Walter Mosley - Fearless Jones

“WHEN DID he die?’ I asked Fearless in the parking lot.

“I don’t know. I mean, he was dead when I got there.”

“And the nurse didn’t come in to see him?”

“No. He was dead,” Fearless assured me.

“But how could that be? Aren’t the nurses supposed to check?”

“How should I know?” Fearless said defensively. “Maybe they looked in and saw that he looked peaceful. I don’t know.”

“So he didn’t say nuthin’?” I asked.

“How he gonna say somethin’ if he’s dead, Paris?”

I had no reply, no question to follow up. I wanted Sol to be alive more than anything. He was the only one who really knew about the money everybody was after. And that was the only reason I was still looking for answers. At least with some cash, I could rent another bookstore. But now that he was dead, I knew that it was time to move on.

“You want to go down to Louisiana and visit my mother?” I asked.

“Sure,” Fearless said. “Right after I find who killed Sol and Fanny.”

“The trouble is too deep,” I said. “It’s time for us to split.”

“You go on, Paris. It’s my word on the line here.”

“Your word what? You didn’t promise to find out who killed them.”

“But I promised to protect Fanny, and I didn’t. I bet because she wasn’t comin’ here, that’s why Sol died.”

“Mr. Jones,” I said as a plea.

“You go on, man. You didn’t promise.”

“I was with you, wasn’t I? I got you here. Maybe I even think you’re right, but I’m scared, man, scared to death with all these men fightin’ and killin’.” The truth came out of me without my intention.

Fearless put his steely hand on my shoulder.

“You scared, but you ain’t no coward, Paris. Uh-uh. Matter’a fact, you a hero.”

“What?” I never knew Fearless to try and play anybody, much less me, his best friend.

“Yeah. Hero is just bein’ brave when there’s trouble. An’ bein’ brave means to face your fears and do it anyway. Shoot. You can’t call me a hero ’cause I ain’t scared’a nuthin’ on God’s blue Earth.”

He got me again. Shamed me into going in on something that I should have left alone.

“You go on home,” I said. “I’m’a go over and see Gella and the fool. I’ll be back later on.”

29

GELLA GREETED ME at the door looking over my shoulder for Fearless. He had that kind of effect on people; that’s why I never wanted him to meet my girlfriends before we were solid.

“He couldn’t come,” I said.

Gella smiled, realizing she had been rude. “Come in, Mr. Minton.”

The tiny house was neat and sweet smelling. I imagined that gawky Gella had spent the whole day cleaning, trying to wipe away the stigma of death.

I remembered that Sol was dead and wondered if she had been notified. I decided to leave it up to the hospital. It wasn’t my job to announce death, and anyway, I wouldn’t want any evidence that I was the first one to know. It struck me as strange that the nursing staff was unaware of Sol’s passing for so long. Being safe was still my motto, regardless of Fearless calling me a hero.

“Please have a seat, Mr. Minton.”

“Paris,” I said while lowering myself onto a brown leather chair.

From the outside the Greenspans’ house looked like a plaster castle painted a dull orange. But inside the layout was the same as Sol and Fanny’s house. One contractor must have built tract homes for miles. Back in my little parish in Louisiana every home was different. We were poor, but at least we were different, I thought. That’s how jealousy works sometimes.

I was jealous of the fine wood furnishings and the long, plush drapes that covered an entire wall. There was a grandfather clock with a brass pendulum that must have weighed half a pound and gold-brown carpeting so thick that you’d think you were standing on an ancient pine forest floor.

Her skinny neck had a gold chain on it, and the diamond of her engagement ring was no chip like the wedding stones you found around where I lived.

For a moment I felt sorry that I didn’t send Fearless. Why shouldn’t he be in that house and have that woman draped on him like that chain when her husband finally decided to come home? Why couldn’t he take her on the couch, and on the floor, while that sap of a husband gawked and whined?

I felt the beginnings of an erection as I sat there looking at that red-eyed, sorrowful young woman, but there was no love in my heart. Maybe it was the past few days of danger and mayhem that stripped away the bonds of my rage.

“Is something wrong?” Gella asked me in that slightly nasal voice.

She saw the rage and aggression in my eyes. That recognition doused my anger — and my ardor.

“It’s been a tough few days,” I said.

“Yes it has.”

Gella reached for a small, framed photograph that sat on the coffee table. She looked at it and then handed it over to me. It was a picture of Fanny in a fancy green dress. She was laughing very hard and leaning over to the side like she’d done with me and Fearless that first night. It was a very different picture from the ones in Fanny’s bedroom.

“Uncle Sol gave it to me before they arrested him,” she said. “When he gave it to me, he said, ‘Isn’t she beautiful?’”

“She was a wonderful woman.” I handed the frame back. Then I said, “What’s this about your husband?”

“It’s like I said on the phone.” Gella perched on the end of the matching brown sofa. “For a whole day he wouldn’t eat or talk. Then, when I was washing dishes, he got in his car and drove off.”

“Did he say anything before he left?”

Gella shook her head the way one does when faced with an impossible math problem. “He didn’t seem to know that I was there except once.”

“What happened then?”

“He sat up and looked at me.”

“Is that all?”

“It was in his eyes,” Gella said, her voice skating near grief. “He was begging me with his eyes. There were tears, and he tried to say something…”

“What did the police say?”

“What?”

“What did the police say about Fanny?”

“Oh,” Gella said. Maybe she had forgotten about the death of her aunt, maybe she wanted to forget. “They wanted to know if there was any trouble in the family. They asked where Morris was when Sol was attacked.”

“Where was he?” I asked.

“At work. He has a part-time night job working for a man named Minor.”

“Zev,” I said.

“Yes. Do you know him?”

“He came to Fanny’s right after we found her, you had already left for the hospital. Said he wanted to say hi.”

“That’s strange.”

“Why?”

“I didn’t think that they knew Mr. Minor. I’m sure they didn’t.”

“He said he knew them back in the old country, that him and Sol lived in the same town.”

“He never met Sol since Morris worked for him,” Gella said. “And Morris never told me that he was a landsman.”

“What does your husband do for this guy?” I asked.

“He’s learning to be an insurance agent.”

“What kinda insurance?”

“Art.”

“Say what?”

“Mr. Minor writes policies for expensive paintings and sculptures. It’s a very good business.” There was pride in her voice, pride for her smart husband and his good choices. “Morris is already making more money in his night job than he does at the bank.”

“You got somethin’ to drink?” I asked.

The Greenspan kitchen looked even more like Fanny’s, even the wallpaper was the same. The only difference was that where Fanny had mismatched dishes and cookware, Gella had copper pots and dishes all with the same deep blue floral pattern.