"Go on."
"Did she take anything with her? A bag or a suitcase?"
"She had a ole brown suitcase. She put it in his trunk."
DeWitt's eyes brightened and all the tension went out of his shoulders. "What kind of car was that?"
"Forty-eight Studebaker. Pink job."
"Where'd she go? Remember, now, you're still telling me everything."
"All she said was she was gonna park it somewheres, but she didn't say where."
"What's that address she was at?"
"Twenty-six—"
He waved at me impatiently and, to my shame, I flinched.
"Write it down," he said.
I got paper from the drawer of my end table.
He sat across from me on the couch scrutinizing that little slip of paper. He had his knees wide apart.
"Get me some whiskey, Easy," he said.
"Get it yourself," the voice said.
"Get it yourself," I said. "Bottle's in the cabinet."
DeWitt Albright looked up at me, and a big grin slowly spread across his face. He laughed and slapped his knee and said, "Well, I'll be damned."
I just looked at him. I was ready to die but I was going to go down fighting.
"Get us a drink, will you, Manny?" The little man moved quickly to the cabinet. "You know, Easy, you're a brave man. And I need a brave man working for me." His drawl got thicker as he talked. "I've already paid you, right?"
I nodded.
"Well, the way I figure it, Frank Green is the key. She will be around him or he will know where she's gone to. So I want you to find this gangster for me. I want you to set me up to meet him. That's all. Once I meet him then I'll know what to say. You find Frank Green for me and we're quits."
"Quits?"
"All our business, Easy. You keep your money and I leave you alone."
It wasn't an offer at all. Somehow I knew that Mr. Albright planned to kill me. Either he'd kill me right then or he'd wait until I found Frank.
"I'll find him for ya, but I need another hundred if you want my neck out there."
"You my kinda people, Easy, you sure are," he said. "I'll give you three days to find him. Make sure you count them right."
We finished our drinks with Manny and Shariff waiting outside the door.
Albright pushed open the screen to leave but then he had a thought. He turned back to me and said, "I'm not a man to fool with, Mr. Rawlins."
No, I thought to myself, neither am I.
16
I slept all that day and into the evening. Maybe I should have been looking for Frank Green but all I wanted was to sleep.
I woke up sweating in the middle of the night. Every sound I heard was someone coming after me. Either it was the police or DeWitt Albright or Frank Green. I couldn't throw off the smell of blood that I'd picked up in Richard's room. There was the hum of a million flies at the window, flies that I'd seen swarming on our boys' corpses in North Africa, in Oran.
I was shivering but I wasn't cold. And I wanted to run to my mother or someone to love me, but then I imagined Frank Green pulling me from a loving woman's arms; he had his knife poised to press into my heart.
Finally I jumped up from my bed and ran to the telephone. I didn't know what I was doing. I couldn't call Joppy because he wouldn't understand that kind of fear. I couldn't call Odell because he'd understand it too well and just tell me to run. I couldn't call Dupree because he was still locked up. But I couldn't have talked to him anyway because I would have had to lie to him about Coretta and I was too upset to lie.
So I dialed the operator. And when she came on the line I asked her for long distance, and then I asked for Mrs. E. Alexander on Claxton Street in Houston's Fifth Ward.
When she answered the phone I closed my eyes and remembered her: big woman with deep brown skin and topaz eyes. I imagined her frown when she said "Hello?," because EttaMae never liked the telephone. She always said, "I like to see my bad news comin'; not get it like a sneak through no phones."
"Hello," she said.
"Etta?"
"Who's this?"
"It's Easy, Etta."
"Easy Rawlins?" And then a big laugh. The kind of laugh that makes you want to laugh along with it. "Easy, where are you, honey? You come home?"
"I'm in L.A., Etta." My voice was quavering; my chest vibrated with feeling.
"Sumpin' wrong, honey? You sound funny."
