Harlem Redux (27 page)

“I would rather stand.”

“A drink?”

“No, thank you.”

David took in the room’s spare Danish furnishings, the eclectic mixture of thirteenth-century Flemish and modern West Indian art on its walls. Two walls were lined with shelves of books. There were bound volumes of United States history, Virgin Island history, Danish history, German philosophy, and Western economic thought. His gaze went back to his host. This was a man who could effortlessly order another man’s death, but he saw no immediate aggression in Snyder’s black eyes: they were cold, yes, and watchful, but thoughtful, too. His rimless spectacles made him look more like a banker than a numbers king. He exuded the assurance of the self-made man and the charisma of one who knows how to build a following. He was a mobster, but intelligent, educated, and cultured. That, David would grant him.

Snyder rose from behind his desk and went to the leather conference chairs arranged in one corner. He gestured toward one of the matching chairs.

“We have to talk. Please, sit down.”

David acquiesced. Snyder pressed a button. Another attractive young woman appeared with a tray of two fresh brandy glasses. Snyder urged one on David.

“By the way, you shouldn’t be angry at Nella for having introduced me to Gem.”

David was surprised at Adrian’s bluntness, but he appreciated it. “She meant well, I’m sure, but—”

“There’s always that ‘but’ with you dicties, isn’t there?”

“I don’t care about your being West Indian. I do care about your ... business connections.”

“That would concern someone like you.”

David’s memory stirred.
Someone like you.
The phrase struck him as familiar but he was unable to place it. After a moment, he shoved the matter to the edge of his mind, where it hovered briefly before fading away.

“I enjoyed Gem’s company very much,” Snyder was saying. “I never intended for it to end that way.”

“Then why did you break up with her?”

Snyder hesitated.

“Why did you
humiliate
her?” David pressed.

Snyder’s dark eyebrows hovered like storm clouds over his face. “Because ... she asked me to.”

David’s eyes narrowed.

“We were a scandal to respectable Harlem,” Snyder said. “She always said she didn’t care. But when I asked her to marry me, she said no.”

“Because you’re West Indian?”

“She said that had nothing to do with it. And I believed her.”

“Why?”

“Because she said she wanted people to think that
I
had dropped
her.
”

This was news. This was indeed
unexpected
news. David said nothing, but he was thoughtful.

At the look on David’s face, Snyder sighed. “I know. It’s hard to believe, that anyone would leave me––that anyone would have the temerity to leave me––or worse, that I would let them. But it’s true. It was her, not me. And I loved her. I loved her enough to let her go.”

David inclined his head. “Even if this is incredible enough to be true, she couldn’t have wanted you to publicly humiliate her.”

“But she
did.
She wanted a breakup and she wanted it big. She said that she wanted to give the folks something to remember her by.”

David could think of only one explanation. He gave Snyder a long, keen look. “Was there someone else?”

Snyder paused, the merest fraction of a second. “I would’ve known.”

“Why else would she break up with you?”

“I don’t know.” A hurt look flitted across his face. “She laughed. She kissed me, and asked me to leave her. I thought it was a joke. But about a week later—we were at Barron’s—she pitched a fit. The world was there. Everybody who was anybody at the jump that night knew what was going on. She cried. She screamed. I had to play along.”

“She left town after that?”

“Yes. Didn’t even say good-bye.”

“So you didn’t give her the money to go?”

Snyder looked surprised at the question, and thoughtful. “No, actually not. Of course, I used to give her change, but she always spent it—”

“Then how could she afford passage? Nella told me that Gem was broke. You say you didn’t give her the money. Well, someone had to.”

Snyder took a slow and thoughtful swallow of his brandy. “You really think she was two-timing me?”

“I think there are a lot of questions that need answering.”

“I hope you believe I’ve told you the truth.”

“Yes,” David nodded. “I do. Gem’s the kind of woman who does the leaving, not the type who’s left. I’m not wondering whether you’ve told me the truth—but
why
you’ve told me. Not many men want it known that a woman left
them.”

“I’m not telling the world. I’m telling you.”

“Again, why?”

“I thought you’d be glad to know.”

“I am. But why should you care? You don’t know me from Adam. So why would you want to do me favors? Why would you give a rat’s ass what I think?”

Snyder didn’t answer.

 
David studied him. He believed him, but he didn’t trust him. “Did you ever meet Lilian?”

“A couple of times, when I was out at the house.”

“And?”

