Borrow Trouble (27 page)

He took out a small notepad and a pencil chewed down to a nub. “Now, there's four hundred for the use of the uniforms and the guns. The bellman, what clued me in, has three grand coming to him.” When Dank opened his mouth to protest, he remembered what happened to Louis for opening his trap at the wrong time. “He deserves it!” Baltimore asserted passionately. “Without him, someone else would have taken down the game. Now that leaves thirty-three grand parted six ways,” he said, while computing the long division on the small pad.

“Shouldn't that be parted five ways, considering that ‘Slow Fuse' done burn out?” Dank inquired. “On his own behalf, mind you.” He threw in that last comment so that he wouldn't come across as heartless.

“Yeah, I'm splitting up his share now,” answered Baltimore. “Unless you boys have a problem with me getting half of his take for putting a hole in that fat cop, I'll see to it that y'all share the other half equally.” Of course, no one made a sound, despite what they might have been thinking. “Good, then we all agree. Here's $5,590.00 for each of you.” None of the men had the slightest problem getting handed enough money to change their lives if they made decent investments. Dank had recently spoken of allocating a portion of his money to open his own barbershop and shoe-shine stand inside of Union Station. The others kept their plans to themselves while marveling at their newly found wealth. Baltimore handed Pudge an additional five hundred for chauffeuring him around town. “Listen up and listen well,” said Baltimore, as the dirty deed was officially done, and compensation for it had been paid in full. “The po-lice gon' be on the lookout for Negros out on a shopping holiday. Lay low for a while, until these automobilers blow town in a few days. If you get snatched, you don't know me or anything about this heist. I'd be willing to give up every thin dime to have you put to sleep before I'd let you turn on me.” As the others examined themselves, mentally, Baltimore threw his arm around Rot's shoulder. “Rot, get yourself somewhere and lay down. Have a woman you can trust look after you.” The confessed alcoholic promised that he would and then climbed into the taxi along with Dank and Pudge. The longhand watch on Baltimore's wrist read ten minutes until midnight.

Henry was relieved as the meeting came to an end without anyone else doing the sort of thing to bring about their untimely demise. He waved at the taxi as it backed out of the garage for the last time. Afterwards, he took a moment to congratulate his best friend on a job well done, although he held his reservations closely to his vest. “At my best estimation, you came away with over eight grand for yourself. The minute we stepped off that train, you said it would be a lot of money, and you got your share,” Henry congratulated, fighting the urge to push Baltimore on discussing what actually went on after he was ordered out of the room. “I guess Louis
had
to die?”

“Had to,” was Baltimore's solemn answer. “I'm not the kind to spend my life on the run from the law. That man dug his own grave when alls he had to do was keep quiet.” Baltimore let the end of his sentence dangle in the air for Henry to chew on, since he seemed to take issue with doing what had to be done. “Let's get on out of here. It's round about midnight, and we best get back to our alibis at Unca Chunk's.”

T
he deadpan expression Franchetta had worn over the past hour disappeared the moment Baltimore followed Henry into that poorly lit back room at Uncle Chunk's. She leapt into his arms with such fervor that he almost toppled over. “Damn, girl,” he said, chuckling heartily. “You act like I've been away to war.”

“Ooh, I don't care where you been, Daddy,” Franchetta replied. “I'm just glad you made it back to me.”

Henry watched the two of them put on quite the spectacle. He suddenly felt out of place. Although he was 100 percent certain that Baltimore hadn't shared where they had been with Franchetta, there was no mistaking it; she knew exactly what he'd been mixed up in. “Don't mind me,” Henry joked while they continued carrying on like honeymooners. “My head may be round, but I ain't got to put up with being no third wheel.” He opened the door and looked out, expecting to see something that wasn't there. Jazz played loudly from a loaded jukebox, and it was standing room only. Hoards of hipsters drank and danced as if Chunk's hosted the last party on earth. Henry couldn't have imaged the joint any hotter than it was that night, but something was amiss, and that bothered him. “Uh, excuse me, lovebirds,” Henry said, clearing his throat as if it was necessary.

Baltimore pulled his lips away from Franchetta's without taking his eyes off hers. “Oh, you still wearing that third wheel around your neck?”

“It appears that way,” Henry answered irritably and somewhat out of sorts. “Franchetta, has a fine brown thang come back here asking about me?”

“Uh-uh,” she muttered, her mouth pressed against Baltimore's.

“Do you even care that I done misplaced the woman I intend on lying to about settling down?”

“Uhhh-uh,” Franchetta moaned sensually.

“Yeah, I figured as much,” Henry huffed, setting out with hopes of finding her in the midst of the crowd.

Baltimore held Franchetta tightly around the waist. “Oh, that's one hell of a welcome,” he whispered in her ear. “Now that Henry's gone, I want to tell you something. It's about tonight.”

“Shhh, hush your mouth, Baltimore. I'm not interested in your dealings that don't factor me in.” Franchetta was falling in love all over again, just as she had each time Baltimore fell back into her life. “On the other hand, there's something I should tell you. A man came beating at that door a half hour ago. He was an ugly cuss, clean-headed and mad as hell, too.”

