Borrow Trouble (22 page)

“Yeah, girls,” they heard Franchetta reply somberly, as if sedated. “Come on in.”

When the door cracked slightly, Daisy pushed Melvina from behind, and the door flew open all the way. It slammed against Franchetta's expensive armoire. The girls had their mouths fixed to apologize for the loud disturbance until their eyes discovered a sight to behold. Franchetta was lying on her heavy iron-framed bed, at the foot of it, with her head facing them. She was totally nude, and so was Baltimore, who was busy spreading peanut butter on Franchetta's behind and licking it off while she caught her breath. Hence, all of the giggling emanating from the love nest. It appeared that Baltimore had picked up a few things since Chicago as well.

“Uh, we was kinda wondering if you had finished convincing him yet,” Melvina said slowly, her trepidations fading fast.

Raising her head just enough to view two of her roommates salivating, Franchetta smiled wearily. “Sounds to me like you wanna help some.”

When Baltimore sat up to return the peanut butter jar back to the nightstand, Daisy saw his thick penis lying on the bed, between his legs. “Frannie, don't mean to tell me Baltimore's been riding you around the mattress all this time on that big ole red thang?”

“Uh-huh,” she answered, falling off to sleep. “You ought to try convincing him some.” That was the go-ahead the onlookers needed to join in the business negotiations.

Melvina kicked the door closed with the heel of her shoe when Chick didn't get up to put in her bid. “Hey, Baltimore, I just got to know. Do you sleep with a sock on it?”

Henry returned home minutes later to soft music playing on the radio and a familiar aroma in the air. He took off his coat, put the carton of ice cream down on the coffee table, and began sniffing the air. “What's going on, Chick? I done gone all over hunting up some ice cream, and now everybody's turned in.”

“Nah, they're all in Frannie's room, talking business with Baltimore,” she informed him from the other side of a half-empty brandy glass.

“Oh, that don't make no kinda sense,” Henry reasoned. “Business, huh?” He marched over to the bedroom and put his ear to it just as the ladies had done. When the laughter started, Henry turned the knob and eased the door open. Through the thin crease, he saw Melvina smearing what appeared to be peanut butter between Baltimore's legs. “Oh, my good-goodness,” Henry stuttered softly, trying to get the door closed without being detected. He turned to Chick, licking his lips. “They got a jar of brown spreading butter in there. How's about us getting some strawberry preserves and going upstairs to talk the sorta business they's got going on?”

Chick wrinkled her nose, sipped from her glass, and then went back to the magazine Daisy had left behind. “You're outta luck, Henry,” she said coldly. “Let me tip you off to something so we don't have to travel over this road again. I'm off tonight, and if I ain't in the mood to sell it, I'll just keep sitting on it before I'd give it away.”

Henry was fuming as he traced his steps back to Franchetta's door. “Aw man, if three's a crowd, there can't be no more room for me,” he said to no one in particular. “Hey, Chick,” he called out. “Tell Baltimo' I'm going to run downtown and see Hattie. He'll know what I'm talking about.”

“You tell him yourself in the morning,” she snapped rudely. “He's likely to be in there getting convinced all night long, and I'm going to bed with my forty-four,” she added, just in case Henry got the bright idea to come upstairs and try his hand at convincing her.

“‘Night, Chick,” he said on his way out of the front door, shrugging on the coat he'd only moments before taken off.

“Night, Henry,” she said softly after he was out of the door and gone.

I
t was just after seven in the morning when Baltimore found himself sitting behind a steaming cup of black coffee at the kitchen table. He'd showered and changed into dark slacks and a dress shirt, and he felt good about shaking off that bad luck shadow that'd been hounding him. Once the jar of peanut butter had been scraped out at about the same time as the girls' will to continue, Baltimore had begun to think out his strategy for making the most of the next five days of his life. He smiled awkwardly, considering something his Bible-preaching father had said before disowning him at the age of eighteen. Following a thunderous argument, the pastor's words had rung out like a loud clamoring against the sky. “Runnin' women, drinking, and gambling all night long ain't nothin' but a fool's paradise!” his father had shouted and then had thrown Baltimore's clothes out onto the lawn. Now, more than ten years later, he was preparing himself to play the fool again, if he took stock in what the old man had to say.

