Fear of the Dark

by Walter Mosley

  Jerry placed himself in the manager’s seat and lit up a cigarette without offering us one. I took out my own pack and shook it at my friend. Fearless waved away my wordless offer.

  “Okay,” Jerry said. “Now, what does all this falderal got to do with me?”

  “I’m just worried about my cousin,” I said. “And I hear you been seein’ him on a regular basis.”

  “That’s business, Paris,” he said. “You know most people come in here don’t speak ten words the whole night.”

  “But you got eyes like a eagle and a owl,” I said. “You see ten times what normal men see and twice that at night.”

  “I ain’t seen nuttin’ on Ulysses Grant,” he said, and I knew by his use of my cousin’s proper name that he was lying.

  Fearless knew it too.

  “Look, Jerry,” my friend said, “we not tryin’ to get nobody in trouble. We not tryin’ to mess up nobody’s game. Paris here just need to talk to Ulysses, that’s all.”

  Jerry took a moment. He wasn’t considering the request, it was just that he was trying to show respect, that he was at least thinking about what Fearless was saying.

  “I’m sorry, Mr. Jones,” Jerry said. “But you know I got a reputation to maintain. I don’t tell nobody’s business to nobody. If I was to talk to you it might get out. Ulysses might figure out how Paris fount him. An’ if he did, my whole game is out the windah.”

  “When he came to my house he was worried for his life,” I said.

  “The last time I seen ’im he was just fine,” Jerry said.

  “When was that?”

  “Five days ago.”

  Jerry stared at me and Fearless, resolute in his conviction. Whether it was because he was committed to his reputation or some more intricate involvement with my cousin, I was not sure. But I did know that I had to break Mr. Twist’s resolve.

  “Okay,” I said. “You know I don’t wanna make you do somethin’ go against your moral code. But I got to bring Three Hearts over here for you to tell her that.”

  “Three Hearts? What’s Three Hearts got to do with this?” Jerry was looking me directly in the eye.

  “That’s Useless’s mama, man. She got everything to do wit’ it.”

  “She, she down Louisiana,” he said.

  “Not no mo’,” Fearless said, nodding sagely.

  “She in L.A.?”

  “Right outside’a Watts,” I said. “I can have her here in twenty-two minutes—tops.”

  “I cain’t tell her nuthin’ more than I told you,” he whined. “Why she got to come here?”

  “That’s her boy,” I said reasonably. “He’s missin’ an’ you the last one seen ’im. You know Three Hearts gotta talk about that.”

  “Paris,” he begged, “you know that woman. You know what they say about her.”

  “An’ it’s all true,” I pronounced. “That’s why I’m’a bring her to you. I don’t want that evil eye on me.”

  Jerry gulped loud enough for us both to hear. He bit his lips and clasped his hands.

  Then he said, “This shit cain’t git out, man.”

  “You got our word,” Fearless said.

  I do believe a tear escaped Jerry’s eye.

  “Last time I seen Ulysses,” Jerry said, “he was worried that a man named Hector was after him. He told me that his girl, Angel, had turned against him and he was gonna have to run.”

  “Why he tell you?” I asked.

  “He needed money.”

  “And you a bank?”

  A sour taste passed Jerry’s big lips and he looked to the left. Then he looked back at me and said, “Ulysses been fleecin’ rich white people. Blackmailin’ ’em, I think.”

  “How?”

  “I don’t know. All I do know is that he been bringin’ me money, lots of it, an’ I been helpin’ him put it into accounts that the IRS won’t see. You know, foreign shit.”

  “How you do that?”

  “That ain’t got nuthin’ to do with what’s goin’ on with Ulysses,” Jerry said.

  “Okay,” I said. “All right. What’s this guy Hector got to do with all this?”

  “Hector LaTiara,” Jerry said. “French-assed nigger. Think his shit don’t stink. I met him one time. He got somethin’ to do with Ulysses’ business, but don’t ask me what ’cause I don’t know.”