“She was one of the most sensible women I’ve ever met. Not my type. Not that it matters.” He paused. “What does matter, if I may say so, is that she wasn’t her husband’s type, either.”

David’s eyes met Snyder’s. “Was Gem?”

“Yes,” Snyder said reluctantly. “She was.”

“And did Gem like Sweet?”

“She had absolutely no interest in him.”

“Are you sure?”

“Very. Gem knew I wouldn’t have tolerated two-timing.”

David raised an eyebrow. Why should Gem care what Snyder would tolerate when she planned to break up with him? Surely, he saw that.

“Okay, let’s be frank. You brought me here for a reason. And you told me the truth about your breakup—for a reason. You want me to find out what went wrong between you and Gem. Isn’t that what this is all about?”

“I want to know what happened. It sounds crazy, but I can’t get her out of my mind.” Snyder leaned forward. “Tell me, have you heard from her? Why isn’t she here?”

“Because she doesn’t want to be.”

“Did she write and say that?”

“She didn’t have to.”

Snyder’s well-clad shoulders sagged. He picked up his glass of brandy and swirled the amber liquid, gazing into it. When he looked up, his eyes held a strange light.

“What’s your story, David?”

“Does it matter?”

“You tell me. You’ve been gone for years. Now, you’re suddenly back. You claim you’ve been working for the Movement, but nobody there can place you. No one knows who you are anymore.”

“It’s better that way.”

“Everyone’s talking.”

“Let them.”

Snyder smiled. “You don’t plan on staying long, do you?”

“No.”

David downed his brandy, set his glass on the table, and stood up. Snyder accompanied him to the door. He signaled to his man.

“Make sure he gets home.” Snyder turned back to David. “I can understand why Gem doesn’t like you. But I do. Let’s just say that I know what it’s like to be an outsider among outsiders. If you should decide to stay, or ever need help, my door is always open to you.”

Adrian Snyder, a murderer and crime boss, a man with whom respectable Harlem refused to associate, offered David his hand in brotherhood. And David, thinking of the odd code of honor that sometimes
does
exist among thieves, accepted it.

Snyder’s men again blindfolded David and this time drove him home. By then, it was after six. Night had fallen and the ride was swift panoply of changing shadows. David stared into the darkness, thoughtful.

Snyder’s claim that it was Gem who left him was surprising, but the more David thought about it, the more it made sense. At least, it fit her personality. So much of what people had been telling him didn’t. Gem was quick to leave a man—as soon as she found another.

So she must have had another sugar daddy waiting in the wings. Who else, if not Sweet? But if it was Sweet, then where was she? Why wasn’t she there, with him?

Maybe, Nella was right. Maybe, there was some other Mr. X.

He would have to be someone big to get her to leave Snyder. But Snyder was pretty big himself. If she snagged a bigger fish than the numbers king, she wouldn’t have hidden it. She sure wouldn’t have gone to the trouble of making herself look bad.

So why did she do it?

He couldn’t figure it. Leaving a man was one thing. But pretending to the world that he’d left her—that was another. Snyder saying that Gem had done that was like claiming he’d seen an elephant fly.

The problem was, David believed him. At least, he thought he did. He didn’t know what to believe anymore. The more questions he asked, the more half-truths he heard. And the less he knew what to believe. It seemed as though everybody was either lying to him or holding back: Lilian never saying a word about getting married or Gem returning; Annie, who must’ve known, keeping mum about Lilian’s pregnancy, real or unreal; and Rachel canonizing a devil like Sweet. He hated to think that the only people who had told him the truth—the full truth, as they knew it—were Nella and Snyder, a white woman and an island man. By everything he’d been taught, they were the kind of people you disbelieved on principle.

His thoughts were confused and ran in circles. As he gazed out the car window, watching the streets fly by, one thing was clear to him, however. And that was that he had to find answers—and soon. If he stayed too long, then people—people like Canfield—would start asking questions of their own, questions he didn’t dare answer.

So he would assume it was Sweet.
It had to be. She just hooked up with Snyder and strung him along until she landed Lilian’s husband.

But that didn’t explain why she wanted a public breakup.

And her saying that she wanted the folks to have something “to remember” her by––that sounded like a good-bye—not just to Snyder, but to everybody. Like she was already planning on leaving town ...

Did she believe that she and Sweet would run away together? But why would she? He wasn’t the type to give up his career and they both wanted the house and the money that went with it.

Maybe he made promises he never intended to keep. Maybe he gave her the money to leave.

Or maybe it really wasn’t Sweet after all—

But then, damn, who could it have been?