “I’ll leave the boy with you. I’ll pick him up at the club when you start your gig. We can talk more.”

  Inez looked sad but grateful. Calvin looked thrilled.

  ***

  Two hours later, the band had finished setting up but there was no sign of Inez. Or Billy Sykes. Or Calvin. Jimmy Jay saw the uneasiness on the musicians’ faces, heard one of them say, “Where are those damn fools?”

  He retraced his steps to the Lincoln Hotel.

  No one was behind the desk when Jimmy Jay got there. He went up the stairs and down the hall. Music blared out from Inez’s room. The radio. Benny Goodman’s orchestra, he thought. He was about to knock on the door when he saw something move at the other end of the hall. Something small. He wheeled around and squinted.

  “Calvin? Is that you?”

  The figure trotted toward him. Calvin, looking small and lonely.

  “What you doin’ out here, son? Where’s your mama?”

  Calvin didn’t say anything, just shrugged.

  “Is she inside?” Jimmy Jay pointed to the door.

  Calvin nodded.

  “Is Sykes back?”

  Calvin nodded again.

  Jimmy Jay turned back to the door, leaned his ear against it. The music was loud. He knocked. No one answered. Probably couldn’t hear him above the music. He knocked again, and when no one responded, started to push against the door.

  “Inez, Sykes…. Open up!”

  Nothing. Except the music.

  Jimmy Jay looked both ways down the hall, then threw his weight against the door. It almost gave. He backed up, turned sideways, and rammed himself against it again. This time the door gave, and Jimmy Jay burst into the room.

  ***

  He was still holding the gun when the police arrived. Inez’s body was at the foot of the bed, but Sykes’ was half way to the door. A pool of blood was congealing under each of them.

  1982: Chicago

  Three weeks later, Jimmy Jay no longer had the strength to get out of bed. Calvin was putting in twelve-hour days. He knew it was an excuse for not dealing with his father, but he couldn’t bear to come home to a place where death hovered in the air.

  One night, though, was different. As he trudged inside, Calvin heard music from upstairs. And laughter. When he climbed the steps, he saw that Jeanine had moved their stereo into Jimmy Jay’s room. An old album revolved on the turntable. His father was in bed, eyes closed, snapping his fingers. Jeanine was sitting in the chair smiling too, her head bobbing to the music. Calvin peered at the album cover. Chess Records. Muddy Waters.

  His father opened his eyes. “Hey, Calvin.” His face was wreathed in smiles. “There ain’t nothing like Muddy for an old soul. With Willie Dixon and Howlin’ Wolf on back up. Lord, it makes me see the gates of heaven.”

  “Don’t talk that way, Dad.”

  Jimmy Jay dismissed him with a wave of his
hand. When the song came to an end, Calvin lifted the needle and turned off the stereo. Jeanine went downstairs, claiming dishes that needed to be washed.

  “Calvin,” his father said, “We can’t put it off no more. It’s time to talk about the arrangements.”

  Calvin stiffened. He dug in his pocket for his Luckys, pulled one out and lit it. He sat in the chair. “I don’t know why you want to be buried there.”

  His father eyed him. “She was my wife, Calvin. And your mama.”

  “She was white trash!” Calvin exhaled a cloud of white smoke. “White trailer trash.”

  “Don’t you ever talk that way ‘bout your mama!” His father’s voice was unexpectedly strong. “And she was from the mountains of Tennessee, boy,” his father added. “The Smoky Mountains.”

  But Calvin wasn’t mollified. “She ran out on us. You and me. She left us. And for what?”

  His father just looked at him. Then he turned his head toward the window. “She was my woman,” he said quietly, his burst of energy now dissipated. “And I was her sweet man.”

  Calvin felt his stomach pitch. The black hole was opening up again, and all he wanted to do was jump in and let it consume him. He stubbed out his cigarette, letting the window fan clear the smoke. Jeanine ran it all the time, even though it didn’t do much cooling. Beads of sweat popped out on his forehead.