"Uh … Naw, ain't nuthin', Etta. Sure is good to hear you. Yeah, I can't think of nuthin' better."
"What's wrong, Easy?"
"You know how I can reach Mouse, Etta?"
There was silence then. I thought of how they said in science class that outer space was empty, black and cold. I felt it then and I sure didn't want to.
"You know Raymond and me broke up, Easy. He don't live here no more."
The idea that I made Etta sad was almost more than I could take. "I'm sorry, baby," I said. "I just thought you might know how I could get to him."
"What's wrong, Easy?"
"It's just that maybe Sophie was right."
"Sophie Anderson?"
"Yeah, well, you know that she's always sayin' that L.A. is too much?"
Etta laughed in her chest. "I sure do."
"She might just be right." I laughed too.
"Easy …"
"Just tell Mouse that I called, Etta. Tell him that Sophie might have been right about California and maybe it is a place for him."
She started to say something else but I made like I didn't hear her and said, "Goodbye." I pushed down the button of the receiver.
I put my chair in front of the window so I could look out into my yard. I sat there for a long time, balling my hands together and taking deep breaths when I could remember to. Finally the fear passed and I fell asleep. The last thing I remember was looking at my apple tree in the pre-dawn.
17
I put the card that DeWitt Albright had given me on the dresser. It read:
MAXIM BAXTER
Personnel Director
Lion Investments
In the lower right-hand corner there was an address on La Cienega Boulevard.
I was dressed in my best suit and ready to ride by 10 a.m. I thought that it was time to gather my own information. That card was the one of two things I had to go on, so I drove across town again to a small office building just below Melrose, on La Cienega. The whole building was occupied by Lion Investments.
The secretary, an elderly lady with blue hair, was concentrating on the ledger at her desk. When my shadow fell across her blotter she said, to the shadow, "Yes?"
"I came to see Mr. Baxter."
"Do you have an appointment?"
"No. But Mr. Albright gave me his card and told me to come down whenever I had a chance."
"I know no Mr. Albright," she said, again to the shadow on her desk. "And Mr. Baxter is a very busy man."
"Maybe he knows Mr. Albright. He gave me this card." I tossed the card down onto the page she was reading and she looked up.
What she saw surprised her. "Oh!"
I smiled back down. "I can wait if he's busy. I got a little time off'a work."
"I, ah … I'll see if he can make time, Mr.—?"
"Rawlins."
"You just have a seat over on the couch and I'll be right back."
She went through a doorway behind the desk. After a few minutes another elderly lady came out. She looked at me suspiciously and then took up the work that the other one had left.
The waiting room was nice enough. There was a long, black leather couch set up against a window that looked out onto La Cienega Boulevard. Through the window was a view of one of those fancy restaurants, the Angus Steak House. There was a man standing out front in a Beefeater's uniform, ready to open the door for all the nice people who were going to drop a whole day's salary in forty-five minutes. The Beefeater looked happy. I wondered how much he made in tips.
There was a long coffee table in front of t
he couch. It was covered with business newspapers and business magazines. Nothing for women. And nothing for men who might have been looking for something sporty or entertaining. When I got tired of watching the Beefeater open doors I started looking around the room.
On the wall next to the couch was a bronze placard. At the top there was a raised oval that had the form of a swooping falcon carved into it. The falcon had three arrows in its talons. Below that were the names of all the important partners and affiliates of Lion Investments. I recognized some of the names as celebrities that you read about in the daily Times. Lawyers, bankers, and just the plain old wealthy folks. The president's name was at the bottom of the plaque as if he were a shy man who didn't want his name placed too obviously as the one in charge. Mr. Todd Carter wasn't the kind of man who wanted his name spread around, I figured. I mean, what would he say if he knew that a strange French girl, who went in the night to steal a dead man's car, was using his name? I laughed loud enough for the old woman behind the desk to look up and scowl.