Baltimore stood back on his heels, flashing a surprised expression. He didn't want Franchetta to see how concerned he was, but it took some doing to conceal it. “A man, huh? He say who he was?”

“Yeah, and that wasn't all he said, either,” she offered, with a long pause, thinking how adorable Baltimore looked stewing in his own juices. “The man left his name and a message. Said to tell that no-account Baltimore Floyd that he was gunning for him, and he'd stop at nothing to defend his wife Macy's honor.”

“Macy? Who the hell…?” he started to ask before remembering exactly who that happened to be. “Oh,” was the only thing that came out of his mouth before he ended up with egg all over his face. “Franchetta, see now. I could get into that, but I'd have to—”

“Quiet, Daddy. Don't explain,” she cut him off, planting another soft peck on his lips. “We been a part of one another since the day I met you. That's all that matters to me, only thing that ever did. Of course, you know what kind of girl I am, 'cause you're the one who helped me to be this way. I have no regrets about that. There's not much could hurt me concerning you and another woman, except if she can get you to say, ‘I do'.” That must have been what Baltimore wanted to hear, because he couldn't stop grinning. He ushered Franchetta to the doorway, then stopped as a random thought entered his mind. The phone hadn't rung once since he had returned.

“Did the storm knock the line down?”

“Nah, it didn't, but me worrying over you did,” she answered him plain and simply as they departed from that funky little room for the very last time.

Throughout the night, Baltimore's gleeful smile was plastered on his handsome face. To cinch his alibi, if he needed one, he made sure that everyone saw him dancing cheek to cheek with the high-yellow woman, who some knew to be a fancy-free working girl, but that didn't make him no never mind, considering he was the one who helped her to be that way.

When the sun came up, Baltimore slipped on the pair of striped boxers lying on the floor next to the bed in Franchetta's room. He stretched and yawned his way into the bathroom. Despite cutting the rug for several hours and having to be escorted out at closing time, he was actually well rested. There appeared to be nothing short of sunshine in his future as he washed up in the sink. He caught himself staring back at a man who seemed to have shaken his bad luck shadow once and for all. His pockets were inflated, and so was his ego. Kansas City had been kind to him over the past four days, and the time had come to say farewell and move on. Baltimore's philosophy had him itching to hit the road again. “Never sit too long in one place,” he'd told Henry on more than a few occasions after a pretty girl caught his eye and begged him to stick around. “There's a lot of living to do that won't get done if you're stud'n on planting your feet. Next thing you know, somebody will come along and try to cut you down and use your ass for firewood,” he kidded. “Now tell me, is that your idea of living, 'cause it sho' ain't mine.”

Speaking of Henry, he hadn't shown up at Franchetta's house, nor had he left word at Baltimore's hotel, where a room key was left in his name. It was assumed that he had tied on a good one, found that fine brown thing he was so in a hurry to locate, and spent the night breaking in the new year on his own schedule.

The thought of sitting down long enough to enjoy their good bit of fortune did have its appeal, so Baltimore's mind started working on sharing some of it. Lena Horne was starring in a double feature with Harry Belafonte at the Landmark Theater. Since Lena was Henry's idea of the end all, be all in black womanhood, Baltimore would take in a picture show with the girls. Unfortunately for Henry, he'd have to hear about it secondhand later on.

Baltimore climbed out of the taxi, accompanied by four good-looking women. It was an unusual scene, Baltimore and his harem unloading at the box-office window to purchase movie tickets. It felt like old times, when he ran women for a living, having Franchetta on his arm, with Daisy, Chick, and Melvina in tow. Several people, white and black, paused to stare, wondering if that lucky man was a Negro League baseball star or perhaps an entertainer. The snazzy new suit that Franchetta and friends had tailored specially for him earlier that day made Baltimore fit the part exquisitely. After the eight large boxes of popcorn, seven soft drinks, and an armful of candy from the snack stand had been consumed, Franchetta fell asleep, with her head parked on Baltimore's shoulder, during the second feature. The other three women sat up, fully engaged, with their eyes glued to the screen until the final credits rolled. They couldn't say “thank you” enough for the break from their normal routine, nor could they stop yapping about the films they'd seen. It was Lena Horne this and Harry Belafonte that, as if they were children on their first field trip. Baltimore understood how mixing up a normal afternoon every now and then was a treat for ladies, young and otherwise, so he enjoyed it as much as they did. It wasn't so much that he had spent a few dollars to make them happy. They had money of their own. The day was special because a kind man came into their lives and considered them worthy of spending his afternoon with—in public, mind you—while expecting absolutely nothing in return.

Later that same day, Franchetta's jaw dropped when Baltimore sprung the news that he had reserved a table for all of them at the famous hot spot Reno Nights, where musicians traveled from far and wide to knock the walls down with the rhythmic beats and sultry tunes of the era. If there was a place to be when the sun set on Kansas City, it was at the Reno.

“How do you like this mug?” Franchetta said, with a kiss.

