Fear Itself fjm-2 Read online

  “Hundred and fifty if we find BB. Ten dollars a day for our trouble if we don’t.”

  “I’ll give you ten thousand dollars if you find him. Will you work for me?”

  I looked over at Louis, then at his fist wrapped around my arm.

  “Let him go, Louis,” the king commanded.

  The brute did as he was told.

  “Sure,” I said. “Yeah. Hell yeah.”

  “You would betray your employer?”

  “The way I look at it, Milo gave up my trust when he didn’t tell me how serious this problem was. He knows, I’ve told him before, that I never wanna get messed up with any problem got a killer in it somewhere.”

  “But you would do it for me?”

  “The most money Milo ever offered me was for this job here. I’m already in it so why not go for the big payday?”

  Maestro Wexler studied me then. He was a man who demanded allegiance from his employees and I was obviously not the faithful sort. But he needed me. Why harm me when I could still be of some use?

  “Louis, give Mr. Minton your number and drive him back to his car.”

  “No,” I said.

  “What is it, Mr. Minton? Do you require a retainer?”

  “A retainer sounds nice but that’s not what I was talkin’ about. I already been on a ride with this mothahfuckah right here. I don’t need that again.”

  Maestro laughed.

  “I’ve told you about your manner, Louis. Bradford.”

  “Yes sir,” the bookkeeper intoned. He walked into my line of vision.

  “This is Bradford,” Maestro said. “He’s my private secretary.”

  I nodded and so did the secretary. I liked him then. Maybe it was because he was the only man in the room who didn’t seem to pose some kind of threat. But I also thought that he resembled me. Quiet and withdrawn from the brutish world. I was glad to have him in the room.

  “Take Mr. Minton where he wants to go and give him a thousand dollars from petty cash.”

  “Yes sir,” Bradford said. And then to me, “This way, Mr. Minton.”

  Eric piped up then.

  “You want I should go with ’em?” the scrawny henchman asked.

  “No, Eric. Mr. Minton works for me now.”

  I followed Bradford from the room, happy to leave the company of madmen.

  IN THE LIGHT OF THE KITCHEN I could see that Bradford’s pants and coat were darned here and there. His dress shoes had a high shine but they were shapeless from many years of use. His face was what I can only call a faded white. He had a long nose and an accent that wasn’t quite English.

  He entered a walk-in pantry and came out with a cardboard cigar box that held three stacks of cash. Half of one of these heaps was the thousand dollars the king had earmarked for me.

  After paying me and returning the cash box to its unlocked closet, Bradford led me through a back door and down a series of stairs toward the vast garage. We got into an old Bentley and drove down a driveway that was a quarter mile or more.

  We were on a mountain. I could see the lights of Los Angeles as we descended streets that had no sidewalks or curbs. That was how the rich lived in L.A. They didn’t want people to be able to get to them easily, and once they got there they had to do their business and leave because there was no place to dawdle.

  “Australia?” I asked after the view was gone.

  “Yes. That’s right,” he replied. “You have a good ear.”

  “Bradford, isn’t it?”

  “Yes sir.”

  “You got anything to tell me, Bradford?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe somethin’ about what’s goin’ on. Why I was battered and kidnapped and dragged up here.”

  He drove a few more blocks and we entered upon Sunset Boulevard. There he turned left.

  “I’m sorry you fell into this problem, Mr. Minton,” Bradford said.

  “I don’t even understand it,” I said, emphasizing my innocence with the tone of my voice. “What does a rich girl like Miss Wexler have to do with a buffoon like BB Perry?”

  “She was the kind of girl who liked . . . what should I say? A certain type of man.”

  Like Fearless’s rich girlfriend, I thought.

  “What about that man shanghaied me? That Louis. What could your boss be thinkin’ with a thug like that workin’ for him?”