  “You know where he live at?” Fearless asked.

  Jerry just shook his head. His lips were hanging loosely, as if he had just run a desperate race and was exhausted.

  “I’m sorry,” I said. “And I appreciate the information. Three Hearts will too.”

  “You keep that witch away from me,” Jerry said.

  “Don’t worry,” I promised. “I’ll keep her curses all to myself.”

  21

  ON THE WAY OUT we were distracted by a pool game. A man made an exceptionally good shot, sinking two balls and putting his shooter in prime position. Fearless put a hand on my arm and we waited until the player—a dark-skinned, elegantly dressed man—finished his run and the game. I was about to go when Fearless whispered, “Let’s see what this other dude could do.”

  The other player was light-skinned, fat, and sweating. He wore a flouncy Bermuda shirt with big purple and green patterns printed on it. He was smoking and drinking and seemed a little pixilated. But when he leaned over to shoot, he was all business.

  It was some match. If either guy got a clear shot the game was over. It was pool on a whole other plane than the one where I lived. These men were masters.

  We probably watched for two hours before I made to leave. Those men were going to play until sunrise, and I had things on my mind. Fearless could have stayed but he followed me out.

  MUM WAS GONE by the time we got downstairs. So was the bulk of Ha’s crowd. I took a phone book from behind the cash register and looked up Hector LaTiara. He lived on a street called Saturn.

  Harold Crier wished us good night at the door. Fearless and I wandered down the street. He had parked next to me in an empty lot there.

  “What you think about what Jerry said?” I asked Fearless.

  He shook his head. “You cain’t evah tell wit’ Jerry, man. He might be lyin’. He might be straight. I mean, I believe it about this Hector dude ’cause you knew his name anyway.”

  Fearless couldn’t read the newspaper without help, but he knew people. He could tell what a man felt by watching him blow his nose.

  “Yeah. But he called Useless Ulysses,” I said. “That means he got somethin’ goin’ with him.”

  “Doin’ business, like he said,” Fearless reasoned.

  “Naw. It’s more than that.”

  “Maybe. But maybe it don’t mattah. I mean, unless he killed Ulysses, why we wanna bother with him?”

  It was true.

  “You wanna go roust this Hector dude?” Fearless offered.

  It was maybe midnight.

  “I got my gun.”

  “Naw, man. We don’t know who’s up in the house with him, an’ there’s no reason to get on his bad side right off. Anyway, I’m tired. Ain’t got much sleep in the last few days.” Everything I was saying was true, but I had an ulterior motive.

  Fearless could see the deception on my face, but he didn’t challenge me.

  “Okay, man,” he said. “You know where I be in the mornin’. Call me when you need me.”

  He jumped into Milo’s red Caddy and drove off in a great swoosh.

  I stood in that empty dirt-floored lot wondering how I got there. I looked down the street at Good News. The lights were still on, but the restaurant was closing down.

  There was no visible light from upstairs, but I knew that the men up there would be playing until six or seven. Somewhere Useless was either breathing or not breathing and Three Hearts was awake in her bed, fretting about her wayward son.

  And there I was: one kind of man in another kind of world.

  I DROVE AROUND FOR A WHILE because I didn’t know the neighborhood very well and beca
use the street I was looking for was only one block long. It took me five minutes just to find it on the gas station map.

  When I finally got there I realized that the street was little more than an alley—I couldn’t park on it without blocking the road. So I put my auto on the cross street and walked down one side of the alley and back up the other. By then it was almost one thirty in the morning. My heart was pumping with anticipation and trepidation. The streets were empty, which made them perfect for a crime. I was alone, which made me the perfect crime victim.

  I saw no doorway that had what I wanted. I should have gone home, but I walked up and down the alley/lane again.

  Finally, in frustration I looked up and saw a crimson glow from a third-floor apartment.

  It was a lantern.

  I climbed the stairs. Reaching the red light, I came upon a green door.

  I knocked and the door came open almost immediately.

