Walter Mosley - A Red Death

The papers were right where Andre had said they’d be. They were bound in a leather notebook, the kind that zips up the side, behind the seat of an ancient Dodge pickup truck. I tucked them under my arm, thinking about how Chaim put those papers there. I hadn’t really said good-bye to my friend.

By the time I reached the tarp-covered fence the dogs were on me again. The boxer/greyhound showed his teeth and snarled, but he was tentative for all that and hung back behind the three or four other dogs. I took out the squirt gun and splashed the first snapping dog-no breed would describe him-on the snout.

He couldn’t get away from me fast enough. The other dogs were on their way soon after, and I got out of the whole thing with no more than a small cut I suffered opening the truck’s door. I left the steaks on the ground near the fence. Those dogs couldn’t bark after me, causing unwanted attention, if they had their mouths full of T-bone.

Before I knocked on the door I heard screaming. High-pitched yelling mixed with words like “no” and “no mo’.”

I knocked. When Etta opened the door the yelling was still going on behind her. Mouse and LaMarque were wrestling on the couch. They were both yelling, but LaMarque was on top, playfully pounding the sides of Mouse’s head. Mouse was bowing low, pretending to be in pain and screeching like his namesake.

Etta put her hand to my chest, which I felt all the way down to my knees, and said, “Thank you, baby, Raymond done come back t’life fo’ him.”

“Etta, do you love me?” I whispered.

“Yes, Easy, I do,” she whispered back.

I wanted to ask her to run with me, to go down to Mexico, but I’d wait until Mouse was somewhere else.

“Easy!” Mouse shouted from inside.

“Hi, Unca Easy,” LaMarque said.

I wondered if LaMarque would come with Etta and me down to Mexico or would she leave him with her sister. He was still young enough to pick up a language if he had to.

“Hi, boys,” I said. Then, “Raymond.”

“Yeah, Ease?”

“I need yo’ help on sumpin’.”

LaMarque had looked away from us to a round table that they used for meals. Across it lay Mouse’s long. 41-caliber pistol. It looked obscene there, but I supposed it was safer than if Mouse wore it while they tussled.

“I’ll make tea,” Etta said. Raymond’s artillery didn’t seem to bother her. She just pushed it to one side and another as she wiped off the table.

“No, honey,” I said. “Raymond an’ me got business. We gots to go.”

And so we left.

In the hall I said, “I need some help, Mouse.”

“Who you want me to kill?” he asked, pulling out his pistol to prove his readiness.

“I just need you to come with me, Raymond. I gotta look into a couple’a things and I could use somebody at my back.”

Raymond was smiling as he holstered his long gun.

We drove out to Mofass’s office. I had the key, so it wouldn’t be a case of burglary.

“What we lookin’ fo’, Ease?” Mouse asked me. He was working at his golden teeth with an ivory toothpick that he carried. “Just sit’own, Raymond. I gotta search Mofass’s files.”

“You don’t need me fo’ that.”

“Somebody tried t’shoot me out in front’a my house yester-day,” I told him. “I was standin’ out there with a friend and I just happened t’bend over or the lights woulda been out on my show.”

“Oh,” Mouse said simply. He felt for his pistol under his coat and sat back in Mofass’s swivel chair. He put his feet up on the desk and smiled at me as I went through the filing cabinet.

In his files Mofass kept a book of all the properties he managed. There were twelve columns to the right of each address or unit, where he indicated, on a monthly basis, if the place was occupied or not. If the property was vacant for that month there was an x marked in pencil.

There were about twenty unoccupied apartments, the longest vacancy being on Clinton Street. I listed them, but I really didn’t think Mofass would try to hide in an apartment. People didn’t like Mofass, and they were likely to blab his whereabouts if given the opportunity.

Mofass also managed a group of business properties and seven warehouses. All of them were rented. One warehouse was rented to Alameda Fruits and Vegetables Incorporated. Mofass had told me when they had gone out of business. The president, Anton Vitali, also owned the building. He’d cleared out the building but kept paying the rent, to himself, because he needed people to believe he was solvent as a real estate owner. Mofass was happy with that, because he still got his percentage and didn’t have to lift a finger.

I gave Mouse all the addresses, telling him to check the warehouse first.

“You want me to kill’im, Ease?” Mouse asked as simply as if he were offering me a beer.

“Just hold him, Ray. I’ll do what killin’s gotta be done.”

He answered the phone himself on the first ring. “Craxton!”

“Hello, Mr. Craxton.”

“Well, well, Mr. Rawlins, I thought you might’ve run out on me.”

“No, sir. Where’m I gonna go?”

“No further than I can reach, that’s for sure.”

“I been kinda busy, gettin’ news.”

“What kind of news?”

“Chaim Wenzler is dead.”

“What?”

“They shot him through his front door. Shot him dead.”

“How do you know about it?”

“Shirley Wenzler, Chaim’s daughter, brought me there. Seems like I’m the only one she trusts.”

“Does she know who did it?”

“She thinks it was you.”

“Horseshit!”

“Don’t get me wrong, I ain’t saying’ no government man gonna do somethin’ like that. All I’m sayin’ is that she really thinks that the government did it.”

“You got anything I can use?”

“I think he was in it with somebody down here. Like you said, he was working with somebody colored. But I don’t know who it is. Whoever it is, though, they pegged me early on.”

“How’d they do that, Easy?” Craxton asked.

“I don’t know, but I think I know how to find out.”

“Did you find anything in his house?”

“Like what?”

“Anything,” he said evasively. “Anything I might be interested in.”

“No sir. But then again I didn’t spend any too long checkin’ it out either. I don’t like keepin’ company with the dead.”

“But you’re working for me, Rawlins. If you can’t get your hands dirty, then why should I help you?”

“Maybe if I knew what it was you were lookin’ for I could nose around. But you ain’t told me shit, man, Agent Craxton.”

That cut our conversation for a moment. When he finally spoke again it was in forced calm and measured tones.

“What about the girl, Easy? Does she know why he was killed?”

“She don’t know nuthin’. But I heard a thing or two down at First African.”

“What things?”

“You got your secrets, Mr. Craxton, and I got mines. I’ma look this thing down until I find out who killed Wenzler. When I find out I’m’a tell you, all right?”

“No.” I could almost hear him shaking his head. “That’s not all right at all. You’re working for me…”

I cut him off. “Uh-uh. You ain’t payin’ me an’ you ain’t done a damn thing fo’me neither. I will find your killer and I figure he will be the key to whatever it is you lookin’ for. At that time you an’ me will come to a deal.”

“I’m the law, Mr. Rawlins. You can’t bargain with the law.”

“The fuck I cain’t! Somebody put a bullet two inches from my head yesterday afternoon. This is my life we speakin’ on, so either you take my deal or we call it quits.”