  “Those men working for Mr. Wexler are criminals. I don’t like having them in the house, and I certainly don’t trust them,” Bradford said. “He’s a good man—Mr. Wexler is. But the deaths of his children have brought him to grief. He’s used to being in charge and so the heartache makes him want to find the ones responsible for the murders.”

  “That makes sense,” I said. “I know people who would have the same reaction.”

  “It would be better for all concerned if the police handled the matter, or if, if the culprits were never found. I mean to say that whoever gets involved with this fiasco will be the one most likely to pay a price.”

  I could see that Bradford was also a deep thinker. His take on the murder and revenge deserved a closer look.

  “You mind if I smoke?” I asked.

  “Not if you open your window.”

  I rolled down the window and set fire to a cigarette. I let the smoke drift up from my lips to be inhaled through my nostrils; that was my way of thinking and smoking at the same time.

  “So you’re tellin’ me that I shouldn’t be thinking about the ten thousand dollars,” I said.

  “Not unless you want to trust Louis and his friend,” Bradford said. “They’ll slaughter anyone to get their bonus from Mr. Wexler. And if you were the last man seen with the man killed, then you will be the one the police come after.”

  We were passing some pretty big houses going down Sunset but they were nothing compared to Maestro’s palace.

  “I guess me tellin’ the cops about my visit to Maestro’s house wouldn’t get me very far,” I added.

  “Mr. Wexler is a strong supporter of the mayor and the chief of police. I doubt if you could find a single soul that would take your word above his.”

  “But wouldn’t he get mad if I don’t turn up something on BB?”

  “All he has to think is that you’re trying. You could keep the thousand you already have,” he said, “keep it and stay out of the way.”

  “Excuse me, Bradford, but why would you care about me in all’a this? I mean, shouldn’t you be more concerned with your boss?”

  “It is in his interest that I speak to you. I have been with this family for many years, Mr. Minton. I’ve known all of Mr. Wexler’s wives and children. Minna and Lance were bad from the start. Their mother was a dancer in San Francisco.” He said the word dancer like it was a disease. “There was never any love in that union.”

  “Were the kids running some kind of scam?”

  “I believe so. It had to do with a woman, a Miss Fine.”

  “What about her?”

  “She has something that Mr. Wexler wants. I’m not sure exactly what it is, but it’s property of some sort. Lance and Minna knew someone who was well acquainted with the woman. They were going to use him to get leverage on her.”

  “Bartholomew,” I said.

  “I believe so. Lance told his father that he could obtain some control over Miss Fine and now he, Mr. Wexler, feels responsible if indeed Lance’s attempt got him and his sister killed.”

  “I guess he would be,” I said. “Responsible, I mean.”

  “He didn’t go to Lance,” Bradford said. “The children were angry because their father had reduced them to a very low allowance. He wanted them to work hard to understand money. But all they wanted was to get rich quick. Mr. Wexler should cut his losses and move on. He has seven other children, all of whom are fine and upstanding.”

  We had worked our way down to Olympic by that part of our conversation. Bradford pulled up in front of the Faison house.

  “So you think it wo
uld be better for all involved if I just dropped out?” I asked the Australian.

  “You’ve seen his eyes,” Bradford said.

  “Yeah. I’ve also seen ten thousand acres of rice stooped over by just as many poor black Louisiana sharecroppers. You know ten thousand dollars sure enough might make that pain heal.”

  “Death is the only real cure to pain, Mr. Minton.”

  It might not have been a good argument but it was the truth still and all.

  “I’m afraid,” the male secretary continued, “that if you open a door for Mr. Wexler’s revenge he will go so far that even his wealth will not protect him.”

  “I’ll tell you what, Brad,” I said. “You got a private line in that big house?”

  “Yes,” he said and gave me a card with only a number on it. “You can call me at that number any evening after nine.”

  “If I have any questions I’ll call you first. How’s that?”

  “Better than nothing.”