"Mr. Rawlins," the first secretary said as she walked up to me. "You know Mr. Baxter is a very busy man. He doesn't have a lot of time …"
"Well, then maybe he better see me quick so he can get back to work."
She didn't like that.
"May I ask what is the nature of your request?"
"Sure you can, but I don't think your boss wants me to talk to the help about his business."
"I assure you, sir," she said, barely holding in her anger, "that whatever you have to say to Mr. Baxter is safe with me. Also, he cannot see you and I am the only person with whom you may speak."
"Naw."
"I'm afraid so. Now if you have some sort of message please tell me so I can get back to my work." She produced a small pad and a yellow, wooden pencil.
"Well, Miss—?" For some reason I thought that it would be nice if we traded names.
"What is your message, sir?"
"I see," I said. "Well, my message is this: I have news for a Mr. Todd Carter, the president of your company, I believe. I was given Mr. Baxter's card to forward a message to Mr. Carter about a job I was employed to do by a Mr. DeWitt Albright." I stopped there.
"Yes? What job is that?"
"Are you sure you want to know?" I asked.
"What job, sir?" If she was nervous at all I couldn't see it.
"Mr. Albright hired me to find Mr. Carter's girlfriend after she ditched him."
She stopped writing and peered at me over the rim of her bifocals. "Is this some sort of joke?"
"Not that I know of, ma'am. As a matter of fact, I haven't had a good laugh since I went to work for your boss. Not one laugh at all."
"Excuse me," she said.
She slammed the pad down hard enough to startle her helper and disappeared through the back door again.
She wasn't gone for more than five minutes when a tall man in a dark gray suit came out to see me. He was thin with bushy black hair and thick black eyebrows. His eyes seemed to pull back into shadows under those hefty brows.
"Mr. Rawlins." His smile was so white that it would have looked at home on DeWitt Albright.
"Mr. Baxter?" I rose and grabbed his extended hand.
"Why don't you come with me, sir?"
We went past the two scowling women. I was sure that they'd put their heads together and start gabbing as soon as Mr. Baxter and I had gone through the door.
The hallway we entered was narrow but well carpeted and the walls were papered with a plush blue fabric. At the end of the hall was a fine oak door with "Maxim T. Baxter, Vice-President," carved into it.
His office was modest and small. The ash desk was good but not big or fancy. The floor was pine and the window behind his desk looked out onto a parking lot.
"Not very smart talking about Mr. Carter's business to the front desk," Baxter said the moment we were both seated.
"I don't wanna hear it, man."
"What?" It was a question but there was a kind of superiority in his tone.
"I said I don't wanna hear it, Mr. Baxter. It's just too much goin' on fo' me t'be worried 'bout what you think ain't right. Ya see, if you'd let that woman out there know that she should let me talk to you, then—"
"I asked her to get a message from you, Mr. Rawlins. It is my understanding that you're looking for employment. I could set up an appointment for you through the mails …"
"I'm here to talk to Mr. Carter."
"That's impossible," he said. Then he stood up as if that would scare me.
I looked up at him and said, "Man, why don't you sit down and get your boss on the line."
"I don't know who you think you are, Rawlins. Important men don't even barge in on Mr. Carter. You're lucky that I took the time to see you."
"You mean the poor nigger lucky the foreman take out the time t'curse'im, huh?"
Mr. Baxter looked at his watch instead of answering me. "I have an appointment, Mr. Rawlins. If you just tell me what you want to say to Mr. Carter he'll call you if it seems appropriate."
"That's what the lady out there said, and you go blamin' me for shootin' off my mouth."
"I'm aware of Mr. Carter's situation; the ladies outside are not."
"You might be aware of what he told you but you ain't got no idea of what I gotta say."
"And what might that be?" he asked, sitting back down.
"All I'm'a tell ya is that he might be runnin' Lion from a jail cell if he don't speak to me, and real quick too." I didn't exactly know what I meant but it shook up Baxter enough for him to pick up his phone.
