Walter Mosley: A Red Death

“He tried to bribe me, Mr. Craxton. He put the squeeze on Mofass and then when you got involved he tried to get me in trouble.”

“How did you find out about it?”

“Mofass finally broke down and told me.”

Craxton nodded.

“I told him that I was going against a white guy doin’ charities for the church. I didn’t know that he was crazy.”

“What about the girl, your tenant?”

“He knew about my buildin’ and he wanted to squeeze me for a payoff, so he killed her I guess to put me in jail. If I was in jail I couldn’t work for you.”

“But if you were in jail for murder, how could he get your money?”

“I don’t think he meant to kill her, really. I think he only wanted to hurt her. That’s why her face was so bruised up. When she died he tried to make it look like suicide.”

That last little bit of thinking was a little too sophisticated for what Craxton thought a Negro could come up with. He looked at me suspiciously but didn’t say anything. Craxton didn’t want to rock the boat. He had a dead communist and a man dealing in espionage. He had the evidence I planted at Lawrence’s house and two bodies. I imagined that he’d get a promotion out of it.

“And where is Shirley Wenzler?” he asked.

“She’s home, Mr. Craxton, and you know she don’t have nuthin’ t’do with this. She didn’t have anything to do with what her father was doing.”

“You like her, huh, Easy?”

“She’s clean, man.”

Craxton chuckled. He was on top of the world.

“But let me ask you somethin’,” I said.

“Yes, Easy?”

“Why didn’t you tell me about them papers Wenzler had?”

“Because you weren’t supposed to know. Nobody was. It was a secret project that Champion had scrapped. Lindquist was supposed to have destroyed the copies he had. I was supposed to make sure that he had done that. We both slipped up.”

“You mean they weren’t even anything you were gonna use?”

“It would still have looked bad if they showed up in Russia.”

“Look bad?”

I didn’t tell anybody about Jackie Orr and Melvin Pride, or about Winona. I sent a letter to Odell, though; I didn’t want to burn my brothers and sisters but I didn’t want them to continue stealing from the church either. I left the African Migration out of it completely.

“I don’t know, Mr. Rawlins, I don’t know. It’s all real neat, but who killed Lawrence?”

“I don’t know,” I said. “I wasn’t there.”

C RAXTON WAS TRUE TO HIS WORD and I took two years to pay off the money that the IRS said I owed. He also took the heat off of Shirley Wenzler and gave me his private number where I could get to him anytime.

Andre Lavender and Juanita got back into circulation. He never stood trial because Craxton never brought up his name. The FBI man wanted smooth sailing over a sea of death and silence.

Everything was fine.

T HE NIGHT AFTER I SPOKE to Craxton I went to see Etta. I opened the door with my key. The apartment was dark, but I expected that. The door to LaMarque’s room was open. I looked in to see him smiling in the arms of a giant teddy bear that I was sure came from Mouse.

“That’s it, Etta,” I heard him say. His voice came right through the wall, as if he were whispering in my ear. “Oh yeah, yeah. You know I missed that.”

Then a loud smacking sound and then, “I love you, Daddy.”

“You say what?” Raymond Alexander asked his wife, his woman.

“I love you, Daddy. I need you.”

“You need this?”

And she made a sound that I cannot duplicate. It was deep and guttural and so charged with pleasure that I got dizzy and lowered myself to the floor.

The sounds Etta made got louder and even more passionate. She never made those sounds because of me; no woman ever had.

Mouse is crazy, I thought, just crazy!

But I wished for his insanity.

Etta did too.

The boy and I went to Mofass’s office a few days later. Jesus went through the door first and pulled out the chair for me to sit in front of my employee.

Mofass was staring at a plate of eggs and ham, with hash browns on the side. He’d probably been doing that for a quarter of an hour.

“Mo’nin’, Mr. Rawlins.” He had a leery look in his eye. Any man who survived a death threat from Raymond Alexander was leery.

“Mofass. What’s goin’ on?”

“They took me down to the federal detention center fo’a couple’a days there.”

I opened my eyes as if I was surprised.

“Yeah, they did,” he continued. “But I guess I gotta thank you fo’not pressin’ no charge at the IRS.”

“Part’a the deal the FBI guy made. I don’t cause no trouble and they let me pay off my back taxes, on the quiet side.”

“Well, I guess I should thank you anyway. That was a tight spot we was all in. You coulda taken it out on me.”

“Should have too,” I said.

Mofass glared.

“Jesus,” I said. I fished a quarter out of my shirt pocket and flipped it to him. “Go get us some candy at that store we saw.”

He gave me a mute grin and ran for the door.

I waited for the sound of his steps down the stairs to fade before talking again.

“That’s right, Mofass, I shoulda let Raymond waste your ass. I should have but I couldn’t, ’cause you my own personal hell. But it don’t matter. You see, I lost sumpin’ since that day we talked about that letter. I lost a lot. I got a good friend who hates me now ’cause he think I got his minister killed. An’ I cain’t go to him ’cause it was my fault, really. An’ I lost my woman because I wasn’t good enough. There’s a lotta people dead ’cause’a me. And I turnt Poinsettia out. You told me to do it, but it’s on my head, ’cause…”

He interrupted me. “I don’t see what all this gotta do with me. If you want my keys to the places, I got ’em here.”

“I made a good friend, Mofass, but yo’ friend cut ’im down. Didn’t even look in his face. Shot him through the door.”

“What you want from me, Mr. Rawlins?”

“I ain’t got no friends, man. All I got is Jackson Blue, who’d give me up fo’a bottle’a wine, and Mouse; you know him. And a Mexican boy who cain’t speak English hardly an’ if he did he cain’t talk no ways.”

Sweat had appeared on Mofass’s brow. I must’ve sounded pretty crazy.

“I want you to keep on workin’ fo’ me, William. I want you to be my friend.”

Mofass put the cigar between his fat lips and puffed smoke. I don’t think he knew how big his eyes were.

“Sure,” he said. “You my best customer, Mr. Rawlins.”

“Yeah, man. Yeah.”

We sat there staring at each other until Jesus came back. He brought three tubes of chocolate disks, Flicks they were called. The three of us ate the chocolate in silence.

Jesus was the only one smiling.