  28

  FEARLESS WAS EATING A CHILI BURGER at an outside counter by the time I made it to Rob’s. The whole place was crowded with late-night customers. There were cops and cabbies, prostitutes and short-straw runners from a dozen companies that drew lots on the graveyard shift to see who had to take the drive for their burgers.

  Fearless was talking to two young women who were looking him up and down, hoping that Rob would put something like that on the menu. It broke their hearts when I came up and Fearless shooed them off.

  “You late, Paris,” Fearless said. “I was gettin’ worried.”

  “You should’a been. I got hit upside the head, hog-tied, kidnapped, threatened with a gun the size of a cannon, and questioned. I was in fear for my life.”

  “Well,” my friend said dismissively. “I guess it didn’t turn out too bad.”

  “I know it don’t seem like it,” I said. “Especially when it all ended up with me gettin’ paid another thousand dollars and promised yet another nine.”

  “Damn, Paris. People just throwin’ money at you.”

  “I don’t like it, Fearless.”

  “Me neither, man. But we okay now. Ain’t nobody after either one of us.”

  “What about Timmerman?”

  “He probably dead by now. You know that brick hit him hard. Yeah. If he ain’t dead he’s outta play, that’s for sure.”

  “Maybe,” I said. “Maybe. But I’d like to know where all these players are before I can sleep comfortably in my bed. Did you find Maynard?”

  “Yeah. I know where he’s at. We could pick him off when he’s goin’ out to work. ’Bout eight o’clock.”

  “What we gonna do till then?”

  Fearless nodded at an open-air counter across the parking lot from us. The two girls he had been talking to were standing there staring in our direction.

  “Lisa and Joanelle,” Fearless said. “I told ’em about your medical condition.”

  “What condition?”

  “I told ’em I didn’t know the right doctor’s words for it, but down around where we were from they called it big-bone-itis.” He slapped my shoulder and laughed. “They said we could go over to their place. It’s just a few blocks from here.”

  I glanced across the lot again. One of them was pear-shaped and the other skinny and short. But they were young and laughing. And I’d almost been killed two or three times already.

  “Okay,” I said. “Let’s go.”

  THE EVENING WENT DIFFERENTLY than I had supposed it would.

  When we got to the girls’ apartment Fearless produced a pint bottle of blackberry brandy that he’d picked up somewhere. Joanelle, the pear-shaped, walnut-colored young woman, brought out a lump of ice with an ice pick. I chipped at the ice while Little Lisa, a name she answered to, cleared off a space on a traveling trunk that they used for a coffee table. They had paper cups for the brandy and potato chips for salt.

  I was wondering how we were going to split up when Fearless said, “Paris, did I ever tell you about the time I crossed over into Germany with three white boys before our army invaded?”

  “No,” I said, wondering why he was addressing me as if we were alone.

  “It was late in the evening and the CO told us that he didn’t want to see us again until we had blowed up somebody’s bomber planes. I was search and destroy,” he added for the girls’ benefit. “Usually I went out by myself, but because they wanted us to put a dent in an air base they had near the border, they sent two demolition men wit’ us.”

  “Who was the third man?” Joanelle asked.

  I could see by her face that Fearless had her complete attention with his tale of derring-do.

  “He was the radioman,” Fearless said. “If we came across something that we couldn’t attack properly, he was to call in for our bombers to take over. . . .”

  The story went on for a long time. One of the demolition men had called Fearless a nigger before they went out. He told Fearless to stay away from him. But along the way the other two men were killed when they stumbled across a land mine. There were a few close calls and the surviving demolitionist was wounded in the leg. They found the secret air base, though, and Fearless was able to set the charges with the racist’s help. He also dragged the wounded man all the way back to Allied territory.

  “Why didn’t you just let him die?” Little Lisa asked. She had her head on my lap but she kept awake for Fearless’s story.

  “I saved him because of the uniform,” Fearless said. “He was my fellow American, and because’a that I had to save his butt.”

  “Did he change his opinion?” I asked, as rapt in the tale as those young women.

