“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.”
Chapter 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 because 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.