Walter Mosley - All I Did Was Shoot My Man

“She and my boyfriend cheated on me.”

A rumbling voice sounded in the background over the line.

“Hold on,” Zella said.

A moment later a man’s voice addressed me.

“LT,” Johnny Nightly said.

“Hey, Johnny,” I said, looking at my watch. It was way past two in the morning. That math said more than any male braggadocio.

“What happened at your place the other day?”

I told him.

“Is this some other case?” he asked.

“No. It’s straight up Rutgers. You should pull up stakes and take her someplace that I never heard of before.”

“That bad?”

“They broke down my front door, man. I came closer to death than I ever have.”

Lovely and sylph-like, Tatyana sat on the sofa next to her big book. She was pensive and somber.

“Tell me something, Tatyana.”

“Yes, Leonid?”

I stopped for a moment, a little stunned to hear my first name coming from her lips.

“You said ‘my wife’s son.’ ” I continued the question. “What did you mean by that?”

“It is obvious that Dimitri is your only, how do you say, your only blood child in this house.”

No outsider had ever spoken about it before. I had lived a whole life telling my children that they were mine. Living a lie you begin to think that everyone is fooled but maybe, I thought, the only fool was me.

Tatyana stood up and kissed me on the cheek.

“Good night,” she said.

Watching her leave, I began to think that maybe she would be all right and that Dimitri would too.

By the time I was back in the foyer Taty was gone and Katrina’s snoring could once again be heard throughout the lower quarters of the apartment. I imagined that she had turned in her sleep, ushering forth the heavy breathing.

Instead of joining her I dragged a hickory chair into the front hall and sat there, leaning against the wall, napping and standing guard in turns.

It was more sleep than watchfulness by four fifty-four that morning. I know the time because that’s what my phone read when I answered it.

“Leonid,” the caller said when I grunted, too groggy even to say hello.

“Breland?”

“What the hell is going on?”

“Are you safe?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I am. But I got up early and called my service. There was a message from Shelby Mycroft.”

“What did he say?”

“You don’t even know?”

“I ain’t gonna play twenty questions with you, man. Either say something or hang the fuck up.”

“Kent has been arrested.”

“Charged with what?”

“Conspiracy, murder, racketeering, and about a dozen other crimes.”

“So, what’s that got to do with me?”

“The chief arresting officer was Carson Kitteridge.”

“Oh.”

“So I’m going to ask you again — what’s going on?”

“I’m... not sure. I haven’t talked to Kit about this. Not at all.”

“It can’t be coincidence.”

“Maybe it is. But I promise you that I’ll look into it. Just as soon as the sun comes up.”

“Mycroft wants to see me. He wants me at his house.”

“Don’t go and don’t answer him.”

“I have to do something.”

“I’ll take care of it.”

“Leonid, Shelby is a powerful man. I can’t just ignore him.”

“You want to make your wife a widow, your children fatherless?”

Silence.

Exhaustion hovered over me like a demon bear. I think for a moment I nodded off even with all that was on my mind.

“I’ll get to the bottom of this arrest and get back in touch with you. But you and the family stay away. If you could see me right now, you’d know why.”

“How’s your family, LT?” the lawyer asked in a conciliatory tone.

“Breathing,” I said. “Sleeping too.”

Twill’s room was empty.

I removed my blue clothes, took an ice-cold shower in place of eight hours’ sleep, and donned an identical suit. After downing a press pot of French roast coffee I was on the street in front of my building by six.

There’s a coffee shop near Ninety-third and Broadway, Shep’s Schleps. It’s just a counter with a kitchen behind it that makes deliveries from six to six. There Shep’s wife, Nina, served me an egg-and-bacon sandwich with yellow mustard and raw onion while I read the sports pages of that morning’s Post . Baseball was in full swing. The Yankees had beaten the Mets, two games to one, in a Subway Series. Wladimir Klitschko failed to knock out David Haye but retained his heavyweight crown.

By six minutes after seven my anger had lowered to a reasonable level. I called Twill’s cell phone and got his answering service.

“This is Twill,” his voice said. “Leave a message.”

“Make sure you’re in the office at one,” I told the mechanism. “You already know what this is about.”

The brown brick apartment building was on Ninety-fourth a little east of Broadway. I searched the legend and pressed a little green button.

“Yes?” a woman said.

“Leonid McGill for Seldon Arvinil.”

“What is this about?”

“College business. I work for the security department.”

“What happened?”

“Is Mr. Arvinil at home?”

“I’ll get him.”

“Mr. McGill?” a man asked over the speaker maybe two minutes later.

“Mr. Arvinil.”

“I’ll be right there.”

I backed down the stairs to the middle of the sidewalk, wondering if Seldon owned a pistol. He might have. How many times had the jealous man been killed by the object of his rage? As I pondered this question a white man of slight build appeared at the front door of the brown stack of apartments. He was wearing a square-cut red-and-cream leisure shirt and blue jeans. His hands were empty so I waved instead of drawing my own gun.

“Mr. McGill?” he asked.

I pursed my lips and nodded.

“What is it?”

“Come on down here, man.”

Arvinil had tanned skin, bushy brown hair crusted a little with gray, and brown eyes. He listed back a bit and then, finding the courage somewhere, walked down the stairs without stumbling.

He faced me eye to eye.

He was three inches taller than I. I had forty pounds on him.

“Yes?” he asked.

“You know why I’m here?”

He winced in answer.

“She’s a child,” I said.

“No.”

“No what?”

“She’s young,” he stammered, “a young woman who is better than I deserve. But she’s a woman, not a child.”

“Just because a girl can have sex doesn’t make her a woman.”

“Why are you here, Mr. McGill?”

“Your daughter is only a couple of years younger than Shelly,” I said. When he remained silent I added, “What would she and your wife have to say about what you’re doing?”

“From what Shelly has told me about you that would be letting me off easy,” he said.

I preferred assassins in the night. Them I could fight and kill. Seldon was brave with no muscle, innocent with no excuse.

“Why?” I asked him.

“Has a young woman never made your heart sing?”

I suppose he expected me to think of the women I’d known, young and older. But what I thought about was the lie I’d let Shelly live with, the bullet holes in her wall. If she wasn’t out rutting with this graying history professor, she’d be wounded or dead and I’d be to blame.

The biceps in both my arms ached with violence and exhaustion. I realized that I couldn’t speak without attacking, so I turned and walked away, heading farther east.

When i reached the park it was not yet eight.

Somewhere above 101st Street, a few hundred yards in, there’s a huge pile of boulders that come together forming a grotto of stone. I climbed up the man-made hill and was happy to see that no one had been there for a while.