"Hello, stranger," she called our, pulling Walkman earphones off her head. She put them around her neck, covered them with the towel from her waist. Bounced up and sat down. Dressed the same way she was last time, fine sheen of sweat on her face, blue eyes lively.
"What's up?" she asked, indicating my sketch pad.
"Interpretive art. A hobby of mine."
"Could I see?" Pushing close to me, perfume under the sweat. "What's it supposed to be?"
"Just…patterns. Light, shadow…like that."
"It's…I don't know what to say."
"That's okay. Neither do I."
Pansy watched her, not moving.
"Your dog…I never got her name.
"Betsy." It just came out that way— I went with it.
"That's a funny name for such a big dog."
"Oh, I think it suits her. Doesn't it, girl?" Making a gesture with my hand. Pansy put her head on my lap, still watching the woman.
"You remember me, Betsy?" she asked, reaching out to pat. I gave Pansy the signal— she took the pats. I felt her neck muscles under my hand. Steel cable.
I lit a cigarette. "You never did call me," she said, a teasing undertone in her voice, less than a challenge, more than an accident.
"Dinner, you said. I've been working nights."
"Oh." She arched her eyebrows, brushed some sweat from her pug nose— a gesture like you'd see in the ring.
"Nice day for a picnic, it looks like, you had some food." Clarence's voice, materializing from somewhere behind us.
"Yeah, it is," I told him. "Sit down, join us."
He folded himself onto the edge of the blanket, indifferent to the risk to his lime-green pants. "This is Belinda," I said to Clarence. "Belinda, meet John."
He extended his slim dark hand into her thick white one. They shook, smiling. I rummaged around in the gym bag, came out with the bread, broke off a piece, offered it to Belinda. She took it, bit off a nice-sized hunk with her small white teeth. Clarence took one too. I opened the water bottle. We each took a drink. Unwrapped some cheese. Clarence declined. Belinda took one. Pansy glared at her harder than ever. I unwrapped another half dozen pieces, pulled Pansy's head close to mine, whispered the word in her ear. She mashed the cheese like a compactor, licked her teeth to get the remnants.
We finished off the bread. I broke out the chocolate. This time Clarence went for it, Belinda passed.
Peaceful there, delicate as an underwater bubble, the four of us in that park.
"What is that thing, mahn?" Clarence asked, looking at my pad.
"It's art."
"It is, yes?" His black silk shirt rustled as he took it from my hands, examined it from different angles.
"Do you work with James?" Belinda asked Clarence.
"No, we are members of the same club."
"What club?"
"A health club, miss."
"Oh! I'm a member too. Which one do you go to?"
"You never would've heard of it, miss. Way out in Queens, by the train station."
She got to her feet, patted herself like she was checking something. Her calves flexed under the exercise pants, heavy, shapely things. I got up too.
"I'll call you," I said. "Soon."
"Do it," she said, low-voiced. Stood on her toes, gave me a quick kiss near my mouth. Made her way down the hill, turned onto the track, jogged off.
"You were right, Clarence," I said. "She is a pretty woman."
"She's a cop, mahn."
147
Winter sun on my back, throwing shadows. Burning cold.
"You sure?"
"I been out here a long time, mahn. Not just today. She jogs around the park, got that Walkman in her ear. Only thing, she don't just listen, she talks too. Two white men, just past the Fifty-ninth Street entrance, two more, just off Central Park West on Eighty-sixth. Dressed like she is. Ankle holsters, walkie-talkies too. The black guy with the ice-cream wagon…the one by the big pond? Same thing. She talks to them all. That's all, mahn. She don't talk to nobody else."
"Damn."
"Yeah. Thought you knew, mahn, the way you change my name and everything. And she don't know yours, you think, yes?"
"Just playing it safe— I didn't know."
"It's the truth, mahn. Sure thing. Somebody snatch that lady, he gonna get himself hurt."
"You think that's what she's doing…trolling for rapists?"
"Wrong hours, mahn. Wrong time. She stays off the bad trails too. It's you she's working, boss."
"Why?"
"Way I see it, the man in the white limo, he's made him a trade."
"White limo?"
"This is Clarence, mahn. Your friend. Your true friend. Give it up. Don't look back. You follow that big bouncing butt right into the penitentiary."
I lit a smoke, thinking about it. About not looking back. About how that comes natural to some people.
148
Clarence sat quietly next to me. Pansy swept the area with her eyes. Smarter than me, going in.
I packed my stuff in the gym bag, snapped on Pansy's lead, told her to stay while I folded the army blanket.
"Thanks, Clarence," I said, holding out my hand, goodbye.
"That's not why I came, mahn. Got a message from the Queen. One of her people called Jacques. Said to come see her. She has your answer. Come anytime, after dark."
"Anything else?"
"Word for word, mahn."
We walked through the park, heading west. A collie galloped by, off leash, a kid chasing it. Pansy ignored the other dog— she generally does.
"You know about this obeah thing, Clarence?"
"I know some, mahn. What my mother told me, from her mother, she said."
"Tell me."
"It comes from the old ways. From slavery, way I heard it. It's all about sacrifice, mahn. When you die, you wait. To cross over. The sacrifice, that lets you come back. In spirit. There are many spirits…they call them loas…a joker, a warrior, a lover."
"The bag…the one we found that night. That was a sacrifice?"
"Yes, mahn. The Queen, she is the Mamaloi, the priestess. There's two kinds obeah. The white and the red. The red, their god is the snake."
"What's the difference?"
"In white obeah, in that juju bag would be a chicken, maybe a goat…an animal."
"In the red…?"
"The goat without horns, mahn," Clarence said, his hands clasped together. A quick shudder passed through his thin frame.
149
Belinda was a cop. In books, people are fascinated with mysteries. Can't let them slide. Books have plots— life has plotters. Maybe Belinda was the front end of a decoy operation, maybe Carlos had already rolled over for the Man and she was with the backup team. Or maybe it was me they were looking at— maybe she heard about me, wanted to freelance a bit. Get a gold shield to pin on that fine chest.