Ed Lacy - Sin In Their Blood

“How come?”

“Harry had some old judgments against him, so he kept his stock—75%—in my name. Now it's all mine.”

I stared at her. “Harry did that?”

“Sure.”

“Come, Flo, Harry wasn't that simple.”

She shrugged. “He was covered—had something on me, a real tough rap that.... No sense telling you about it. Why do you think I stood for his being a louse?”

“For the car, the clothes.”

“That helped, but he had me against the wall. Oh, I had to make out a will in his favor, lot of other legal razzle-dazzle, but he didn't bother changing anything before he tried the wild blue yonder. That's something I can't figure. Harry wasn't the kind to...? Hell with it, and him. Matt, I want you as a partner.”

“No.”

“Harry was knocking down a clear twenty grand a year, and he was only starting. I'll give you ten— that's a good shake. And if we're together, we have all the twenty.”

“Baby, I don't want any part of this outfit.”

Flo shrugged again and everything was like jelly. “I don't know what it's all about, but it's big dough, from the back pocket. Matt, I need you to operate. Need a strong man to run things.”

“What's the matter with the creep?”

“Him? You kidding? Look, this racket is all a bluff. I need a hard guy who can walk a tight-rope, drive hard... and know when to pull in his horns. Harry always used to say, a good libel suit would ruin him. In short, I need a tough guy with common sense. That's you. My God, Matt, we'll live big, plenty of jack coming in for a few hours' work, time to travel and...”

“Look, honey, we're done, I told you that.”

“You have another girl, I know it. That's okay. I still want you. Let me hang around long enough.... I'll take my chances. You'll be a part...”

There was a knock on the door and Thatcher came in, holding a file card. He whispered something into Flo's ear, his eyes trying hard not to travel down into her dress. She said, “Oh, for God's sake, shut up, you!”

“But it's true,” he said loudly, waving the card before her. “In 1946 a Matt Ranzino signed a petition to the governor, asking that the use of tear gas be outlawed in strikes and...”

He was bending over the desk, his can within reaching distance. I gave him a little goose and as he jumped and turned to look at me, I slapped his thin face. He and his glasses went sailing across the room. As he picked himself up, I got up and took the card out of his hand. Tearing it into little pieces, I told him, “Don't stick your nose into my business, junior.”

“But that proves,” he began, as he put his glasses back on, “that...”

“It proves what it says, I signed a petition. Now get out of here.”

He turned to Flo. “We can't hire anybody who...”

She waved him away, crushed her cigarette in a fancy bronze ashtray shaped like a nude woman—probably one of Harry's pet possessions. “You heard the man— get out.”

When he left, I asked, “The creep own much stock?”

“Naw, he's just an employee. I can fire him any time.”

“That's an idea. By the way, what's the time?” I asked, nodding toward the tiny diamond-studded watch on her wrist. It was a corny way of getting out of there, but it was time to call Atlanta.

Flo held up her hand so I could see it was two-twenty. “Don't rush off, Matt.”

“Got to.”

“Then think it over. It's important, for both of us.”

“I told you I don't...”

“You don't lose nothing by thinking it over. Let's talk again, tomorrow. Okay?”

“I'll think about it.” I waved and Flo blew a kiss at me as I went out.

I dropped into the first phone booth I passed, called Max, asked if he'd ever heard of Flo being wanted for anything, or in a jam.

“Not that I know of,” Max said. “I'll check if you want. What's up?”

“Nothing. But check.” I hung up and called my expensive buddy in Atlanta, reversing the charges. He said he'd received the money, and in a few short sentences told me what I wanted to know.

I took a cab out to Mrs. Samuels' and we had another little talk. “Can you leave town?”

“Do I have to?” she asked.

“I don't know. Be better if you do. Could you move to L.A. or Harlem, get lost there? I know it's a lot to ask and if you can't, why...”

“Why is it a lot to ask? Haven't anything to hold me here.”

“Any relations?”

She shook her head. “I'm nearly 62, all my kin has died. Had two boys but they never growed up, never reached twelve. Lost one at childbirth... hospital didn't want no colored. Other, got sick when he was eleven... one of these flu epidemics. Guess can't blame that on his being colored. Maybe I'll go to L.A. Sick of this old town anyway.”

“Need money?”

“I have some savings.”

“Listen carefully, then forget what I'm telling you. I'm going to see that Saxton gets the works. I don't want you to return if you should read about the case, even if it says they're looking for you. And we never talked about this. Get that?”

“Yes.”

“Now, in case they should bring you back to testify, you never had an idea Henry Wilson was colored. They'll cross-examine you pretty hard on the witness stand, but you must stick to your story. And don't worry about perjury. After all, you haven't any proof Henry was passing. It's merely an idea of yours. From now on you must think Henry was white.”

“All right... but he wasn't.”

“You just think he wasn't. Tell me, in all good faith, could you swear in court that Henry wasn't white?”

“Shucks, I'm sure... pretty sure... he was passing. I can tell. What you got in mind to do?”

I was afraid to tell her, you never know when and why a person will talk. I said curtly, “You're wrong, I have definite proof he was white.”

“You sure?”

“Are you?”

“Well... if you say...”

“You see, you're really not absolutely positive. The thing to do is convince yourself—from now on—that he was white. I can't tell you what I'm going to do—less you know, better off you are. Understand, I don't mean I don't trust you, but I can't have anybody else in on this. It's my play.”

“I believe you.”

“And if you ever do get on the witness stand, you left town to look for work and you never even suspected Henry of being colored. Chances are you won't be called back, but if you are...”

“I only saw you that one time out at the house and I'm surprised anybody should think Mister Henry wasn't white.”

I grinned. “Fine. And don't write to anyone, not even me, telling them where you are. You have to disappear.”

“Who'm I going to write to? Got a few friends I see in church, that's all. Just Sunday friends.”

I stood up. “How soon you leaving?”

“Tonight. Haven't much to pack. When you work as a maid you don't have no real home. The house you work in is a sort of home, only it isn't. This... this is merely a room.”

We shook hands. I said, “Good-bye, Florence. You're quite a woman.”

“You look mean and nasty, but you're a good white man, Matt. I hope we win.”

“We'll sure give it a good try.”

At the door she asked, “You really got proof Henry was white?”

I winked at her, put a finger across my lips... like a kid.

When I reached the bungalow Mady gave me a big kiss, asked, “Everything all right about... this Harry?”

“Sure. Forget it.”

“We got a gift.” She pointed to two bottles of bonded rye on the table. “Liquor-store kid brought them. Said Saxton called and had them sent over.”

I examined the seals, the bottoms of the bottles. “Don't seem to have been tampered with. Wouldn't put it past that bastard to send you poisoned rye—although that would be too obvious.”