“How bad is it?” she asked, not looking at me.
“It’s fine,” I said. “You’ve got a good son. You’ve managed to keep him away from some bad elements.”
She shook her head. “We were just lucky. I married a man with a good job and we were able to move here. It got August out of that neighborhood.”
“It takes more than just a move to get a kid out of a gang,” I said. “You did something right.”
“I suppose.” She stood up, stretched, and smoothed her hair with one hand. “He’s seen some things that no boy should see. He talks tough, but I don’t think he’s slept much since November. He blames himself for taking Van down there. Van was raised here. He’s not as mature as Gus.”
“I know,” I said.
She gave me a half smile. “What do you think your chances are of finding out what happened to that man?”
The question surprised me. I never thought about percentages. I never had. “I’ll find out what happened to him that day,” I said. “I just may not find out why.”
SIX
IT WAS TWILIGHT by the time I got to my car. The shortest day of the year was fast approaching and that, mixed with the gray weather, made it feel as if we’d been in perpetual darkness since November. I hadn’t realized I was inside so long. Fortunately, I wasn’t far from the Grimshaws’. I drove there in less than ten minutes.
I expected to find Jimmy on the Grimshaws’ front porch. He usually waited for me there whenever I was late. Althea once told me there was nothing they could do to keep him inside. Jimmy got restless about half an hour before I was due, and at that point, no walls could hold him.
But the porch was empty. The light over the front door was on, and so were the interior lights, but Jimmy wasn’t hovering behind the solid wood railing. It had been a cold day and it was getting colder. Maybe Althea had talked him into staying inside.
I hurried up the walk, took the steps two at a time, and opened the front door as I knocked. The smell of cooking beef greeted me; Althea was making a brisket. The dining-room table hadn’t been set yet, and that room was empty.
The whistles and thuds of a televised football game came from the living room. As I walked in, I found the Grimshaws’ oldest son, Jonathan, sprawled across the couch, watching. The two youngest girls, Norene and Michele, whom we all called Mikie, were playing with a group of dolls on the floor beside the television set.
“Hey, guys,” I said. “Where’s Jim?”
“Uncle Bill!” Norene ran across the floor and hugged my leg. She had turned six in September.
I bent down and picked her up, grunting as I did so. “You’re getting too big for this, kiddo.”
“What’re you gonna do to Jimmy?” she asked me, twirling one of her braids.
“What do you mean, what am I going to do?”
“Keith hit him,” she said in a spray of bubble-gum breath.
“Norene, Mom wanted to tell,” Mikie said. She was eight and trying hard to act older than her sister.
“Keith hit him?” I asked that of Jonathan, who hadn’t taken his gaze from the television screen.
“They’re in the kitchen,” he said in a deep voice that still startled me. When I’d moved in with the Grimshaws in May, Jonathan’s voice hadn’t changed yet. Puberty was coming on fast. He was at least four inches taller than he’d been six months ago as well.
“So you’re not going to tell me either,” I said, adjusting Norene in my arms.
“I think Mom’s dying to tell you.” Jonathan kept staring at the TV.
In spite of myself, my gaze wandered over there. The camera had pulled back to show both teams, huddled in a time-out. “Was there a problem at the parade?”
“Santa was wearing a dishi,” Norene said.
“A what?”
“A dashiki.” Jonathan sounded bored. “It was weak.”
The kitchen door swung open and Malcolm Reyner backed out, carefully balancing four glasses of juice in his large hands. Malcolm had moved in with the Grimshaws in September. I’d found out, after he helped me on a case, that he had been living on the streets for the better part of the year.
He was still tall and rangy, but he’d thickend up some under Althea’s watchful care. He was doing well in other ways, too. He had a part-time job now as a short-order cook, thanks to Franklin, and he was taking night classes to prepare him for his GED.
He grinned at me. “Hey, Bill. Fancy seeing you here. I think you’re wanted in the kitchen.”
“I understand there’s a problem.”
“Understatement of the century. Good luck.” He carried the glasses toward the stained coffee table.
I set Norene down, and she hurried over to Malcolm, unwilling to miss the treat.
“Malcolm,” I said, reluctant to venture into the war zone just yet. “You want to pick up a few extra bucks?”
He grabbed his own glass of juice and wandered back to me. Occasionally, I hired him to help me, sometimes as extra muscle, sometimes to be my eyes and ears in places I couldn’t go. “Is it something fun or something dangerous?”
“Probably neither, although you need to keep your eyes open.”
“What is it?”
“Norene,” Jonathan said irritably, “you’re in my way. Move, and while you’re at it, turn up the TV.”
We got the message. We moved deeper into the dining room.
“What do you need?” Malcolm asked, his voice softer now. The television volume went up, and I doubted that anyone could hear us.
“I want you to hit pawnshops for me, looking for a pocket watch. If you find it, let me know right away, but don’t pick it up.”
“Sounds easy,” he said.
“It might not be. Some of these places can be rough.”
“Okay,” Malcolm said. “How will I know this watch?”
I described it to him. He repeated the description back to me, word for word.
“I’ll let you know when I find it,” he said.
“Thanks.” I smiled at him, then squared my shoulders and headed into the kitchen.
