Walter Mosley - Fearless Jones

“Home,” the man said petulantly.

He was a beautiful young man, tall and muscular with large eyes and lips that belonged on a sculpture entitled Negro Perfection. Even his white T-shirt and torn jeans didn’t take away from the image. Lucas North was made for trouble. But that wasn’t my problem.

“You got to go with us, Luke,” Fearless said.

The young man’s face broke into tears.

“Why?”

“’Cause if you don’t go to court, then Milo’s gonna have to get the cops after your momma for the bail money.”

The little boys started snickering. I could hardly blame them.

“I don’t want my momma to go to jail,” Lucas whimpered.

“Then come with us,” I said.

Lucas was just one of the kids when it came to the comic books at my store. He dropped by as much as the little ones, wanting to trade old ones for ones he hadn’t read yet.

Most of those comics were torn and tattered. But the ones on the floor were brand-new.

“Where’d you boys get new comics?” I asked Elbert.

“Mr. Wally from the market give ’em ’cause he said he was sorry that our store burned down,” the gawky, fish-eyed boy said.

“Maybe he buy you a new store,” Fearless said.

“Yeah,” I said. “Yeah, when his boss giv ’im a little raise.”

20

WE MADE the courthouse before Milo. When he came up to us sitting there with Lucas, he didn’t even give the boy a glance.

“Officer of the court been here?” he asked me.

“Yeah.”

“He sign the boy in?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Then let’s get outta here.”

I got up off the bench.

“Wait up,” Fearless complained. “I wanna know what’s gonna happen with Lucas.”

Milo took a mangled cigarette from his breast pocket and a match from his vest. He lit the cigarette with deliberation. Then he said, “We don’t have the time for that.”

“You go on then,” Fearless said. “I brought Luke down here and I’m gonna stand by ’im.”

I would have left Fearless, but Milo was not so inclined. A few minutes later the boy’s court-appointed lawyer, a white man named Todd, shuffled in and took the boy in for the sentencing. Fearless followed, but Milo and I stayed out.

Milo led me up five flights of stairs to a large and empty, granite-floored hall. We sat together on a polished mahogany bench, and Milo moved close to me like a man who was just about to get serious on a date.

“What you boys into?” he whispered. His breath was so rank that I had to swallow twice before speaking.

“What did you find?”

“Waverly, Brightwater, and Hoffman,” he replied.

“Who are they?”

“People you don’t wanna know. Lawyers that spend all their time with the mob. The kinda lawyers know where the bodies are buried.”

“So?”

Milo peered into my face. He took a deep breath and I leaned back before he could exhale. He put a hand on my neck and squeezed slightly.

“What, Milo?”

“I went down to the state courthouse and fount out that the bailbondsman for your boy is Les Haverford, a white guy work outta Santa Monica.”

I didn’t ask him anything because I wasn’t sure that I wanted to hear the answer.

“I asked him about Leon Douglas like you asked me to,” he said at last. “Had to lie and tell him that I had a man runnin’ around with Leon and that he just jumped his bond. Give him fifty bucks for an address, but that can come outta your ten percent for Lucas.”

“Is that why you brought me up here? To talk about my fee?”

“Douglas was in jail for robbery and attempted murder. He was guilty but he was railroaded too. He did it all right, but they never got the right goods.”

“That’s what Fearless said,” I said, to fill in Milo’s suspicious silence.

“He the one told me about the mob lawyer and whatnot.” Milo stalled again, giving me that questioning stare.

“Come on, Milo. Finish what you got to say or let’s go. This ain’t no interrogation.”

“No?”

“Did you find out where Douglas lives?”

“Yeah.”

“That’s all I want.”

“No it ain’t. Least it better not be.”

“What, Milo?”

“Waverly and them are bad news. And they’re your boy Douglas’s lawyers. They don’t walk into court without ten thousand dollars in their pockets. They the kind if you a witness against ’em, you might just end up dead. I never heard’a Waverly comin’ in on no colored case. They do the Jewish mob and the old money when they cross the line. Niggahs don’t mean a thing to them.”

I was clenching my hands together. My nails were biting into the skin, but I couldn’t let go.

“What you an’ Fearless into, Paris?” Milo Sweet asked.

“I don’t know, Milo,” I said. “I don’t know. I was just sittin’ in my bookstore, that’s all.”

“That innocent act ain’t gonna save you, boy. You got to know where you steppin’ on somethin’ like this.”

I told Milo everything I knew. About Fanny and Sol, about Elana Love and Reverend Grove. I told him about the car chase where they were shooting at me and about them burning down my bookstore. Some of it he already knew, but I laid out everything so he’d know exactly where I stood.

“So you see,” I explained. “I didn’t start nuthin’. I mean, a man got to seek out some justice if he been done wrong, right?”

“Not if justice gonna be your own hangin’.”

The words bore down into my mind. I pulled my hands apart and rubbed them down my chest. It wasn’t that Milo had let me know something so much more terrible than I already knew. But his point of view let me stand back and see how frightening my situation was.

“But there is one thing,” Milo suggested.

“What’s that?”

“If Waverly’s in it, then there’s a whole lotta money involved for sure. I ain’t talkin’ ’bout no colored money now, Paris. I ain’t talkin’ ’bout six months’ rent or new-car kinda money. I’m talkin’ Swiss ski chalet. I’m talkin’ luxury for life.”

Or death, I thought.

“So what you sayin’, Miles?”

“Let’s work together. Let’s find out where the money’s comin’ from. Let’s skim a little luxury off ’a the top.”

“I thought you was so scared’a these boys?” I asked.

“I am,” he agreed vigorously. “Them boys scare me. They should scare you too. Shit. These boys is serious.”

“But you still want in with me an’ Fearless?”

“Just ’cause I’m scared don’t make me no coward,” Milo claimed. “I don’t want them white boys feelin’ that just ’cause they walk in the room that I’m’a scurry out like I’m some kinda rat or cockroach. Naw, baby, scared keep ya sharp.”

FEARLESS, LUCAS, AND INEZ were waiting out in front of the courthouse when Milo and I came down. Inez was grinning at Fearless, holding his hand. He took it all in good spirit, but I could tell that Inez wanted something more tangible.

“Thank you, Mr. Minton,” Lucas said. “They makin’ me do community service with the county park department, but you know that’s good. The judge said that if I learned somethin’ they might just give me a real job there.”

“Thank you, Paris,” Inez said. “And thank you for believing in us, Mr. Sweet.”

“Uh-huh,” the ex-lawyer grunted. “Fearless, you, me, an’ Paris gotta talk.”

“Okay, Milo,” the war hero said.

Inez didn’t want to let go at first. But Fearless finally managed to disentangle himself.

“You gonna call me, Fearless?” she asked.

“Just as soon as I get me a phone, baby. Just as soon as I get me a phone.”

“WE WORK IT together and split whatever profit three ways,” Milo said to us at his office after sending Loretta out for sandwiches.