“What about that ivory piano I saw?”
“That is an abomination. It cost thirty thousand dollars to build and the only one who ever played it was Willis Longtree.”
“I see,” I said. “So you said he was talkin’ to you one day…”
“Yes. He was telling me about how much he loved music and performing. He showed me his journal, really it was just a ledger book like the accountants use. He had articles clipped about movie stars and L.A. nightclubs.”
“If he couldn’t read then how would he know what to clip?” I asked.
“You not here to give nobody the third degree,” Etta warned.
“No I’m not. I’m here to help you. Now if you want me to do that, just button up and let me ask the questions I see fit.”
EttaMae glared at me. I’d seen her strike men for less.
“It’s alright, Etta,” Sheila said. And then to me, “Willis had people read to him. He’d go through the newspaper until he saw words he knew, like Hollywood, or pictures of performers, and then he’d have someone read the article to him.”
I got the feeling that she had read to the young man once or twice.
“What do you want from me, Mrs. Merchant?”
“Find Willis before Abel does,” she said. “Tell him what Sin did. Try and get him somewhere safe.”
Sheila Merchant reached into her apron and came out with a white envelope.
“There’s a thousand dollars in here,” she said. “Take it and find Willis, make sure that he’s safe.”
“What about your daughter?”
“She’ll come home when she runs out of money.”
Sheila Merchant looked away, out the window. I looked too. There was a beautiful pine forest under a pale blue and coral sky. It seemed impossible that someone with all that wealth, surrounded by such natural beauty, could be even slightly unhappy.
“I’ll see what I can do,” I said.
ON THE FRONT PORCH Etta and I were confronted by a sandy-haired man with dead blue eyes.
“Hello, Mr. Snow,” Etta said quickly. She seemed nervous, almost scared.
“EttaMae,” he replied.
He was wearing gray slacks and a square-cut aqua-colored shirt that was open at the collar. Folded over his left arm was a dark blue blazer. He wore a short-brimmed straw hat, tilted back on his head.
His smile was malicious, but that’s not what scared me about him.
EttaMae Harris had lived with Mouse most of her adult life; and Mouse was by far the deadliest man I ever knew. Not once had I seen fear in Etta’s face while dealing with Mouse’s irrational rages. I had never seen her afraid of anybody. Abel Snow therefore had a unique standing in my experience.
“And who is this?” Abel asked.
“Brian Phillips,” I said.
“What are you doing here?”
“Seein’ how the other half lives.”
I smiled and so did Abel.
“You lookin’ for trouble, son?”
“Now why I wanna be lookin’ for somethin’ when it’s standin’ right there in front’a me, pale as death?”
Etta cleared her throat.
“You here about Willis Longtree?” Abel Snow asked me.
“Who?”
Snow’s smile widened into a grin.
“You got something I should know about in your pocket, Brian?”
“Whatever it is, it’s mine.”
Snow was having a good time. I wondered if his heart was beating as fast as mine was. We stared at each other for a moment. That instant might have stretched into an hour if Etta hadn’t said, “Excuse me, Mr. Snow, but Mr. Phillips is givin’ me a ride to L.A.”
He nodded and stepped aside, grinning the whole time.
THE BASKET was where Sheila Merchant said it was. I flipped through the ledger for a minute or two and then put it in the trunk.
ETTA FELL ASLEEP on the long ride back to L.A. I asked her a few more questions about Mouse, but her story never wavered. Raymond was dead and buried by her own hand.
I dropped her off at the mariner’s house in Malibu and then drove back home. That was about nine o’clock.
BONNIE WAS WAITING for me at the front door wearing the same jeans and sweater.
“Hi, baby,” she said.
“Can I get in?” I asked and she stepped aside.
The house was quiet and clean. I had straightened up now and then but this was the first time it had been clean since she was gone.
“Where the kids?”
“They’re staying with Mrs. Riley. I sent them because I thought we might want to be alone.” Bonnie’s eyes followed me around the room.
“No,” I said. “They could be here. I don’t have anything to say they can’t hear.”
“Easy, what’s wrong?”
“EttaMae called.”
“After all this time?”
“Mouse is definitely dead and she knows a young boy who’s in trouble.” I sat in my recliner.
“What? You found out all that?” Bonnie went to sit on the couch. “How do you feel?”
“Like shit.”
“We have to talk,” she said in that tone women have when they’re treating their men like children.
I stood up.
“Maybe later on,” I said. “But right now I got to go out.”
“Easy.”
I strode into the bathroom, closed the door, and locked it. I showered and shaved, cut my nails, and brushed my teeth. When I went to the closet to get dressed Bonnie was already in the bed.
“Where are you going?” she asked me.
“Out.”
“Out where?”
“Like I told you, to look for that boy Etta wants me to help.”
“You haven’t even kissed me since I’ve been home.”
I pulled out my black slacks and yellow jacket. Then I went to the drawer for a black silk T-shirt. It wasn’t going to be Easy Rawlins the janitor out on the town tonight. A janitor could never find Willis Longtree or Sinestra Merchant.
I had put on dark socks that had diamonds at the ankles. I was tying my laces when Bonnie spoke to me again.
“Easy,” Bonnie said softly. “Talk to me.”
I went to the bed, leaned over, and kissed her on the forehead.
“Don’t wait up, honey. This kinda business could take all night.”
I walked to the door and then halted.
Bonnie sat up, thinking I wanted to say more.
But I went to the closet, reached back on the top shelf, and took down my pistol. I checked that it was working and loaded, and then walked out the door.
THE GROTTO was the first black entrepreneurial enterprise I knew of that cast its net beyond Watts. It was a jazz club on Hoover. Actually, the entrance was down an alley between two buildings that were on Hoover. The Grotto had no real address. And even though the owners were black it was clear that the mob was their banker.
Pearl Sondman was the manager and nominal owner of the club. I remembered her from an earlier time in Los Angeles; a time when I was between the street and jail and she was with Mona El, the most popular prostitute of her day.
Mona seduced everybody. She loved men and women alike. If you ever once spent the night with her you were happy to scrape together the three hundred dollars it cost to do it again—–that’s what they said. Mona was like heaven on Earth and she never left a John, or Jane, unsatisfied.
The problem was that after one night with Mona a certain type of unstable personality fell in love with her. Men were always fighting and threatening, claiming that they wanted to save her. It wasn’t until Mona met Pearl that that kind of ruckus subsided.
Pearl had a man named Harry Riley, but after one kiss from Mona, or maybe two, Pearl threw Riley out the door. For some reason most men didn’t want to be implicated in trying to free Mona from a woman’s arms.
A TRUMPET, a trombone, and a sax were dueling just inside the Grotto’s doors. It brought a smile to my face if not to my heart.
“Hi, Easy,” Pearl said.
She was wearing a scaly red dress and maybe an extra twenty pounds from the last time we met. Her face was flat and sensual, the color of a chocolate malted.