  “I still miss her, son.”

  Calvin swallowed. “Pop, don’t.”

  “I ain’t got no regrets.” His father said. “At now, in a little while, if the good Lord is willin’, I’ll see her again.”

  Calvin’s throat got hot. He felt tears gather at the back of his eyes. He tried to blink them away hoping his father wouldn’t notice. But he did.

  “Why you crying, Calvin? You’re a good son. And Jeanine is a good woman. She been taking good care of me.”

  “It’s not that.” The words spilled out.

  His father cocked his head. The slight movement seemed to require more energy than he could muster.

  “I—I got to tell you something.”

  His father’s body might be wasted, but his soul seemed to expand. His eyes grew huge, taking over his entire face. “What’s that, son?”

  The black hole widened. Calvin had to take the plunge. “That—that night…” Calvin’s words were heavy and sluggish, as if the hole was already sucking him down. “The night mama died….” Calvin whispered. “It was my fault. I killed Mama.”

  An odd look registered on Jimmy Jay’s face.

  “After you left…” Calvin’s voice was flat and hard.”… Mama sang to me. And hugged me. It felt—so good… So right.”

  “Your mama had the voice of an angel.”

  Calvin held his hand up to stop him. “Then Billy Sykes come back. He was pissed when he saw me. ‘What’s that kid doing here?’ He yelled. He and Mama—well, she told him she wanted to take me with them. Sykes wouldn’t have none of it. ‘Are you crazy?” He said. ‘It’s bad enough that you’re a hillbilly. And part Injun. I ain’t taking your nigger kid, too. Get rid of him.’

  “Mama begged him. ‘He won’t be no trouble,’ she kept saying and looked at me. “Will you, sweet man?”

  “But Sykes kept saying no. ‘I put too much of my money in you to throw it away. What are people gonna think when they see you with a nigger kid?’

  “Mama and me were on the bed. She was hugging me real tight. ‘I want my son,’ she said.

  “‘He’ll be in the way,’ Sykes said. “You want to be a star? You got to make a choice. Me or the kid.’”

  Jimmy Jay didn’t say anything.

  Calvin shuddered. “Mama said, ‘Don’t make me do that. I’m his Mama!’”

  “‘Then I’ll make the choice for you.’ Sykes says. And he pulls out a gun and aims it at my head.’” Calvin looked at the floor.

  “What happened then, son?” Jimmy Jay asked, his voice almost as flat as Calvin’s.

  Calvin covered his eyes with his hand. “Mama got up from the bed. She looked scared. ‘All right. All right. Put that gun away, Billy. I’ll send Calvin back to his Daddy. Just put the gun away. Before someone gets hurt.’ Then she looked from me to Sykes. She didn’t say nothing more.”

  Calvin pressed his lips together. He couldn’t look at his father, but he knew his father was staring at him.

  “Sykes started to put the gun away, but then—I don’t know, Pop—something came over me. I jumped up and tackled Sykes. Right there in the room.” He hesitated. “The gun went off. And Mama dropped off the end of the bed. Just dropped dead right in front of me.”

  His father whispered. “And then?”

  “Sykes was like a crazy man. It was like he couldn’t believe what happened. He started screaming, first at mama. Kept telling her to get up and stop foolin’ around. But she didn’t, Pop. She never got up.” Calvin’s voice cracked. “Then he dropped the gun and started for the door. He was gonna take off! Just leave her there.” Calvin paused again. “I just couldn’t let that happen. I couldn’t. When he was half way to the door, I picked up the gun and shot him in the back.”

  Calvin felt tears streaming down his face.

  Jimmy Jay, his eyes veiled, let out a quiet breath. Calvin heard the hum of traffic through the window above the fan.

  After a long time, Calvin said haltingly, “I guess it’s time to go to the police.”

