Borrow Trouble (19 page)

“Now you're talking,” Henry chuckled. “This time I get first crack at 'em, so don't go latching on to the prettiest one like you always do.”

“I wouldn't think of it,” Baltimore told him, with fingers crossed behind his back. “I'm aiming to get bigger things on the menu than way-too-oversized waitresses with nothing better to do than eat up all of their tips.” Baltimore struck out walking, with Henry looking at him oddly, not sure whether to believe him or not.

“Say, wait up, Baltimo'!” he yelled ahead. “You think all of 'em might be too oversized? Hey, man, hold up. Too oversized for who? A large woman keeps a warm bed. It's the wrong season to be cattin' around after a skinny woman.”

A
bel's Diner, resting on the corner of Twelfth and Front Street, wasn't all that big a place, but what it lacked in size, it made up for with an abundance of character. There was a late-night crowd posted up in the rear booths. Baltimore smiled when his eyes landed on all them folks because he'd gone searching for nourishment, too, after rabble-rousing the night away. There were three bottom-of-the-barrel working girls sitting at the table near the door, licking their wounds and sulking over low temperatures and low-down clients. It had been a long while since Baltimore felt so at ease and at home. These were his kinds of people, and Abel's was his kind of spot. “Table for two,” he said to a dark brown, ample-breasted matron dressed in a yellow waitress uniform, with a white hat and apron to match.

“Right this way,” she answered gleefully while eyeing Henry especially. “Y'alls new in town, huh?”

“Uh-huh, just blew in this morning,” offered Henry as they took a seat at the small wooden table. “We might need some company getting adjusted…being new and all.”

“Well, I ain't a part of no welcoming committee, but I have been known to help a man get adjusted, if you know what I mean. The name's Hattie,” she added, pointing with her thumb toward the name embroidered on her outfit, above her left breast.

“Nice to meet you, Hattie,” said Baltimore in a hurried tone. “I'm sure you're a pip at getting men folk adjusted, but we need to eat. I'm powerful hungry.” Henry flashed a panicked expression across the table, as if pleading with Baltimore to lighten up on his sure thing. “I didn't mean no disrespect, Hattie, but my friend Henry had himself a hot meal last night. Me, I had to work through the dinner bell. I know a seasoned woman like yourself can understand how I might be a bit testy this morning,” Baltimore explained, noting the streaking stretch marks streaming down her cleavage. He considered apprising his wide-eyed friend of Hattie's potential litter of young children at home, but Henry was smiling so eagerly that Baltimore couldn't see himself being the bearer of bad news.

“No offense taken,” Hattie said, blushing. “Of course, I understand, sugar. Mens tend to act just like little ole boys when they ain't had enough to eat. I'm about to shove off, but I'll see to it that somebody takes good care of you and your friend.” She scribbled some numbers down on an order slip from a thick booklet, then tore off the top sheet. “Here you go, Henry. Call me direct if you want to be my friend, too.”

“Yes, ma'am,” Henry said excitedly. “I'll be sure to call this evening, once we get settled.”

“See to it that you do,” Hattie insisted in parting.

Henry watched her wide hips rock from one side of the room to the other, but Baltimore was busy watching the menu. It had been close to a full day since he'd eaten, and he grew seemingly more agitated by the minute. “I wish Hattie would send somebody over and fast. I'm getting light-headed,” Baltimore complained. “They can't all be that slow.”

“Some of us are faster than others, I would imagine,” debated a waitress of slight build, who seemed to appear out of thin air. Her complexion was a dead-on match for Baltimore's, and the way her green eyes slanted up at the outer corners gave the impression that at least one of her ancestors was of Asian descent. A thick black curl dangled from her temple, down past her ear, purposely covering a fresh mark on the right side of her face. Suddenly, Baltimore wasn't as starved as he had been just moments before. He caught himself wondering if the bruise on the woman's face was caused by a careless mishap with a straightening comb or a cowardly man who'd beat on her while trying to make up for one of his own shortcomings.

“I see,” said Baltimore finally. “Please order me up a whole plate of flapjacks, a big slice of ham, and a chicken coop full of eggs. Then come back in ten minutes and see what else I have room for.”

The waitress smiled, lingering around to hear what Henry had in mind. “I'll have the same,” he told her cordially.

“Now, both of you can save a dollar apiece if you're willing to trade ham for sausage,” she suggested, cocking her narrow hip in Baltimore's direction. “That's a good deal any way you cut it.”