“Pinch me. I must be dreaming,” Chick teased, smiling from ear to ear. “I have just the thing to step out in. Bought me some glad rags last year, and I've been waiting on something special to show them off.”

Melvina slapped her thigh when she got the news. “Baltimore, you're not shining us on, are you?” she gushed and hugged him tightly. When she caught a glimpse of Franchetta clocking that twinkle in her eye, she tried to pass it off as a ruse. “Frannie, I knew you said that first night we shared him was a onetime kinda thing, but I have half a mind to fight you for him.”

“Go on and knock each other out!” shouted Chick. “Then I'll take on the winner.”

Laughter filled the living room of the pale-colored house until Baltimore noticed how a certain somebody seemed to be toting a sad sack. Daisy hadn't said a word either way regarding a night out on the town. After slipping on his coat, Baltimore winked at Franchetta, then signaled for her to follow his gaze all the way to Daisy's flat expression.

“Daisy Mae, what in the world could be the matter with you?” Franchetta asked her. “Haven't you been listening? We gonna paint this town red tonight. Every one of us deserves to let our hair down, spread our wings, and fly! What could be wrong with that?”

Daisy sat on the divan, leaned back, and began wringing her hands. Sensing that something was plaguing the youngest of the four roommates, her friends gathered around to hear her out. “I didn't want to say nothing about it,” she whispered, barely audible and visibly distressed.

“You'd better tell us what's ailing you, chile,” Chick demanded, taking the role of protector. Baltimore had learned how the women often counted on one another to get bailed out of jail when busted on prostitution charges. There was even a story circulating about how Chick had taken it upon herself to shoot a man six times for sodomizing Daisy against her will and then sending her to the hospital, all torn up, beaten, and bruised. After the assault, Chick caught wind of a man thumping a young working girl to within an inch of her life and leaving her to rot in a nasty alley. Daisy had a broken jaw, and her mouth was wired shut, but her fingers still worked fine. She scribbled down the man's name and where to find him. Chick located him, delivered him alone to the same alley where he'd accosted Daisy. She enticed him to drop his pants before he knew what she had plotted, and then Chick whipped out a small twenty-five-caliber gun. She blew his crusty, gnarled penis clean off and planned on leaving him like that, but he wouldn't stop screaming and calling her demoralizing names, instead of apologizing for whatever he'd done to bring that kind of karma back to his doorstep. The idiot didn't know when to stop talking his way out of a pine box.

As Baltimore remembered that story, Chick instantly assumed the worst. “If I need to strap on my man upstairs, you know I will,” she threatened through clenched teeth.

“No, Chick, it's nothing of the sort,” Daisy explained before they all jumped to the wrong conclusion. “It's hard to explain, but I'll try.” She sighed hard and stared at her hands, one taking turns comforting the other. “See, it been a long time since I've left home. Rooming with y'all here has been more of a home than I had before Frannie took me in, all broke and worried down to a nub. I won't lessen my joy here by making it seem I could have been welcomed anywhere and fit in just the same,” Daisy added, glancing up at Franchetta's caring eyes.

“Chile, if I didn't know better, I'd think you was working your way up to leaving us,” Melvina said, hoping she was wrong.

“That's a screwy idea,” Chick said in a dismissive tone.

“That's, that's exactly what I was fixing my mind to do,” Daisy answered sorrowfully. “I was ready and willing to spend the rest of my life with y'all, but then he came along.” She raised her eyes and tossed her gaze on Baltimore.

“Ahh hell,” said Franchetta, shaking her head slowly. “I know that look.”

“Well, somebody needs to tell me 'cause I don't,” Chick panted. She was completely clueless as to what had been building since the very moment they opened the door and saw two strange men standing on the porch with Franchetta.

Melvina cast a roving eye on Franchetta, and toward Baltimore, and then returned it to Daisy. “Ahh hell is right. We done slipped up and let this chile fall in love.”

Franchetta reached up on the hat rack behind the door and handed Baltimore the first hat she pulled down. When he tried to complain about it not being his, she shushed him and ushered him out of the door. “This ain't none of your business,” she told him. “It might have been your doing, but what Daisy's in there torn up about has to be doctored on by women folk. Believe me, it always ends up this way. We spent centuries picking up the pieces behind men, and it don't appear that's about to change now.”

“Well, when can I come back?” Baltimore asked, with both hands tucked in his front trouser pockets.

“Yeah, show up around seven or so. We'll do our best to undo what you did to her, although can't nobody fix what you done to me, so it's likely not gonna work on her, either.”

As Baltimore backed off the porch, contemplating women and love, he shrugged his shoulders and frowned. “I'm sorry, Faye,” he offered, when nothing better came forth. “I didn't mean to hurt her.”

“If that's what you think you did, Baltimore, it's just one more reason for Daisy to want herself a man like you.” Franchetta felt the wind kick. She folded both arms and held herself tightly. “You big dope. Get off my lawn before you have my nosy, upstanding, church-going neighbor ladies ready to pack up and move on, too. Don't know what I'ma do with you.”

“Hold me tight like your bottom dollar, and cry for me when I'm gone,” Baltimore suggested, as if she didn't know that song by heart.