Baltimore chuckled while staring into the cup of murky liquid sitting on the table. He remembered his own response to his father's venomous rants. “Don't think I on't know about the black side of your devilment, too, you hypocrite!” Baltimore had growled back at him. “I'd rather be a fool in paradise than a preacher cabaretin' his way to hell with the flock's money burning a hole in his pocket. You damned right I run women. It's good work if you can get it. You ought to know better than anybody, Brotha Pastor!” In all of the years he'd been away from home, the one thing Baltimore regretted was saying those vile things with his mother looking on from the bay window. Embarrassment had masked her expression, and it had nearly stopped Baltimore cold, but his father's hatred had spurned him on. “See you in hell, old man!” he'd cussed loudly, dodging hard-soled shoes hurled off the front porch. “If I get there first, I'll tell the fellas you'll be down directly and have 'em save a spot for you!” Full of piss and vinegar, Baltimore had been too grown to hold up under another man's roof and rules. He never made the same mistake twice.

Henry stomped through the front door, rusty and reeking of alcohol. Baltimore glanced over at him as he plopped down at the small wooden kitchen table. “Where you been that's got you looking all spit out?” Baltimore inquired suspiciously. “Seeing as how you passed on joining me and the girls last night, I figured you and Chick was upstairs getting acquainted.”

“Hell, naw, Chick wouldn't have nothing to do with me, and I don't pretend cottonin' to brown butter spread nor trying to satisfy a crowd, neither.” It was obvious that Henry was exasperated over something, but Baltimore didn't have time to concern himself with it.

“Here you go, Henry. Start off by drinking some of this,” Baltimore suggested to him. “Then you need to get your head straight, 'cause we've got a mess of business to get on today.”

“Done spent most of the night getting my head straightened over at Hattie's, and then I woke up with somebody jiggling on the bedroom doorknob, wanting to get in,” Henry explained. “I reached for something to strike back with but came up nellow. I was about to let loose and fly, with my Johnson dangling, when three of the ugliest little children kicked the door in and commenced to hopping up in the bed.”

“Three of 'em?” Baltimore asked. “What'd you do then?”

“Who me? I hid in betwixt the covers and kept quiet,” Henry answered, glaring at Baltimore, who was trying to hold his laughter down to a mild roar. “Man, it wasn't nothing to laugh about. Hattie could've told me she had three of them monsters all younger than school age; a mama with the gout, living in her basement; and a man who done run off last fall. That ain't the worst of it, though. When Hattie peeled of her clothes, she had more stretch rings than a mighty oak tree.”

Laughing again, Baltimore sipped from his cup before asking an obvious question. “When are you going back again?”

“We got another date tomorrow night,” Henry replied nonchalantly. “Yep, can't pass up on all that, especially this thing she does where her yams flap together. All night long, it sounded like somebody was in the bed with us, cheering me on.”

“Catch a bath, and get on back down, Romeo. I'll put on another pot of coffee and start up breakfast. It won't be long before the girls wake with a powerful want for something to eat.”

“I'll bet they're tired as hell of that brown butter spread,” sneered Henry.

“Don't matter none. We finished that off around five or so this morning. It took me damned near an hour to get all of it off everything I aimed to keep,” joked Baltimore as he opened the round-faced icebox to hunt for ham and eggs.

By nine o'clock everyone had eaten and discussed Baltimore's strategy to best utilize their time throughout the week. Before Pudge arrived, Baltimore explained how he and Henry would set up an office to take the calls and prime the cow from both ends and in the middle; that meant working the men and the money. If he went about his business the right way, he figured to have everyone up to their eyeballs just after dinnertime the same day. Baltimore understood how some white men liked to let their hair down while out of town and sample some of the local delicacies in the process. He also understood how quickly those men would pass the word around, raving about how good the steak would be if he did an adequate job of selling the sizzle. So, that was what he and Henry set out to do when Pudge pulled up to the curb and tooted on the horn.