  Mum had been lovely in her waitress getup but she was a knockout in her orange silk gown.

  “I wondered if you were going to come,” she said.

  “Not me,” I replied. “I been thinkin’ about this for a long time.”

  Mum had nothing on under the thin material. I wanted to take her in my arms right then, but I could tell by the way she held herself that she needed a different approach.

  She ushered me into a large room that was sumptuous; there was really no other word for it. The light was low but unlike Jerry Twist’s—you could still see. On one side there was a large bed covered by a canopy with gossamer violet-colored silk hanging down on three sides. Next to the bed stood an eight-foot mirror in a cherrywood frame. A red hassock sat before the mirror; to its side was a small table covered with makeup containers, cream pots, brushes, and perfumes. I could imagine Mum sitting before her mirror, preparing herself for our rendezvous.

  The other side of the room had a low couch and table. The couch was golden with red pillows and the table was blond, set for drinks.

  Mum shut the door and came up close to me. She reached into my breast pocket and retrieved my cigarettes and matches. She put a cigarette between my lips and lit it. Then she guided me to the sofa and pressed until I sat.

  While she poured me a drink in a deep bowl of a glass, she said, “I’ve been waiting for a man to make me laugh.”

  She passed me the glass. Cognac. Good cognac.

  “You just moved in here?” I asked.

  “I know how I like things,” she said.

  “I can see that.”

  “I want to give you pleasure, Paris,” she said.

  Why was in my chest, but he refused to make himself known.

  Mum sat next to me and gave me a kiss. It wasn’t as passionate as Loretta’s had been, but it was nice. We did that for a while: kiss and then sip fine liquor from the big glasses, then kiss some more. My hands wanted to feel her orange fabric, but she kept them down.

  After our third drink she lifted me by the elbows and brought me to another room. It was a bathroom with a huge freestanding, high-collared tub. It was filled with water. She tested it with a bare foot up to the ankle and then turned on the hot.

  “I’m going to undress you,” she told me. “Just let me do it. Don’t help or touch me.”

  I didn’t.

  The water was hot and the liquor did exactly what it was supposed to. I was very excited sexually, but I would have been happy going to sleep while Mum cleaned me with a sea sponge scrubber.

  I closed my eyes and let my mind wander. Somewhere between here and there a thought came to me in the form of a question: Why would Hector LaTiara want a French dictionary?

  But even that didn’t disturb me.

  When I opened my eyes Mum had disrobed and was stepping into the tub with me.

  “YOU’RE A NICE MAN, PARIS,” Mum said. She had one arm behind my head and the other across my chest. We were in her big bed, enveloped in silk and soft, soft cotton. I was clean and completely satisfied.

  “What a man wants to hear is that he’s big and strong and almost scary,” I replied, though I was thinking about a door that had opened in my mind.

  Mum giggled.

  “I’m stronger than you are,” she said.

  “We’ll never find out now, will we?”

  “Why were you at Jerry’s with Fearless Jones?” she asked then, and I wondered again why she had lured me over.

  “Lookin’ for my cousin Useless.”

  “Useless Grant is your cousin?”

  “Everybody says that in the same way,” I said. “And I know why. Useless is a motherfucker. Have you seen him?”

  “Every once in a while he talks to Ha Tsu. They like to laugh together.”

  “They do business together?”

  “I don’t know Ha’s business. I’m just a waitress.” She was getting nervous.

  “And I’m just a bookseller,” I said. “What can you do?”

  “You sell books?” Mum seemed shocked.

  “Yeah. Why?”

  She jumped up and pulled back the red fabric at the head of the bed. There were eight bookshelves filled with hardbound Chinese texts. I perused them. Most were complete ciphers to me. But on the bottom shelf I saw the names Aristotle, Plato, Marx, Spinoza, and Hegel printed over Chinese cuneiforms.

  “I like some’a these guys,” I said. “But I prefer the older generation. Herodotus, Homer, and Sophocles.”

  “You have read them?”

  “Sure.”

