Walter Mosley - All I Did Was Shoot My Man

“Have the women been after you?” she asked.

“Fallin’ from the sky.”

She laughed quietly and reached out to touch the knuckle of my left hand.

If I hadn’t known that I was still hopelessly in love with her, that touch reminded me. It went all the way down, past where the fever had been.

“I have to go,” she said.

I took in a deep breath and nodded.

When she turned away I resisted the urge to follow her.

I stood in the hallway a full three minutes after she had gone.

Usually Mardi was in competition with the Mona Lisa for subtlety in her humor, but not that day. She took one look at me and broke out into a smile, an actual grin.

“What are you so happy about?” I asked.

“Lots of things.”

“Like what?”

“Well, for one, I can tell by your eyes that the fever is gone.”

“By my eyes? Maybe you should take the back office and I could be out here takin’ the calls.”

“No,” she said, shaking her head with sudden gravitas. “No. I can read things but I can’t translate them.”

I have never in my life heard a more cogent or succinct understanding of true detective work.

“What else makes you happy, Mardi?”

“You’ll see.”

Another surprise.

Twill was sitting at his desk, perusing a dark red hardback book that had no dust cover. He had his feet in an open drawer and his back to the aisle. I stopped behind him. He kept reading and I stood there, waiting.

The standoff didn’t last a whole minute.

He turned toward the aisle, kicking the bottom drawer shut to obtain enough momentum in the office chair.

He had on a wheat-colored silk T-shirt and black skinny jeans. His tennis shoes were dark green and he wore no socks.

“Pops,” he said with a grin.

I stifled my own smile and took the seat next to his desk.

“Son.”

He hadn’t been in the office long, but Twill and I had a rapport from before the days when he could talk. All I had to do was look at him and he perceived the drill.

“Me an Em—” he started.

“Em?”

“Mirabelle Mycroft... Me and her had a pizza with Kent and Luscious McKenzie last night. The Last Ray of Day, the place is called, over on Ninth Ave.

“I sat next to his girl and he was there next to his sister.”

“What was he like?” I asked.

“That’s hard to tell, Pops. I mean, he wasn’t pushy or nuthin’, but he was hard-like. You know, he gave you this look that said Who the fuck do you think you are to be sittin’ here with me? But he smiled and shit, and asked about what I did.

“Luscious was fine. Mixed white and black, with green eyes and hair like Ms. Ullman. She the kinda girl have men jumpin’ outta trees an’ shit.”

“And Kent?”

“We ate through two pizzas and he excused himself to have a cigarette. While he was gone and Em was trying to talk to Luscious—”

“They didn’t get along?” I asked.

“Mirabelle was just nervous. Her brother was too quiet and Luscious said anything come into her head. Anyway... Kent was outside and Em went to the bathroom. That’s when Luscious slipped her card into my hand. It was real slick-like. She was tellin’ me that her moms was from Texas and she was lookin’ me in the eye, and then she give me the card.

“So after we finished Kent took us to this rock-and-roll club down on Varick. The kinda music you like, Pops. Him and Luscious run into some’a their friends, and I say that I’m takin’ Em home.”

“And did you leave her alone like I said?”

“Pretty much.”

“What does that mean?”

“She needed a hug ’cause she was so nervous. And it’s just a quick turn from there to a kiss. And you know you can’t tell how a girl’s gonna kiss you. But I told her that I was on the job and I had to go. She understood, for the most part.

“I left her going into her place and called Luscious.”

“Hold up a second, Junior. I told you that this was just a fact-gathering mission.”

“I know,” he said defensively. “I just called to see what she had in mind. I figured if she said she wanted to get together that I could ask how connected she was to Kent and then maybe get a thing or two about him. You know, I could do most’a that on the phone.

“But instead of a hookup she told me that Kent wanted to have a meet with me.”

“What?”

“That’s what I said, man.” Twill even gave a mild expression of surprise. “I mean, she was actin’ like one of his crew. He’d been checkin’ me out while I was checkin’ him. That meant his sister and father might’a got it wrong. If anybody’s doin’ somethin’, it’s Kent.”

“What did the girl say... exactly?”

“She said that Kent liked what he saw and wondered if I wanted to get together today.”

“What were you talking about to him?”

“Places I go, scams I heard of down around the Village — light shit.”

“You think he’s trying to protect his sister?”

“Maybe so. But that don’t mean he’s not in charge.”

“What did you tell the girl?”

“That I’d meet Kent at the NYU student center this afternoon at two. And before you start talkin’ about gatherin’ and not doin’... I don’t have to go. I could just shine it on and let you take over.”

“What’s your read on this Kent, Twill?”

“It’s hard to say, Pops. I mean, havin’ the girl call me for him makes him at least a little bit in charge. But who knows? Maybe he’s her connection and this is just a favor. I won’t be able to tell until we talk — if we talk.”

Twill sat there in his reclining office chair calm as a pensioner on vacation in Bali. He had his hands laced behind his head, the expression on his face free from concern. He was telling me with his posture that the decision was mine and mine alone.

Like hell.

“Broad daylight?” I said.

“In a public place.”

“Don’t go anywhere with him until you check in with me.”

“You got it, Pops.”

The fever I’d been experiencing had also been a kind of fuel. If I was weakened, I didn’t know it, or at least I didn’t care. If I was sick, it didn’t conflict with my state of mind or sense of well-being. But now that I was on the mend I could feel the exhaustion in my bones. Rising up out of my teenage son’s client’s chair, I felt twice my weight; like a fighter answering the penultimate bell in a grueling match.

The twenty feet from his desk to my door was like the last mile for a condemned man — I had no idea whether I’d make it under my own power.

I grabbed the doorknob as much to steady myself as to enter my sanctum. I turned the knob, but before I could pull it my cell phone sounded.

Teetering toward my desk, I answered. “Hey, Luke. How’s my client?”

“Fine, last time I saw her,” the pool shark intoned. “I think she likes Johnny. He’s good with ladies just outta prison, opens doors and shit like that. They eat it up.”

“Couldn’t have a better bodyguard than Johnny Nightly.”

“No, sir.”

“So do I need to do anything?”

“No.”

“Then why’d you call?”

“Sweet Lemon.”

The exhaustion increased with that simple two-word declaration. My mind began to wander but my mouth stayed on point.

I took a pill from Helen Bancroft’s little bottle and popped it into my mouth.

“What did Lemon want?” I said, thinking randomly about the streets of New York and swallowing hard.

“You okay, LT?”

“Not even in a neighborhood where they know the meaning of the word.”

“Lemon says that if you’re interested you could meet him at the White Horse Tavern down in the West Village at twelve-fifteen. You know what he’s talkin’ about?”