“Hi ya, fellas,” Pudge hailed from the driver's side of the taxi. “Where are we off to first?”

“Hey there, Pudge,” Baltimore hollered back as he approached the long blue and beige automobile.

“I'd like to know that myself,” Henry said, breaking down the front part of the brim of a light-colored felt hat.

“Run us over to Unca Chunk's,” Baltimore decided as he counted his money over again, as if it had multiplied in his front pocket since the last time he counted it. “Me and Chunk's got unfinished business.” When Henry heard the cold tenor in Baltimore's voice, he was glad he'd borrowed a hammer from the car shed out back of Franchetta's house. He never could tell when he might need to bring something along with him that was harder than Baltimore's head.

Uncle Chunk's was a watering hole and pool hall on the east side of town, just off of Troost Avenue and Eighteenth Street. The building sat on the corner like a shady gangster surveying the intersection, with a broad gray brick face and a high roof that flattened off way up on the second floor. The establishment was the most popular hangout among local and visiting jazz musicians looking for a redhot jam session after they'd finished playing paying gigs earlier in the night. Uncle Chunk's offered everyone who walked through the door a no-holds-barred good time, as the music burned brightly until daybreak, and frequently deep into the next morning.

Baltimore knocked at the door, with his head down. He was already working on his next stop after getting what he needed from the bar and grill's proprietor. “Come on now. Open up!” he shouted. “Pull your pants up and tend to the door. I know you're in there, you fat bastard, 'cause I done busted out all the windows on that shiny Cadillac you so affectionate about parked across the street!” Pudge watched from the taxi while Baltimore looked at Henry and motioned with his head. “Henry, when he comes rambling out of there, you get to the right of his shooting hand.”

Suddenly, the large oak door flew open. Baltimore leapt to the left side of the door, reaching in his waistband for the dead man's gun he'd taken off the train. Henry stood pensively, confused, quaking in his shoes, with a carpenter's hammer raised above his head as an older dark-skinned man came waddling out onto the sidewalk. At several inches above six feet, he was just as wide as he was tall. The big man's pants were zipped but unfastened at the waist, and his shirttail flapped in the breeze. The long-barreled pistol he stuck in Henry's face was steady, and his aim locked on. “Who the hell are you to be busting up my car and…,” he said, interrogating Henry before Baltimore eased the steel revolver he'd brought along against the big man's right temple.

Baltimore frowned at the man's poor decision to dye his hair coal black to cover the gray beneath. “How many times I got to tell you to draw from the right and aim to the left, you old reprobate?” Baltimore warned him as he pulled back the hammer on his gun. The large man sighed slowly and lowered the pistol to his side. “Look at there, Henry. Have you ever in your life seen a head that big? It's fatter than a fifty-dollar bag of pennies.”

“B-Baltimor Floyd?” the large man stammered, turning cautiously toward the man who'd gotten the drop on him. “If you ever play with me about my Caddy again, I'ma plug you and this handyman you brung with you,” he huffed, while tossing a nasty glare at Henry's weapon of choice. “Now quit that acting out, and get on inside before John Law shows up, thinking you mean to do me harm. You know they's on my payroll.” He shook his meaty head at Henry and sneered. “What you aiming to do with that hammer? Build a barn?”

As they followed Uncle Chunk into the spacious building, Baltimore rolled his eyes at Henry. “Man, put that thing down. Can't you see we's among friends?” Baffled over Baltimore's idea of a practical joke, Henry was glad not to have ruined his day by peeing his new pants. Although Henry felt foolish, he felt better about breathing. “You look good, Unca Chunk,” Baltimore offered sincerely to the mountain of meat walking ahead of him. After he noted that he'd indeed interrupted the man's early morning exercise, more than likely with the newest waitress, Baltimore quickly put his gun away. “I see you haven't changed your ways.”