  “You won’t do nothing of the kind, son.” His father raised himself on one elbow. “I already done the time. For both of us. And…” His features softened. “… I figured out what happened a long time ago.”

  “You knew?” Calvin’s stomach turned over. “How?”

  “There was no way your mama could do anything to hurt you. Or you her. I knew it had to be an accident. At least with her. And Sykes… well…” Jimmy Jay shrugged as if it didn’t matter.

  “You knew? All these years?” Calvin felt his features contort with anguish. “I killed them, and you took the rap for me?”

  Jimmy Jay nodded. “And I’d do it all over again.”

  Calvin searched his father’s face for an explanation. The silence pressed in.

  “You were just a boy,” Jimmy Jay finally said, gazing at him with an expression of infinite sadness, compassion, and love. “I done the time for you both… so you would grow up and turn into her sweet man. Now…” He paused. “We got to get back to that plannin.’ The Lord ‘ll be givin’ Inez back her other sweet man, and I needs to be ready. We still got a lot of music to make together.”

  THE END

  The following story was published in the EXPLETIVE DELETED anthology (Bleak House, 2008) edited by Jen Jordan. I loved researching the seamier, sleazier parts of Chinatown where menus are stained, kitsch is king, and even walking down the street after dark is risky. Add in two older criminals seeking redemption, and the result was irresistible. At least to me.

  THE JADE ELEPHANT

  Gus stared at the jade elephant in the window of the pawn shop, wondering if it could be his salvation. A soft translucent green, about ten inches tall, its trunk curled up in the air as if it was trumpeting the joy of existence. Charlieman, his fence, said that meant good luck. Charlieman was Chinese.

  Gus folded his newspaper under his arm. There wasn’t much to distinguish this from any other pawnshop in Chinatown. Tucked away in a building with an illegal gambling operation upstairs, it was a grim and dingy place. Faded yellow Chinese characters—who knew what they said?—covered the window. A shabby dragon sat above the door spitting imaginary fire.

  He trudged down chalky cement blocks uninterrupted by shrubbery and pushed through the door of the restaurant. One of the few that hadn’t fled to the suburbs, it was a dimly lit place. That wasn’t all bad—at least you couldn’t see the stained yellowed napkins or the scratches on the tables.

  Pete was in the second booth, slurping his soup. The only other customers were three Asian men at a back table. Chinatown’s Chamber of Commerce would have you believe the place was bust
ling with commerce, but much of that commerce was conducted by dubious “businessmen” in alleys or street corners or greasy Chinese spoons like this. Rumor was the mayor had finally slated Chinatown for urban renewal. Sure. Gus snorted.

  Pete stopped slurping and looked up. “What kept you?”

  “Traffic.” Gus slid into the seat across, wondering why they still came here at all. Habit, he figured. Inertia.

  His partner grunted and went back to his soup.

  “How is it?”

  “Like always.”

  A waiter came over and offered Gus a laminated plastic menu whose edges curled away from the page. Gus waved it away. “The usual, Chen.”

  “You want egg roll or soup?” he asked, rolling his “r’s” so they sounded like “l’s.”

  Gus pulled his coat more tightly around him. The December cold had seeped into his bones. “Soup.”

  Chen nodded and disappeared through a swinging door that squeaked when it flapped.

  Pete looked over. “So?”

  Gus leaned his elbows on the table. “It was benign.”

  Pete cracked a smile. “Attaboy!”

  “I was lucky.”

  “It’s all that clean living.” Pete laughed. “What’d the doc say?”

  Chen came out from the kitchen, carrying a steaming bowl of soup. He set it down in front of Gus. “That it happens when you get old.”

  “We’re not old.” Pete sounded defiant.

  “You’re pushing sixty, and so am I,” Gus said. “He said I could get another in a couple of years. With the stress and all.”

  “Stress causes tumors?”

  Gus nodded. “Said I should take better care of myself. Build up my immune system.”

  “Eat your vegetables,” Pete laughed.

  “That’s what he said.”