"Mr. Carter," he said. "Mr. Albright's operative is here and he wants to see you … Albright, the man we have on the Monet thing … He sounds as though it's urgent, sir. Maybe you should see him …"
They talked a little more but that was the gist of it.
Baxter led me back down the hall but made a left turn before we went through the door that led to the secretaries. We came to a darkwood door that was locked. Baxter had a key for it and when he pulled it open I saw that it was the door to a tiny, padded elevator.
"Get in, it will take you to his office," Baxter said.
There was no feeling of motion, only the soft hum of a motor somewhere below the floor. The elevator had a bench and an ashtray. The walls and ceiling were covered in velvety red fabric that was cut into squares. Each square had a pair of dancing figures in it. The waltzing men and women were dressed like courtiers of the French court. The wealth made my heart beat fast.
The door came open on a small, red-headed man who wore a tan suit that he might have bought at Sears Roebuck and a simple white shirt that was open at the collar. At first I thought he was Mr. Carter's servant but then I realized that we were the only ones in the room.
"Mr. Rawlins?" He fingered his receding hairline and shook my hand. His grip felt like paper. He was so small and quiet that he seemed more like a child than a man.
"Mr. Carter. I came to tell you—"
He put up a hand and shook his head before I could go on. Then he led me across the wide room to the pair of pink couches that stood in front of his desk. The desk was the color and size of a grand piano. The great brocade curtains behind the desk were open to a view of the mountains behind Sunset Boulevard.
I remember thinking that it was a long way from vice-president to the top.
We sat at either end of one of the couches.
"Drink?" He pointed at a crystal decanter that held a brown liquid on an end table near me.
"What is it?" My voice sounded strange in the large room.
"Brandy."
That was the first time I ever had really good liquor. I liked it just fine.
"Mr. Baxter said that you had news from that man Albright."
"Well, not exactly, sir."
He frowned when I said that. It was a little boy's frown; it made me feel sorry for him.
"You see, I'm a little unhappy about how things are going with Mr. Albright. As a matter of fact, I'm un
happy about almost everything that's happened to me since I met the man."
"And what's that?"
"A woman, a friend of mine, was killed when she started asking questions about Miss Monet and the police think I had something to do with it. I've been mixed up with hijackers and wild people all over town and all because I asked a couple'a questions about your friend."
"Has anything happened to Daphne?"
He looked so worried that I was happy to say, "The last time I saw her she looked just fine."
"You saw her?"
"Yeah. Night before last."
Tears welled up in his pale, child's eyes.
"What did she say?" he asked.
"We were in trouble, Mr. Carter. But you see that's how it's crazy. The first time I saw her she was talking like she was a French girl. But then, after we found the body, she sounded like she could have come from San Diego or anywhere else."
"Body? What body?"
"I'm'a get to that but first we got to come to some kinda understanding."
"You want money."
"Uh-uh, no. I been paid already an' I guess that comes from you anyway. But what I need is for you to help me understand what's happening. You see, I don't trust your man Albright at all and you can forget the police. I got this one friend, Joppy, but this is too much for him. So I figure you the only one can help. I gotta figure that you want the girl 'cause you love'er and if I'm wrong 'bout that then my ass is had."
"I love Daphne," he said.
I was almost embarrassed to hear him. He wasn't trying to act like a man at all. He was wringing his hands trying to keep from asking about her while I talked.
"Then you gotta tell me why Albright is lookin' for her."
Carter ran his finger along his hairline again and looked out at the mountains. He waited another moment before saying, "I was told, by a man I trust, that Mr. Albright is good at doing things, confidentially. There are reasons that I don't want this affair in the papers."
"You married?"
"No, I want to marry Daphne."
"She didn't steal anything from you?"
"Why do you ask?"
"Mr. Albright seems real concerned about her luggage and I thought she had something you wanted back."
Bad Boy Brawley Brown er-7 Page 9
