Fear Itself

by Walter Mosley

  I wanted to sneer but then I remembered choking in the trunk of Louis’s car. I would have given up the secrets of the atom bomb to get out of there.

  ***

  “WHAT ELSE YOU TELL HIM?” Fearless asked.

  We were back in the sterile living room. Ted was tied up with the same sheets that had bound BB.

  “I, I told him I didn’t know why you were lookin’ for me,” BB said. “And then he beat me so bad that I had to give him something. I had to.”

  The expression on my friend’s face was impossible to read. BB saw something there that scared him, because he shrank in his chair.

  “Who you tell about bein’ here?” Fearless asked at last.

  “Nobody.”

  “You already give us up to a killer, brother. Don’t lie too.”

  “I just told him that you was gonna call. If I didn’t he would’a killed me.”

  “That’s what you told him,” Fearless said. “Who did you tell that you’d be here?”

  “Nobody, man. Nobody at all.”

  “Uh-uh.” Fearless shook his head. “And you know how I know that?”

  BB shook his head too.

  “Because this white man come up in here after you. He wasn’t goin’ door to door lookin’. He knew right where you were.”

  “What is this place?” I asked.

  “It’s a house my father’s church bought as a home for some of its old people. It’s a church house.”

  “And how’d you get here?”

  “I went to my father after you found me. I told him that I needed to hide. He had the keys and gave them to me.”

  Fearless glanced at me and smirked. There was too much blood and pain in the room for me to share his humor, but I knew what he meant. We had a path to follow now. And following was always better than being stalked.

  “What about you?” Fearless asked Theodore Timmerman.

  “Fuck you.”

  “That’s all right, brother. Yeah. You just keep on sayin’ that. But I’m sure your mama don’t want them to be the last words on your lips before you die.”

  “You’re not gonna kill me,” Teddy said, I thought rather hopefully.

  “No,” Fearless agreed.

  He crouched down next to the chair Teddy was tied to. Then he took a long finger and jabbed it lightly in the center of that dark cloud in Timmerman’s chest. The pain shuddered through Milo’s ex-agent like a quake through a dying engine. He tried to inhale but his lungs stalled and a dribble of blood appeared at the corner of his mouth.

  “You taste that?” Fearless asked. “That’s the end comin’ up outta you. All I got to do is leave you here, man. That’s all, and you’ll be dead before sunrise.”

  Timmerman was still trying to recover from the deep hurt that Fearless had pointed out. He took small breaths, jammed his eyes closed, and clenched his jaw tightly.

  After a few moments of this agony he looked up and said, “Fuck you.”

  My friend laughed and shook his head.

  Ted Timmerman had won Fearless Jones’s respect.

  32

  FEARLESS REMOVED TIMMERMAN’S shoes and pants, gagged him, and bound his hands behind his back. I drove Ambrosia’s Chrysler up the driveway next to the big impersonal house and Fearless took our captive and pushed him on the floor of the backseat.

  “You better not let nobody but Jesus know where you light next time, Barty,” Fearless suggested at the back door.

  “What you gonna do wit’ him?” BB asked.

  “Don’t worry ’bout him. Worry ’bout yo’self, man.”

  I opened the door to the car but then I closed it again.

  “BB.”

  “Yeah, Paris?”

  “Tell me about Rikki Faison’s house.”

  “What?” he asked with a weak grin and slight shrug.

  “Don’t fuck with us, BB. Tell me about that house and what you were doin’ there.”

  “You got to go, Paris,” Bartholomew complained.

  “Fearless,” I said.

  “Uh-huh,” he replied. He got in behind the wheel and I ushered young Prince Perry back inside the church house.

  “Tell me about Minna, man,” I said after the door was closed behind us.

  “She was my girlfriend, that’s all. We been messin’ around for three, four months.”

  “And?”

  “And . . . well. One night she said that her brother heard that I was related to Aunt Winnie. She said that we could get a hold on her that we’d be able to make a big payday. Big.”

