Walter Mosley - Fear Itself

“And she did her cat impression to thank you?”

“Not right then. I walked her to the door and then I left. You know I figured that somebody would get me fired over that. But what happened was that Illyana asked the head gardener —”

“You mean you weren’t the only one?” I asked.

“It was a big place so they had four people on the grounds,” Fearless said. “Anyway, the guy whose nose I broke had left and the head gardener didn’t even know about the fight and so he gave the girl my address.”

“Didn’t he think it was strange that some young white girl wanted a colored gardener’s address?”

“She said that I had done some work for them on the side but they weren’t home to pay me, so that her daddy wanted the address to send me my pay. Anyway, she come over to say thanks and ended up spendin’ the night.”

“And then she told you about her father?”

“After a while she did. You know I think she just wanted one night to see what a dark man could do. I guess she liked it, because she was always callin’ after that. But then we went to the Huntington Library and one of her friends saw us. Illyana pretended that she wasn’t wit’ me, and then later she said about her father.”

“So you broke up with her?”

“Naw, man. I wasn’t afraid of her old man. Shit, I started takin’ her all over the place after that. Then one night a big ugly dude come up on me when I was takin’ a shortcut down the alley to my house. White dude. Real fast.” Fearless said these last two words with respect. That meant something, because Fearless was possessed of blinding speed.

“What happened?” I was beginning to regret my request to hear the story, but by then it was too late.

“The white guy told me that Illyana was off limits and that he was gonna rough me up so that I would remember in the future. I remember he said, No hard feelings. ”

Fearless was lost in thought for a little while. We were getting close to the Denker address.

“So what happened?” I finally asked.

“He was good,” Fearless said with a single nod. “Too good. I killed him right there under a Lucky Strike sign.”

“And then you and Illyana broke it off?”

“Then I walked home and went to bed. The next day, when I knew Illyana was gonna be out, I went over to her house and knocked on the door. I told the colored woman who answered to take me to Mr. Canto. And when I sat down in front’a him I said that the next man I kill won’t be his errand boy but him. Then I broke it off with Illyana.”

“Did you tell her about her father?”

“She already knew about him, man. She the one told me.”

We pulled up in front of the boardinghouse and I jumped out with Fearless Jones’s story still swirling in my mind.

20

WE DECIDED THAT FEARLESS WOULD GO back to Ambrosia’s house while I did my question thing.

“Yes?” a middle-aged, auburn colored woman asked me at the door. She wore a once-black housedress that had faded to a reddish gray. The hem came down to the middle of her shins. Over the dress she had a white apron that hinted at a powder blue heyday.

“Hello, ma’am,” I said. “I’m looking for the super or the landlord for the rooms.”

“That’s me,” she said. “Victoria Moore. I’m the owner.”

“Well hello, Victoria Moore. Glad to meet ya.” I put on my brightest smile. “My name is Thad Hendricks. I’m just in from the Bay Area and a friend’a mine told me that you had a recent vacancy. I’m down here lookin’ for work while planning my wedding. She’s from down around here, and I thought that I could scout out a job before sinkin’ too much money into rent.”

The woman’s face lit up. Everything I said delighted her: looking for the room, planning to get married, saving a dollar, and applying for jobs. I was the daydream she’d been having two minutes before the doorbell rang.

“Oh, isn’t that wonderful,” she said.

“So do you have a room available, Mrs. Moore?”

“Miss Moore,” she said. “And yes, I do happen to have a vacancy. You know that Kit Mitchell just up and left one morning and never came back. He owed me a week’s rent. I’m down twelve dollars as it is.”

“That’s pretty steep for just a room, isn’t it?” I asked, not wanting to seem overly eager.

“It’s a very large room, Mr. Hendricks,” Miss Moore said. “On the top floor. With a view. And the twelve dollars is for both room and board.”

“Can I see it?”

The landlady was short but so am I. She looked at my face and then down around my feet.

“No bag?”

I reached for my wallet and produced my last five- and ten-dollar bills.

“I left my bag with my fiancée,” I said. “You know I’ll only be staying here a week, and so I’d be happy to add on three dollars to what you usually get. And if you rent the room to me, at least you won’t lose a second week’s rent while looking for a more permanent tenant.”

Miss Moore reached for the money but I held it back.

“Could I see the room first?”

The landlady closed her hand and smiled.

“Of course, Mr. Hendricks. You’re going to fall in love with it I’m sure.”

THE FRONT DOOR LED INTO A LARGE DINING ROOM with a long table that had fourteen mismatched chairs set at placemats with the dishware and cutlery already out.

“We serve coffee, toast, and hard-boiled eggs in the morning, and dinner six nights a week,” Miss Moore informed me as we walked through the dining room and into a long hallway.

Halfway down the hall a door swung open and a large man dressed only in a T-shirt and boxer shorts emerged. He was fat and freckled, lemon-colored and past fifty.

“Miss Moore,” he said in an accent that had to be put on. “I distinctly remember you promising me that I would be told when the tub was ready for my bath.”

“Oh, Mr. Conroy. You aren’t dressed,” she said.

This observation caused the big man to fold his arms over his belly.

“I said,” Miss Moore continued, “that you were next on the list. But you can’t expect me to be watching the tub and then running down here to tell you when it’s ready. I’ve been washing linens all morning. And then there’s dinner I have to prepare.”

The landlady’s gaze drifted to Mr. Conroy’s stomach upon mentioning the meal. He hugged himself even tighter.

“This is Mr. Hendricks, Mr. Conroy. He’s going to be with us for a week.”

“Pleased to meet you,” I said.

I held out my hand but he didn’t take it.

“It’s that wicked girl Charlotta taken my bath,” Conroy said to me. “She will take your bath and pick your pocket if you don’t lock your door.”

“Mr. Conroy, I will not have you bad-mouthing the other tenants.”

“But she —”

“Not another word. Come with me, Mr. Hendricks.”

The stern property owner led me to the end of the hall, where there was a surprisingly wide staircase. We went up three flights and came to a small landing that had only one door. Miss Moore took a brass Sargent key from her apron pocket and worked it on the lock.

It was a beautiful room, having a ten-foot ceiling and picture windows on either side. The bed was maple and stood two feet or more off the floor. The walls were painted a watery coral. Underneath the coat you could see the dim patterns of wallpaper that the painters had been too lazy to strip off. There was a big stuffed chair in one corner and a simple cherry table that could have been used for dining or as a desk in another. It even had a sink against one wall in case I got up in the middle of the night and needed to wash my face.

Through one of the windows I could see the tops of houses all the way to the hills that separated L.A. proper from the valley. There were pine, palm, carob, and a dozen other varieties of trees and wide asphalt roadways with very little traffic on them. There were children playing in the streets and clotheslines heavy with the day’s cleaning in almost every backyard. Here and there an incinerator put out white smoke, and the sky was that deep blue that threatens to suck the breath right out of your lungs.