“Don't plan to, neither,” Uncle Chunk answered slyly. “That's why they's
my ways
. They suit me just fine, and so did the piece of tail I was riding on my lap before you come breaking it up.”

Once they were inside, the smell of rank tobacco and spilt beer filled Baltimore's nostrils. There was a stage to the right, seven or eight tables in the middle of the front room, and several tables along the far wall. Generally speaking, it was a relatively dazzling joint, with a grand jukebox stationed against the wall nearest the stage. As Baltimore surveyed what was referred to as the lounge, he stopped to take a closer gander at the owner, whose tolerance was a bit strained. “Go on back to it then. We'll wait,” Baltimore suggested, on his own account. “Where is she at, anyway? In the office? Lemme see her.”

“Hell, naw, I don't want her hugging on that snake of yours until I'm good and finished with her,” the older man argued. When he saw Henry listening in and smiling, he got his dander up. “What's the matter with you? You see something funny.”

“No, suh, Mistuh…Unca Chunk,” Henry said, cowering. “I'm just trying to keep up with the strangest carrying on I ever did see, is all.”

“I know one thing. I'm still waiting on him to tell me why he's beating down my door at this time of the morning,” the weary owner said, without actually asking.

“See, me and Unca go back a ways,” said Baltimore, looking around to see if anyone was in earshot before he brought up some mighty delicate information. “We've done business in the past, and it always turned out alright, huh, Unca?” The man kept an ear peeled to Baltimore as he leaned against the marble bar top, while tossing generous glances at the closed office door, behind which was where he'd rather be. “Unca, you still got that illegal phone line hooked to the back room?”

“Why you asking?” Uncle Chunk grumbled hastily. “It's not like I'm fixing to let you do some wrong with it.”

“Come on, Unca. I need you to loan it out to me. Let's not forget what we've been through.” Baltimore squinted and stared at the floor, trying to appear more disappointed than he actually was. “Wasn't I the one to tell you how somebody had wrecked your sedan downtown?”

“Yeah, but you're the one wrecked it!” Uncle Chunk grunted loudly.

“Okay, that was a bad example, but…but I was the one who tipped you to another mule kicking in your stall, and I wasn't the one doing the kicking,” Baltimore fired back, reminding Chunk that he'd learned of the man's wife's infidelity with the insurance agent. Now, Baltimore watched his annoyed expression grow even dimmer. He could see right off how that might not have been a sterling example, either. “Alright, I got a good one. In case you forgot, I stepped in and played three sets with a damp fever when your piano player up and broke his back from slipping off the stool stone drunk. Seems like you ought to be itching to have me around.” Sufficiently secure with his argument, Baltimore let his eyes rest on Chunk's, expecting an amiable response, but it didn't turn out quite like he intended. Instead, the burly man wiped saliva from the corners of his mouth with a folded handkerchief.

“Uh-uh, it seems to me like my troubles only come calling when you do. I don't want nobody getting themselves killed messing around with you in that back room, or else they won't be the last one,” Chunk threatened. “Get my meaning, Baltimore?”

“Sure, Unca,” Baltimore answered, grinning and nodding his head eagerly. “You won't have no trouble out of me. Uh-uh, not one speck. Besides, what could I do wrong in the few days I'll need it?”

When the gruff old barkeeper stood away from the bar, it indicated that the time had arrived for his visitors to find some other place to be. “I'm trusting you this last time, and the number to the back line ain't changed. But if you knew what was good for you, you'd get the sidekick of yours a rod or something he can really use. Don't nobody scare too easy from no hardware tools.”

Although Henry didn't care much for his hammer being slighted in the least, he was smart enough to hit the door before Uncle Chunk changed his mind about letting them use the back room to facilitate their new enterprise. As they hopped back into the car with Pudge, Henry wrinkled his forehead before speaking out. “Hey, Baltimo'?”