  “So what you do?”

  “I got together with Kit and we hatched up a plan.”

  “What plan?”

  Bartholomew stared into my eyes. His visage was a rueful one. I think he wanted to unburden his heart.

  He shook his head instead.

  “No, man. You might find out along the way, but if Aunt Winnie ask you you tell her you ain’t heard it from me.”

  “I hope you know what you doin’, brother,” I said. “Call Milo’s number when you know where you gonna be. And don’t forget to use the name Honeyboy. Don’t use your own name.”

  You could see that he didn’t want me to leave him alone there. Being tortured will bring out the communal spirit in most men. But he didn’t want to beg. At least he had that much pride.

  ***

  WE DROVE TO GENERAL HOSPITAL and pulled into an alley across the street. It was closing in on seven-thirty by then and so the alley was empty. Fearless untied Timmerman, took him out of the car, and set him up against a wall.

  “You can come after us or sign yourself into the emergency room across the street,” my friend advised.

  Then he climbed back into the car and we drove off. Through the back window I could see the white man struggling down the alley. I wondered what his decision would be.

  “That boy got some nuts on him,” Fearless said as we cruised down State Street.

  “In his head.”

  “Well,” Fearless opined. “Yeah. Most’a your brave men is a little bit crazy. Either that or they pushed up against a wall. But I got to hand it to your boy there—he not backin’ down for nuthin’.”

  We got the home address of Esau Perry from his son. We told BB that it would be better if we found out from his father that night who he had spoken to about his whereabouts.

  Esau’s house was on Piru Street, not far from his car lot. It was a rare brick home, with a fireplace and patch of lawn not even big enough to sun on.

  Fearless knocked on the door and we heard a young child squealing from inside. A few moments went by. It was almost fully night by then. The last shreds of daylight were far off on the western horizon, a jarring combination of ember-orange and deep blue.

  The door opened and Esau stood there, still in his coveralls. The child chirped out a glad note from somewhere in the house.

  “Yes?”

  “Mr. Perry,” I said. “Sorry to bother you at night, sir. But we have a problem that we thought you might want to know about.”

  He knew something was up. He knew that he was involved too. That’s why he didn’t slam the door on us or at least ask me more about what I meant. Instead of a challenge he stood aside for us to enter.

  He led us into a kitchen that was painted and furnished all in yellow, under a yellow light. There was a large young Mexican woman sitting on a small chair playing with a little brown boy who resembled Henry from the comic strips.

  “Hey, Son,” Fearless said.

  The boy looked up at my friend with a sense of confusion and wonder and said, “Hi.”

  “Take him up to his bed, Trini,” Esau said to the woman.

  “Okay, baby,” she replied, speaking volumes about their relationship with two small words.

  The boy protested verbally but he let Trini pick him up and carry him out of a back doorway. As they left, Son held out his arms toward Esau. The older man’s arms moved toward the boy, saying good-bye and reaching too.

  “How’s B
B?” Esau asked after Trini and Son were gone.

  “He might be dead if Fearless here wasn’t faster than Jesse Owens at a Nazi barbecue.”

  “That white man hurt him?”

  “Oh yeah,” I said. “He installed a sun visor over his eyes.”

  “Shut up, Paris,” Fearless said.

  “No. No. I wanna know why a father would send a man like that out to kill his own son.”

  Esau went to the kitchen counter and poured himself a shot from a quart bottle there. He downed the drink and poured another.

  “He took Son.”

  “What?”

  “He come out here and took Son.”

  “Kidnapped him?” Fearless asked.

  “Yes sir. Took him right off the front lawn when Trini’s back was turned. Called me up and said that he wanted to know where BB was.”

  “And you turned him over,” I said in a voice that I didn’t mean to be so damning.

  “Yes I did. Really he did it to himself. He got himself into all this trouble.”

  “What trouble?” I asked. “You mean that pendant?”

  “Pendant?”