Althea was standing beside the stove, stirring something that was boiling in a pot. Her face was flushed and her arms were dusted with flour. She wore an apron over a pantsuit that didn’t flatter her bulk, but had probably kept her warm during the parade.
Keith sat directly behind her, facing the corner. His hands were clutched together and he looked like he’d been crying.
“Something smells good,” I said as I walked in.
“Bout time you showed up.” Althea waved a wooden spoon for emphasis.
“I hear the parade wasn’t what you expected.”
“Santa wearing black velvet and riding on a black sleigh,” she said with a touch of disgust. “You’d think somebody died.”
“No jolly old fat white guy, huh?” I stopped by the kitchen table. It was covered with flour and in the center, a bowl with a towel over it told me that Althea was making bread.
“I expected a black Santa. I hoped for one. I could’ve done without the dashiki done in the national colors of the Republic of Ghana. Give me the red suit any old day.”
I laughed, looking for Jimmy. I finally saw him in the corner beside the sink. He was facing the wall, too, his arms crossed and his lower lip set in a familiar way.
“So you want to tell me what happened here?” I asked. “Looks like the boys are forbidden to speak.”
“They don’t breathe without me giving them permission.” Althea glared at them over her shoulder. “Lacey, you come out here and mind the stove.”
“Mo-om!” The voice came from the bathroom.
“I’m not in the mood, missy.”
The bathroom door slammed. Lacey stomped out. She was wearing a pink terry-cloth bathrobe over a pair of black pants, and her hair was pulled back in a makeshift ponytail.
She faced me, and I had to concentrate so that I didn’t laugh. One eye was completely made up—blue eye shadow, a fake eyelash so large it
looked like clown makeup, and black eyeliner applied too thick. The other eye hadn’t been touched, except for a smudge of eyeliner at the bottom of the lower lid.
“Uncle Bill, tell her I got to finish.”
“Honey, if you were my daughter, I wouldn’t let you wear that goop until you were married and out of the house.”
She snorted at me and stalked toward the stove. She grabbed the wooden spoon from Althea and started stirring.
“Any more attitude, missy, and you aren’t going anywhere tonight,” Althea said.
Lacey glared at the pots, but didn’t say another word. Althea led me out of the kitchen and down the hall toward the bedrooms. We stopped near the small alcove built in for the telephone.
“It wasn’t the Stones, was it?” I asked, unable to wait any longer.
“It wasn’t that serious, thank the Lord,” Althea said, “but I don’t want those boys fighting in my house and this one came to blows.”
“I heard Keith threw a punch.”
“He was provoked,” Althea said. “Seems Jimmy believes Santa Claus is for babies.”
“Really?” That surprised me. “We hadn’t discussed it.”
“Well, he made his opinions known when we got back. Santa is for babies, Christmas is for rich foolish people who only think about material things, and the rest of it’s just a pile of hogwash.”
“He said all that?” It wasn’t like Jimmy to express himself so eloquently.
“And more. It started in the car on the way back, and by the time we got home, Mikie was in tears, Norene was asking questions she’s too young to know the answers to, and Keith was getting pretty upset. He told Jimmy to shut up, and when Jimmy didn’t, Keith hauled off and hit him. I expect Jimmy’ll have quite a shiner tonight.”
I nodded, uncertain whether the smile which was building inside me was appropriate or not.
“So I pulled Jimmy aside for a talking-to and told him it’s not right to make fun of other people’s beliefs. He apologized, but still said he thought the whole thing was stupid. So I reminded him that Christmas was about the Christ child and he said he didn’t know nothing about that, except the lip service people pay it on the radio.”
The urge to smile was fading. Apparently, Jimmy had insulted Althea as well.
“So I asked him about his churchgoing habits, and he said the only time he’s been in a church was when you made him see a minister in Memphis.”
Althea put her hands on her hips. I backed away. Obviously, I wasn’t going to be spared in this tirade either.
“Now I know, Smokey Dalton, that you were raised a good God-fearing man, and that your parents, bless them, took you to church every Sunday. I also know, because of your upbringing and your friendship with the ministers in Memphis, that you understand how important church is to our community.”
I found myself braced against the telephone alcove.
She leaned toward me, lowering her voice. “If I’ve ever seen a boy in need of a community, it’s this child. He has lost his home, his family, and his friends. Keith tells me he provokes fights in school, and now Franklin tells me about the sun you found. You don’t give this boy something to hold onto, he’ll make that something himself.”
“I know that, Althea.” Somehow, I found my voice. “I’m trying. I’ve only been a parent for eight months.”
“Yes, and then you go and resume your work instead of getting a regular job—”
“I’m not cut out for a regular job.”
“—and I think he’s afraid you’re just going to up and die on him. Some thug’ll shoot you or the cops’ll come after you thinking you done something you haven’t, and he’ll lose you, too.”
“I already tried a job, Althea. It didn’t work.”
Her expression softened. “I’m not telling you to change. I’m telling you to find ways to help this boy.”
I sighed. I was doing everything I could to help Jimmy. It just didn’t seem like enough. “I’m willing to take advice.”