  “I have no idea,” Fearless said. “I dropped him off at the infirmary and never saw him again. You know he shouldn’ta said nothin’ bad about me in the first place. What you want? I got to save every redneck’s life in order for them to think I’m a man?”

  Joanelle and Lisa had a thousand questions for Fearless. They’d never known a Negro who had autonomy in the war. Lisa pressed her head against my stomach and squeezed my hand. Joanelle had her head on Fearless’s shoulder.

  When I woke up at dawn we were all pretty much in the same positions. The chipped ice was nearly melted and the blackberry liquor was gone.

  For a moment I regretted the missed opportunity but then I remembered how friendly the night had been. I could have slept with Charlotta for a year and never had the warmth or closeness I had with those girls. I sat there for over an hour with Lisa’s hand between my thighs. I didn’t move to wake them until seven-fifteen.

  The good-bye kisses and hugs were warm, and they made us promise to come back when we were through with our business so that we could have another good time.

  I FOLLOWED FEARLESS back to Ambrosia’s house. We left my car in her garage and kept hers. I didn’t want to be too far away from our money or my book. Then we drove over to a big apartment house on Alameda near Vernon. After a few minutes a tall man came out of a green door on the side.

  Fearless stepped out and called, “Hey, Maynard!”

  You could tell by the way the man looked at us he was considering escape. Fearless had a small limp that might have given Latrell the edge. Still, he would have to stay away from his own door if he ran.

  He put on a smile and waved.

  “Hey, Fearless. What you doin’ here?”

  “Lookin’ for you, my man. Me an’ my friend Paris here needed to know a thing or two.”

  “Maybe this afternoon. I got to get to work right now,” Maynard said. He moved to walk away.

  “Arthur North Construction let you slide fifteen minutes, brother,” Fearless said, still friendly.

  Maynard shook his head and then he nodded.

  “Okay. All right. What you need?”

  Fearless had walked up to Maynard by then. He shook the man’s hand and guided him back to our car. He opened the passenger’s door for Maynard and then climbed into the backseat.

  “Okay, Paris,” Fearle
ss said. “There he is.”

  “We were wondering about Kit Mitchell,” I said.

  “You an’ everybody else,” Latrell replied.

  “Everybody else?” Fearless said. “You didn’t say that anybody else had said nuthin’ when we talked.”

  “That’s ’cause you talked to me five days ago. People been to see me ever since then.”

  “Who else?” I asked.

  “White guy said he was in insurance, black guy said that they were old friends, a colored girl said that he was her husband, and the cops. The cops dropped on me only about a hour after you, Fearless. You know they had me down at the station for three hours. For a while there I thought they was gonna keep me.”

  “An’ you told ’em that I been askin’ about Kit?” Fearless asked in a too-neutral tone.

  “Naw. Uh-uh. But when they asked me who knew Kit best I said it was you. Why not? I didn’t think you was in any mess.”

  “What was the black guy’s name?” I asked.

  “Brown.”

  “Middle-sized guy?” I asked, thinking about my chess opponent at Miss Moore’s rooming house. “Looks young at first but then you see that he’s older?”

  “That’s him.”

  “What did he want?”

  “He said that Kit owed him a thousand dollars, that I could have ten percent if I could tell him where Kit was.”

  “Did you?”

  “I don’t know where he is, man.”

  “So what did you give this dude?” Fearless asked. “’Cause I know you would’a tried to get in on that coin.”

  “I told him that Kit had that watermelon farm and that he made deliveries for that cosmetic line. That’s all I knew.”

  “Not worth much,” I said. “No hundred dollars there.”

  “He gimme twenty though,” Maynard admitted.

  “For what?”

  “I’ont know. He didn’t know what I told him. Maybe he might’a got to his man because’a what I said.”

  “The man I saw didn’t have the kinda cash to be throwin’ twenty dollars at somebody don’t give him what he wants.”

  “Well he did,” Maynard said.

  “What else he give you?”