  “Yeah. Emerald job that Winifred’s father bought for her.”

  “That piece’a green glass?” Esau said. “No. That’s a trinket compared to what BB and his friend did.”

  “You mean Kit?”

  “Yeah. That’s who I mean.”

  “You got a phone, Mr. Perry?” Fearless asked.

  “Right through this door,” Esau said. “Right on the right.”

  Fearless walked out and I continued my interrogation.

  “Do you know where we can find Kit?”

  “No,” Esau said. “I don’t wanna have nuthin’ to do wit’ that man. Him and BB likely to bring that whole family to misery.”

  “How’s that?”

  Esau gauged me for a moment. I have no idea what he saw but he said, “Son used to stay with his auntie.”

  “Winifred?” I asked, and then I remembered the toy gyroscope in her drawing room.

  “Yeah. She got him from his mother when she was havin’ problems with her husband, but when Leora wanted him back Winifred said that he’d be better off there with her. She wanted to bring him up herself.”

  “Could she get away with that?”

  “She did,” Esau said. “That is, until BB got that Kit Mitchell to go up in there pretendin’ he worked with fancy gardens and shit. He took the boy and give him to his mother, but then he told some rich white man that he could tell Winifred that he kidnapped the boy and that she either had to play ball wit’ him or Son would die.”

  I liked the shape of the scheme. There was no real crime, at least not that could be proven. The boy was with his mother and safe, the threat would have been vague enough that a prosecutor might not even be able to prove extortion.

  “That was the Wexler kids did that?”

  “Yes sir.”

  “You know they’re dead, right?”

  Fearless walked back in then. I wondered who he could have called so quickly.

  “Yeah,” Esau said. “That’s why when that white man gave me the choice between Son and BB, I made up my mind on the innocent. He wanted to trade BB’s hidin’ place for Son and I agreed.”

  “What’s Son to you?” Fearless asked.

  “He’s Leora’s boy. My nephew by law and by love. She brought him here to me while she tried to fix the damage that Kit and BB had done.”

  “What damage?” I asked. “She got her boy. What’s wrong with that?”

  “BB and Kit took somethin’ else,” Esau said.

  “Necklace?” asked Fearless.

  “Naw. I don’t know what it was, but Leora was real upset about it. That’s why she said that she had to find Kit.”

  “Why didn’t you just call the cops?” I asked.

  “Because this is beyond the police. White man came here to me. White man got his kids killed. Rich white man. All I could do was hope that BB could dig his own way out the hole he dug.”

  The pain in Esau’s words was almost a physical thing.

  “So,” I said, “Kit took Son out from Winifred’s house.”

  “That’s right.”

  “Is he in bed yet?”

  Esau glanced at the back wall and cocked his ear. At that moment I heard the weak cry of water running through pipes in the wall.

  “He’s in the tub by now,” Esau said.

  LITTLE CHILDREN IN BATHTUBS must be the same all over the world. More like tadpoles than humans, they kick and slide and laugh at the pleasure of warm water and their own nakedness. Trini was smiling down on her little charge.

  “Hey, Son,” Fearless said as we three men entered the bathroom.

  When he stared up at us his mouth fell open.

  “We need to find somebody,” Fearless continued.

  “My daddy?” the child asked.

  “No, uh-uh. Not right now. But do you remember a man name of Kit?”

  The boy shook his head no.

  “One of his teeth is silver like.”

  “Oh yeah. That’s the man took me out from my auntie’s house and give me to my mama.”

  “Do you know where we could find him?”

  “Where the big wheel is,” Son said with a nod.

  I was ready to jump in and ask as many questions as necessary to find Kit but Fearless just said, “Thanks, boy,” and turned to walk away.

  I put a hand on his arm and asked, “Where you goin’?”

  “To get Kit. You comin’?”