  “I used to study ancient thinkers. My father sent me to New York to study. But then the Japs came and killed my family. They destroyed everything and made my country crazy. I came here and Ha Tsu took me in.”

  I put my arms around her, and after a while she fell into a deep sleep. I was soon to follow, but before I nodded off I thought about the man looking for the French dictionary, the man who was after Useless.

  My dreams were darker than Jerry Twist’s office.

  22

  IF HECTOR LATIARA HAD BEEN TO MY STORE, he was probably there looking for Useless—that was the thought going through my mind when I was almost awake, lying there between floral-scented sheets. And if Hector had been to my place once, he might have been there twice, even three times. He might have been armed and he might have run into Tiny Bobchek.

  But what did any of that have to do with smoked bacon?

  I hated Useless, hated him in that way you can only despise a family member. All of a sudden I was worried that the Bobchek murder could be tied to me in some way. If the police could somehow identify the corpse, they might tie him to Useless and then Useless to me. The next thing I knew, somebody who knew more than I did would be confessing to the crime, incriminating me, and getting a reduced sentence as he did so.

  I would have liked to pour orange juice and hot butter all over him.

  “Paris,” the breeze whispered.

  I should have agreed with Fearless the night before. We should have gone to Hector’s house. It was too late to go to the police. They wouldn’t understand us taking Tiny to the strawberry field. Killer Cleave wouldn’t understand me telling them about it.

  “Breakfast,” the gentle wind sighed.

  I opened my eyes to see Mum kneeling before me, naked and proffering a silver tray holding bacon and eggs, orange juice, and coffee.

  My waking dream had put a pall on the day, but I smiled for Mum and kissed her gently.

  “This what you call a Chinese breakfast?” I asked the young woman.

  “No. But you’re not what I call a Chinese girl’s boyfriend either,” she replied.

  We ate and talked about her family. I asked where they had come from in China and why were so many people killed.

  Mum told me that her clan hailed from central China originally. She blamed the Japanese for their demise. She hated that people with a virulence that rivaled the worst white racists I had met in the South. While she spoke I thought of Loretta. I wondered if Mum would have hated my Japanese friend.

  Th
en I wondered about the people I hated because of their skin color or whatever. It seemed rather arbitrary to me—unnecessary, or maybe not that, maybe it was necessary to hate someone, just capricious who it was that you hated.

  After breakfast I put on my clothes. At the door Mum hugged me and we kissed. She peered deeply into my eyes then.

  “You cannot be my boyfriend,” she said very seriously.

  “You’re very beautiful,” I replied with a smile.

  “But —”

  “So I’m happy for what I got here,” I said. “It’s like a dream in here. And now when I come to Good News I know I can talk to you about philosophy over hot and sour.”

  Mum’s eyes widened, and maybe there was a gleam of disappointment there. She might have been thinking that I took it so well maybe I could have been a good secret lover. Or maybe she wanted me to be a little brokenhearted after that night of perfect love.

  Either way, she kissed me again and, unknowingly, sent me off to war.

  SEX WITH A WOMAN IS ALWAYS a two-edged sword for me. The last woman I had been with, Jessa, was the source of all kinds of trouble. I was still deep in that morass, my clothes newly perfumed with Mum’s exotic scents, when I decided that it would be okay for me to go to the address on Saturn where Hector LaTiara lived.

  There were many forces that brought me to his block. There was the manhood I felt from the act of love with Mum. There was the urgency I felt about the murder that had happened in my home. And there was the feeling of invisibility I had at times.

  I didn’t expect to confront Hector. I just wanted to get the lay of the land before Fearless and I went up against the French-assed nigger.

  I got in my car and sat there for a while. I thought about the assumptions I had made and the mistakes that attended those assumptions.

  Very often I blamed Fearless for my problems. He’d get into trouble trying to do right in a world where everything was wrong. When he felt that he needed to think his way out of a problem, he always came to me. And if I got involved, trouble came down in a deluge.