“I'll bet it is, Macy,” Baltimore agreed, as he read the name on her uniform before she dashed away to submit their breakfast requests. “Look at there, Henry. A woman who saves a man's money instead of spending it all. She knows how to make a good impression.”

“Yeah, I'll bet that's the same thing her husband thought when he decided on marrying her,” Henry argued. “Her shirt said Macy, but her wedding band was screaming
missus
.” Concern colored his face. “Baltimo', we came here to get a line on some real money. Getting involved with another man's wife can't do us nothing but harm. Supposing he catches you with her, and you have to kill him?”

“Relax, Henry. I just met the woman, and you've already put us together against a loaded gun. I'm not gonna get behind no trouble over this woman,” Baltimore assured him, not believing a word of it himself. He was certain that Macy's situation stood some investigating, but he couldn't share that with Henry until it was too late for him to do anything about it.

After Baltimore sopped up a puddle of molasses with a hot buttered biscuit, Macy pranced around to see if the fellows had had their fill. Henry surveyed the way she took her time collecting the dishes on Baltimore's side of the table. Baltimore picked up on it as well, but it didn't bother him at all. There was something soft about her, genteel, he noticed while making a play to keep her buzzing near just a little while longer. “So, Macy, seeing as how you're situated with a man and all, tell me where a fella who was down on his luck might get his hands on some nice working clothes?”

The waitress giggled, rubbing her thumb underneath the gold wedding band, as if she was still getting used to the jewelry, as well as the idea altogether. “Working clothes, you say? Day clothes or the other kinds?” she asked in such a manner that left no doubt she wasn't as genteel as Baltimore had previously imagined. That made him smile on the inside, deep down where it really counts.

“The other kind, secondhand if we can get 'em,” Henry threw in, trying to break up a collision with destiny sure to leave somebody in a deep dug hole before it was all said and done.

“Uhhh, yeah,” Macy stuttered. “There is this place over off Vine where a couple of men looking to put in some late hours could get outfitted on the cheap. Ask for Rascal. He's my second cousin.”

Before Baltimore had the chance to thank Macy for the tip, she was off to see about another table. Henry hopped up, tossed some money down, and dragged his amorous companion out of the restaurant before the waitress became overwhelmed with the inclination to come back and linger some more. “Man, you're getting to be a handful, pulling on me like that,” Baltimore huffed once they were out onto the sidewalk. “I didn't come between you and your lustful eyes for Hattie's buzzums, now did I? No, I didn't. Know why? Because sometimes you got to let a man make his own mistakes so he can appreciate the wrong he did while making them.”

Henry was still trying to comprehend the reasoning in Baltimore's logic by the time they came upon the slightly used clothing store. “Who was that we supposed to ask for?” Baltimore asked as they entered the establishment, overwrought with secondhand men's clothes. Actually, the selection was better than either man had anticipated. Some of the suits were in such perfect condition that Baltimore spent all but six dollars on a new wardrobe and a descent suitcase to carry it in, once Rascal got to flouncing around all in a tizzy. Macy had purposely omitted the fact that her cousin, on her mother's side, had a special flare for fashion and a fondness for helping men to look their best, especially the ones who stood out in a crowd. Baltimore fit the bill perfectly.

“Henry, I feel like a man of means,” Baltimore gushed, staring at his pin-striped threads in the store mirror, with Rascal standing not too far off.

“Yeah, but you smell like embalming fluid and mothballs,” Henry joked, insinuating that the suit had been lifted from a mortuary.

Baltimore sniffed at the lapels and nearly gagged. “Ohh, man. It smells like they just rolled the body out of it this morning. It's alright, though. For the price, you can't beat it. I'll air it out. Tell Rascal I'm taking this one for a walk, a long walk.”

“Hell, naw. You tell him,” Henry refused. “Man with ways like that makes me nervous. I'll be waiting outside.”

All dressed up and no place to go, Henry agreed to let Baltimore work on securing them a warm place to lay their heads while saving their remaining money to eat on. While they were busy deciding on a quick scam to get the ball rolling, a dark-colored taxicab roared past, then slammed on the brakes. Henry backed up on the curb when the tires screeched toward them in reverse. As if on cue, the cab driver climbed out of the four-door sedan like a paid chauffeur. “Baltimore Floyd, that is you!” the short, stumpy-built dust-colored man hailed.