  33

  WHERE TWEEDY BOULEVARD MEETS Santa Fe there was a garage that specialized in all problems associated with car tires. Inner tubes, retreads, patches, and even axles—they had everything. Their insignia was a gigantic transport plane landing tire. It must have been fifteen feet in diameter. Add that to the fact that it stood upon a twenty-foot pylon and you had a strong symbol of your business. It made sense that that tire would dominate Son’s imagination. It also made sense that Fearless would have known immediately what Son had meant, because he had a deep affinity with the wonder of children.

  “But suppose it was some other big tire?” I asked. “They got one out in the valley.”

  “I don’t think Kit would be hidin’ in the valley, would you, Paris?”

  “Might not even be a wheel,” I said. “Maybe it’s something else.”

  “Like what?”

  “Like a Ferris wheel for instance,” I said.

  “Ain’t no circus or carnival down around Watts right now, Paris. And Watts is all Kit knows. Uh-uh, man. We might as well look here.”

  I hated when Fearless’s logic defeated me.

  “Where we gonna look?” I asked.

  There were three apartment buildings and half a dozen small homes across the street from the garage. Behind there was a very large apartment structure, like a lodge, and there were various other domiciles up and down the block.

  “He could be anywhere around here,” I said.

  “Let’s go get some wine,” Fearless replied.

  Diagonally across from the garage was a small banana-colored bodega. The sign above the front door read BRUCE’S STORE.

  The Mexican behind the counter had sad eyes and a drooping mustache. But he was smiling still and all. It wasn’t a friendly smile, more like the secure sneer of a man who’s got a shotgun under the counter.

  “You Bruce?” Fearless asked right off.

  “No. Brucey owns the store. He don’t work at night.”

  “He a white guy?”

  “No. Like me.”

  “Then how he gonna have a name like Bruce?”

  “His name was Guillermo when he was born in Ensenada. But he came here to pick lemons and stayed to open this store. He said he didn’t want just our people to come here, that he wanted everybody to be welcome, so he changed his name to Bruce.”

  The shopkeeper’s smile warmed while he spoke.

  “Legally?” I asked.

  “Yes
. It’s on his driver’s license. Do you need something?”

  The little market was set up like a California liquor store. At the back was a coffin-shaped, glass-doored refrigerator filled with juices, milk, sodas, and beer. The aisles had mostly snack food. Behind the counter were rows of cheap wine.

  “Gimme a bottle’a that Thunderbird, will ya?” Fearless said.

  The clerk, who was trim and fifty, pulled down a pint bottle, slipping it into a brown paper bag that seemed fitted to our purchase.

  “Forty-nine cents,” the clerk said.

  Fearless paid with a five-dollar bill. While he was receiving the change he said, “Maybe you could help me out.”

  The chill returned to the man’s smile.

  “Oh?”

  “Yeah. I’m lookin’ for my cousin Kit. Brown like Paris here and he got a silver tooth up front.” Fearless pointed at one of his own teeth with a baby finger. “And he drink this here Thunderbird like it was orange juice.”

  “Oh yes. I know him. Kit? He never said his name. But I seen him go into that big gray building behind the garage.”

  WE CROSSED THE STREET and went up the block to the front of the big building. I was wondering as we went how we could search for Kit while keeping a low profile. After all, the police rousted Fearless for just knowing the Watermelon Man.

  As we neared the double doors that gave entrée to the monolithic building, Fearless touched my shoulder.

  “Look over there,” he said, pointing to the street.

  “At what?” I asked.

  “That gray Rambler over there.”

  “What about it?”

  “That there is Leora Hartman’s car, I bet.”

  Not only was it her car but she was in it, laid up against the steering wheel and crying like her own son.

  Fearless opened the driver’s door and helped her out. She fell into his arms and cried in utter despair.

  I looked around, hoping that no one saw us. In my experience people always remember a woman’s tears. But no one was out on their porches or strolling down the street. L.A. has never been a pedestrian’s town, I thanked the Lord for that.

  “He’s dead,” Leora whimpered. “He’s dead. He’s dead. He’s dead.”