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THE MAN
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IN MY BASEMENT
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a n ove l
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Walter Mosley
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little, brown and company
B o s t o n • Ne w Yo rk • L o n d o n R 28
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Copyright © 2004 by Walter Mosley All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the publisher, except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages in a review.
The characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.
Little, Brown and Company
Time Warner Book Group
1271 Avenue of the Americas
New York, NY 10020
ISBN: 0-7595-0860-7
First eBook Edition: January 2004
Book design by Guenet Abraham ManInMyBasemnt_HCtext3P.qxd 10/24/03 8:16 PM Page v For the man of the world, Harry Belafonte 1
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PART ONE
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“Mr. Blakey?” the small white man asked.
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I had answered the door expecting big Clarance May-15
hew and his cousin Ricky. The three of us had a standing 16
date to play cards on Thursday nights. I was surprised even 17
to hear the doorbell because it was too early for my friends 18
to have made it home from work and neither one of them 19
would have rung the bell anyway. We’d been friends since 20
childhood, since my grandparents owned the house.
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“My house is your house,” I always said to Clarance 22
and Ricky. I never locked the door because we lived in a 23
secluded colored neighborhood way back from the high-24
way. Everybody knows everybody in my neighborhood, 25
so strangers don’t go unnoticed. If somebody stole some-26
thing from me, I’d have known who it was, what kind of S 27
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car he drove, and the numbers on his license plate before 2
he was halfway to Southampton.
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“Yes,” I said to the small, bald-headed white man in the 4
dark-green suit. “I’m Blakey.”
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“You have a stand-up basement, Mr. Blakey,” the white 6
man told me.
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“Say what?”
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“Teddy Odett down at Odett Realty said that you had 9
a basement where a man could stand fully erect, one that 10
has electricity and running water.”
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“This house isn’t for sale, mister.”
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“Bennet. Anniston Bennet. I’m from Greenwich, Con-13
necticut.”
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“Well this house isn’t for sale, Mr. Bennet.” I thought 15
the small man would hunch his shoulders, or maybe give 16
me a mean frown if he was used to getting his way. Either 17
way I expected him to leave.
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“Oh yes,” he said instead. “I know that. Your family has 19
owned this beautiful home for seven generations or more.
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Mr. Odett told me that. I know it isn’t for sale. I’m inter-21
ested in renting.”
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“Renting? Like an apartment?”
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The man made a face that might have been a smile, or 24
an apology. He let his head loll over his right shoulder 25
and blinked while showing his teeth for a moment.
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“Well, not exactly,” he said. “I mean yes but not in the 27 S
conventional way.”
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His body moved restlessly but his feet stayed planted as 4
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if he were a child who was just learning how to speak to 1
adults.
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“Well it’s not for rent. It’s just an old basement. More 3
spiders down there than dust and there’s plenty’a dust.”
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Mr. Bennet’s discomfort increased with my refusal. His 5
small hands clenched as if he were holding on to a railing 6
against high winds.
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I didn’t care. That white man was a fool. We didn’t take 8
in white boarders in my part of the Sag Harbor. I was try-9
ing to understand why the real-estate agent Teddy Odett 10
would even refer a white man to my neighborhood.
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“I want to rent your basement for a couple of months 12
this summer, Mr. Blakey.”
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“I just told you —”
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“I can make it very much worth your while.”
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It was his tone that cut me off. Suddenly he was one of 16
those no-nonsense-white-men-in-charge. What he seemed 17
to be saying was “I know something that you had better 18
listen to, fool. Here you think you know what’s going on 19
when really you don’t have a clue.”
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I knew that there were white people in the Hamptons 21
that rented their homes for four and five thousand dollars 22
a month over the summer. I owned a home like that. It 23
was three stories high and about two hundred years old. It 24
was in excellent shape too. My father had worked at keep-25
ing it up to code, as he’d say, for most of his life.
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“I’m sorry, Mr. Bennet,” I said again.
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“I’m willing to pay quite a bit for what I want, Mr.
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Blakey,” the white man said, no longer fidgeting or wag-2
ging his head. He was looking straight at me with eyes as 3
blue as you please.
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“No,” I said, a little more certain.
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“Maybe this is a bad time. Will you call me when 6
you’ve had a chance to think about it? Maybe discuss it 7
with your wife?” He handed me a small white business 8
card as he spoke.
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“No wife, no roommate, Mr. Bennet. I live alone and I 10
like it like that.”
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“Sometimes,” he said and then hesitated, “sometimes 12
an opportunity can show up just at the right moment.
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Sometimes that opportunity might be looking you in the 14
face and you don’t quite recognize it.”
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It was almost as if he were threatening me. But he was 16