“Well, I'll be,” Baltimore replied happily. “As I live and breathe, Pudge Gillis. Ain't nobody slapped you in the clink yet?” As Henry looked on curiously, Baltimore shook hands with the man half his size, dressed in a suit of clothes two sizes too big, as if he was still expecting to grow into them.

“Naw, but that don't stop 'em from trying, though,” Pudge answered, peering up at Henry. “Who's this you got with you?”

“Pudge Gillis is the man who knows everything going on south of Eighteenth Street. Pudge, say hello to my good friend Henry Taylor. He's liable to be the next starting catcher for the Monarchs,” Baltimore boasted truthfully. Henry was an accomplished ballplayer with a St. Louis farm team waiting on a Negro League charter.

“Hi ya, Henry. That's some mighty high praise coming from Baltimore,” Pudge said, nodding in admiration. “You know he's not too quick to hand it out.”

“Boy, do I,” answered Henry. “But I'll takes 'em where I can get 'em.”

“Fellas, what brings y'all to town so soon after the new year?” Pudge asked as his car idled near the curb.

“Let's get in your Ford and talk about it,” suggested Baltimore. Once they were inside the taxi, Pudge began sniffing similar to the way Baltimore had in front of the store mirror.

“Smells like a funeral back there,” Pudge cackled. “Let your windows down a notch so's that burial suit Rascal sold you airs out a bit.”

“Told you so,” grunted Henry, relieved to lower his window.

Baltimore smirked at Henry while doing likewise. “You can tell me all day long if you want. These are some mighty fine rags, and I don't give a damn what…” he started out saying before pleading for Pudge to stop the car. “Pull it over! Right there!” he ranted hysterically when his eyes landed on a moneymaking opportunity of the sweetest kind. As soon as the car slowed enough to jump out, Baltimore did just that. The pointy-toed wing tips he'd just purchased were hardly worn, so the leather soles were as slick as ice when they landed on the hard concrete.

After Henry's eyes discovered what Baltimore was chomping at the bit to involve himself with, he feared the worst. He saw a lady, a very beautiful white lady, being manhandled directly outside of a posh department store, where a neatly stenciled sign hung near the entrance. “No Blacks,” Henry read, with labored breath. “Ahh, naw, we's going on the chain gang for sure.”

Pudge, sitting behind the wheel, threw the gearshift in park and craned his neck to watch. He didn't know what to expect, but it would be something to talk about, no matter how it ended, he reasoned. “Shush now. Just check it out,” he whispered in Henry's direction. “Yep, this ought to be good.”

The lady tossed her long honey blond–hued hair and wailed at the cleanly shaven middle-aged man dapped in a light checkered suit, with his mind set on holding on to her. A small crowd gathered when Baltimore flew right into the middle of it. “There you are, madame,” he greeted the woman, using his best English. Although shaken, the woman maintained her stunning appearance, draped in a fine dark-colored faux sable coat and a chocolate, crescent-shaped cloth hat to set off the ensemble. “We've been searching for you throughout,” Baltimore huffed, merely inches from the woman's face. “Mr. Woolworth will be so glad we've managed to stave off another embarrassing setback.” The woman continued wrestling with the white man over her large red handbag with polished wooden handles. “We've hired this taxi and looked for you endlessly,” Baltimore threw in to boost the swelling lie he'd spun.

“I don't know who you are or what you're talking about, but I'm the store manager, and this shoplifter is going to jail as soon as the police get here,” the man asserted firmly. That's when Baltimore kicked it up another level.

“Sir, I'm Elmer Crenshaw. Perhaps we should discuss this inside before you make a dreadful miscalculation and, most assuredly, cause one of the wealthiest men in this country a grave disservice.”

The store manager narrowed his eyes at the brash, well-spoken Negro offering to talk up on a proposition. He figured the least he could do was listen and maybe do a lot better for himself on the back end. “Okay, you have one minute, but she comes with us,” he demanded, as if he hadn't just given her up by agreeing to hear the fast-talking con man out.

“Thank you, sir, and believe me you will not regret this,” Baltimore affirmed. “Mrs. Woolworth, the mister sent me after you, hoping you haven't gotten yourself into another predicament like you did back in Chicago.” When the manager appeared stunned, Baltimore knew he had him. “Yes, sir, she's done this sort of thing before, I'm afraid. She has a condition,” he whispered softly, so as not to add insult to injury.