Walter Mosley - Cinnamon Kiss

A man emerged from the darkness, a very short man.

“I am Robert E. Lee,” the little man said.

He wasn’t over five feet tall. He might not have made the full sixty inches. He wore navy blue pants and a black coat cut in the fashion of a nineteenth-century general’s jacket. He had short black hair and wispy sideburns, a completely round head, and the large dark eyes of a baby who had wisdom past its years.

He marched up to the chair behind the desk and sat with an air that could only be described as pompous.

It was obvious that he had been watching us since we entered the office. I suspected that he had probably been monitoring our conversation from the moment we entered the house. But the little general wasn’t embarrassed by this exposure. He touched something on his desk and the portal behind him slid shut.

“It’s like the house of the future at Disneyland,” I said.

“I’ve never been,” he said with an insincere smile plastered to his lips.

“You should go sometime. Might give you some tips.”

“You’ve met me, Mr. Rawlins,” Robert E. Lee said. “We’ve had mindless banter. Is that enough for your mother?”

An instant rage rose up in my heart. I had never loved anyone in life as much as I did my mother — at least not until the birth of my blood daughter and then when Jesus and Feather found their way into my home. The idea that this arrogant little man would refer to my mother in that tone made me want to slap him. But I held myself in check. After all, I had mentioned my mother’s admonition and Feather needed my best effort if she was going to live.

“So why am I here?” I asked.

“You’d need a practicing existentialist to answer a question like that,” he said. “All I can do is explain the job at hand. Mr. Lynx...”

“Yes sir,” Saul said. “May I say that it’s an honor to meet you.”

“Thank you. Do you vouch for Mr. Rawlins?”

“He’s among the best, sir. And he is the best in certain parts of town, especially if that town is Los Angeles.”

“You realize that you will be held accountable for his actions?”

Lee referred to me as if I weren’t there. A moment before, that would have angered me, but now I was amused. His effort was petty. I turned to Maya Adamant and winked.

“I’d trust Ezekiel Rawlins with my life,” Saul replied. There was deep certainty in his voice.

“I’m my own man, Mr. Lee,” I said. “If you want to work with me, then fine. If not I have things to do in L.A.”

“Or in Montreux,” he added, proving my suspicions about the eavesdropping devices throughout the house.

“The job,” I prodded.

Lee pressed his lips outward and then pulled them in. He looked at me with those infant orbs and came to a decision.

“I have been retained by a wealthy man living outside Danville to discover the whereabouts of a business associate who went missing five days ago. This associate has absconded with a briefcase that contains certain documents that must be returned as soon as possible. If I can locate this man and return the contents of that briefcase before midnight of next Friday I will receive a handsome fee and you, if you are instrumental in the acquisition of that property, will receive ten thousand dollars on top of the monies you’ve already been paid.”

“Who’s the client?” I asked.

“His name is unimportant,” Lee replied.

I knew from the way he lifted his chin that my potential employer meant to show me who was boss. This was nothing new to me. I had tussled with almost every boss I’d ever had over the state of my employment and the disposition of my dignity.

And almost every boss I’d ever had had been a white man.

“What’s in the briefcase?”

“White papers, printed in ink and sealed with red wax.”

I turned my head to regard Saul. Beyond him, on the far wall, next to a lamp, was a small framed photograph. I couldn’t make out the details from that distance. It was the only decoration on the walls and it was in an odd place.

“Is your client the original owner of these white papers, printed in ink and sealed with red wax?”

“As far as I know my client is the owner of the briefcase in question and its contents.”

Lee was biding his time, waiting for something. In my opinion he was acting like a buffoon but those eyes made me wary.

“What is the name of the man who stole the briefcase?”

Lee balked then. He brought his fingers together, forming a triangle.

“I’d like to know a little bit more about you before divulging that information,” he said.

I sat back and turned my palms upward. “Shoot.”

“Where are you from?”

“A deep dark humanity down in Louisiana, a place where we never knew there was a depression because we never had the jobs to lose.”

“Education?”

“I read Mann’s Magic Mountain last month. The month before that I read Invisible Man .”

That got a smile.

“H. G. Wells?”

“Ellison,” I countered.

“You fought in the war?”

“On both fronts.”

Lee frowned and cocked his head. “The European and Japanese theaters?” he asked.

I shook my head and smiled.

“White people took their shots at me,” I said. “Most of them were German but there was an American or two in the mix.”

“Married?”

“No,” I said with maybe a little too much emphasis.

“I see. Are you a licensed PI, Mr. Rawlins?”

“Yes sir, I am.”

Holding out a child’s hand, he asked, “May I see it?”

“Don’t have it with me,” I said. “It’s in a frame on the wall in my office.”

Lee nodded, stopped to consider, and then nodded again — listening to an unseen angel on his right shoulder. Then he rose, barely taller standing than he was seated.

“Good day,” he said, making a paltry attempt at a bow.

Now I understood. From the moment I flushed him out of hiding he intended to dismiss my services. What I couldn’t understand was why he didn’t let me leave when I wanted to the first time.

“Fine with me.” I stood up too.

“Mr. Lee,” Maya said then. She also rose from her chair. “Please, sir.”

Please. The conflict wasn’t between me and Lee — it was a fight between him and his assistant.

“He’s unlicensed,” Lee said, making a gesture like he was tossing something into the trash.

“He’s fully licensed,” she said. “I spoke with Mayor Yorty himself this morning. He told me that Mr. Rawlins has the complete support of the LAPD.”

I sat down.

There was too much information to sift through on my feet. This woman could get the mayor of Los Angeles on the phone, the mayor knew my name, and the Los Angeles cops were willing to say that they trusted me. Not one of those facts did I feel comfortable with.

Lee sighed.

“Mr. Lynx has always been our best operative in Los Angeles,” Maya said, “and he brought Mr. Rawlins to us.”

“How long ago did you first come to us, Mr. Lynx?” Lee asked.

“Six years ago, I guess.”

“And you never tried to extort your way into my presence?”

Saul didn’t say anything.

“And why should I put a man I don’t know on a case of this much importance?” Lee asked Maya.

“Because he’s the only man for the job and therefore he’s the best,” she said confidently.

“Why don’t you call Chief Parker and get him to find the girl?” Lee said.

“To begin with, he’s a public official and this is a private matter.” I felt that her words carried hidden meaning. “And you know as well as I do that white policemen in white socks and black shoes are never going to find Cargill.”