“Good,” she said, “because I’m going to give it. Better yet, I’m going to help you.”
My shoulders sagged just a little. I felt a tinge of relief. I hadn’t been lying to her; I was in new waters here—both in Chicago and with the boy.
She wiped her hands on her apron. “I think there’s no better time to introduce a child to the wonders of the Lord than the holiday season. The church is pretty, the music is special, and everyone’s in a festive mood.”
“Althea—”
She held up a hand to silence me. “I know you have your own troubles with the Almighty, but this boy should be entitled to make up his own mind. Even if he decides, like you, to turn his back on his upbringing, he needs to understand the community. He needs to know it’s there for him, no matter what happens, no matter what he does. You know that, Smokey. You need to give that to him, too.”
“Althea—”
She raised a single finger and silenced me again. “I made this offer before and you didn’t take me up on it. You’re going to now. Sunday School starts at eight-thirty. We leave here at eight sharp. You get him here at a quarter to in his best clothes and we’ll take him with us. You don’t have to go unless you want to.”
“Althea—”
“In return,” she said, glaring at me, “you are invited to join us every Sunday for dinner. We eat about four. You don’t even have to dress for it like the rest of us do.”
“I appreciate it, Althea, but—”
“I’m not going to let you say no this time, Smokey.” Her dark eyes flashed. “This is how it’s going to be.”
“All right,” I said.
“All right?” She seemed surprised. Apparently she had expected more of a fight.
“He needs more than I can give him. I’m glad you’re willing to help.” I leaned forward and kissed her cheek. It was warm and brushed lightly with flour. “In fact, I appreciate it more than I can say.”
She blushed and laughed, pushing me away, reminding me of the girl she had once been. “Don’t you let Franklin see you kissing me in the hallway.”
“What?” I asked, pointing toward the overhead light. “You mean that isn’t mistletoe?”
She laughed harder and walked down the hall, her dark mood broken. I stayed near the alcove for a moment and caught my breath.
Finding that tam on Jimmy had disturbed me deeply and I hadn’t figured out a way to deal with the problem. Taking him to church wasn’t the solution, but Althea reminded me of something I had forgotten. I wasn’t completely alone; I had a community to draw on.
It was time I did.
* * *
We stayed for supper. Much as I appreciated my privacy, I had missed being part of this large, rambunctious family. The Sunday dinners would be good for both Jimmy and me. I did warn Althea that I would be late the following day; I also promised to help pay for the meal since she couldn’t afford two more mouths to feed. She accepted the first statement and refused the second, just as I expected. I would simply have to find another way to repay her kindness, as I had done when Jimmy and I lived with them.
Jimmy and I arrived at our own apartment building around eight. As I pulled open the downstairs door, female laughter filled the public hallway. We stepped inside, and a woman’s voice said, “Stop right there.”
We did. I looked up the staircase and saw my neighbor Marvella Walker flanked by two other women. Marvella was wearing a long dress beneath her fake-fur coat. Her hair was piled on top of her head, accentuating her high cheekbones and classic features. Dangling gold earrings drew attention to her long, supple neck.
“Stay right there, Bill,” she said, “and tell me what you think of this.”
She took off the coat and dropped it over the railing. It landed in front of Jimmy, sending up a waft of perfume.
The gown she wore wasn’t formal like I had expected. It was white, done in an Egyptian style, with gold bands beneath her breasts, wrapped around her waist and trailing over her h
ips. Her magnificent legs were hidden, but her arms were bare, except for the gold bracelets around her wrist and the strange snakelike gold coil over her biceps. She came down one step, revealing matching gold sandals on her feet.
“Well?” she asked, her voice husky.
“You’re going to freeze,” I said, not willing to admit that my mouth had gone dry at the sight of her. She was, as I had noted before, the most beautiful woman I had ever seen, and I wished I could be as attracted to her as I was to Laura.
She laughed. “I’m not going to be alone. Ladies, show the man your outfits.”
The two women behind her removed their coats as well, but neither of them had the flare Marvella did. Both women clutched the coats, letting them drag on the steps, which ruined the effect of their Egyptian gowns. Their outfits were a variation on Marvella’s, but neither woman looked as stunning as she did.
“Bill,” Marvella said, “meet my sister Paulette Shipley…”
The woman on the right dipped her head slightly. She had Marvella’s bone structure and I would have considered her stunning if she hadn’t been standing next to her gorgeous sister.
“…and my sort-of cousin, Valentina Wilson.”
“Val,” the third woman said softly. She seemed almost embarrassed to be in the costume, which did not flatter her. She was petite where the other two women were statuesque, and she seemed lost in the white gown.
“Ladies,” Marvella said, “this is the man I told you about, Bill Grimshaw.”
I wondered what she had told them. She’d been angling to get into my bed since August. I’d refused her more than once which apparently was something she wasn’t used to.
The women flowed down the stairs as if they were entering a ballroom.
“Did you dress up just for me or am I missing some important social event?” I asked.
“I’d like to say it’s for you, Bill.” Marvella’s fingers brushed my face as she passed me on the way to her coat. “But we’re heading to the Grand Ball of Nefertiti. Remember? I asked you about it last month.”
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