Little Green (21 page)

“Come on in, JP,” Jackson hailed.

Villard closed the door and approached us, an irresistibly charming grin on his lips.

“Easy,” he said, holding out a hand.

I rose and shook his hand, smiled and nodded.

“Jean-Paul.”

“Sit, sit, my friend,” he said.

Jean-Paul perched on the glass box table between Jackson and me.

“I am so ’appy that you are not dead, Easy,” he said.

We’d only met once, but the French businessman was very friendly toward black Americans, especially veterans of World War II. He’d first met them at the liberation of Paris and he, like Asiette, was contemptuous at the particular nature of racism in the United States.

“How’s Pretty doing?” I asked.

Pretty Smart was a beautiful young black woman who had fallen for Jean-Paul, or at least his wealth, when he and Jackson helped me
smoke out one of her boyfriends who was the subject of a complex investigation.

“Coming along,” he said. “She does not understand that a Frenchman and the Negro American woman are so very much alike. I mean …” He moved his head from side to side. “I mean, she understands, but it makes her uncomfortable.

“But, Easy, what is it you need from me?”

Instead of talking I dumped the money from the laundry bag onto the glass table.

Jackson Blue, in spite of all his success in love and in business, was amazed by the immensity of the pile.

“L’argent,”
Jean-Paul said, unimpressed. “What does this mean?”

I told both men the story of Evander and his misadventures as far as I understood them. I skipped over the fact that the luckless boy’s mother worked for P9. That bit of information didn’t seem salient for JP.

“I need to put this money somewhere until I figure out what it and the blood mean,” I said. “You’re the richest man I know, and so I thought maybe you would have a secure place to store it until I put the rest of the pieces together.”

The Frenchman was looking into my eyes. From the age of sixteen he had been a part of the resistance in Paris; this service lasted over the entire occupation. Villard was a man who studied other men.

“Yeah?” I said in response to his stare.

“You trust me?”

It was the only question worth asking, and so I smiled.

“I don’t know you hardly at all, Mr. Villard, and in part that’s why I came here. This money is no threat to you, and what do you care about a little pile of cash when you own this whole building?”

There was knowledge in my answer, understanding of myself in relation to the man sitting across from me. We both knew that knowledge is the deepest kind of trust.

“I could put it in my private safe if you want,” he offered.

“I want.”

Jean-Paul smiled without showing his teeth and cut a glance at Jackson, who still had his feet folded under his thighs. This brief, wordless exchange told me a great deal about the relationship between the two men. There was intimacy, conspiracy, and friendship there, but also the hierarchy of roles.

Jackson let out a quick breath and said, “Easy,” and I knew that my particular therapy for the reversal of death and dying was about to be expanded.

“You ever know a guy named Charles Rumor?” Jackson asked.

“Sneak thief, cheat, and liar,” I said. “An ex-girlfriend of his once told me that the only true thing he ever uttered was his snoring when he was asleep, and not always then.”

“That’s him.”

“I knew Charles back in Galveston before the war,” I said.

“He up here now. We used to run together before I got straight.”

“Yeah?”

“Uh-huh. Mostly it was a floating blackjack game, but we also used to go do target practice in the San Bernardino Mountains. He had this collection of pistols and liked to shoot beer cans and bottles, stuff like that.”

“Hm,” I grunted, just to keep the patter going.

Jean-Paul had clasped his hands together and was looking down at the floor.

“Anyway, that’s it; at least, that’s all I thought it was. Had to be seven or eight years ago. You know men like shootin’, Easy. I’d pop them bottles and cans off a wood railin’ up there. When I hit six I’d reload and shoot again. When we were finished I just dropped the piece in a bag and we’d drive back to visit these two sisters he knew.”

“Jackson,” I said to underscore the stupidity of his actions.

“I know, Easy. I know. I know I’m a fool. I mean, what has Rumor
evah done that wasn’t only for him? But I didn’t work it out until three weeks ago.”

“And why then?”

“A white dude name’a Huggins called me one day here at work. He said that he could make me ten thousand dollars for just one afternoon of my time. I told him to get lost, but then he said that I’d get paid ten percent up front just to listen. I didn’t see anything wrong with it. If he aksed me to do sumpin’ against P9 I’da just said no and taken a thousand for the time. So I goes down to meet ’im at this little bar on Temple. It was pretty fancy, a white place, and they didn’t wanna let me in, even though I was dressed in a business suit an’ everything. But when I mentioned Mr. Huggins the waters parted and I was shown to a private room in the back.

“There was this big blousy dude in a brick red suit introduced himself as Theodore Huggins. He was with another man that he called Johnny Portia. This dude looked just like his name, sporty and sharp. His suit was as dark as green can get, and his smile coulda been used for a dentist’s ad.

“Huggins works for Portia, and Portia is a vice president of TexOk.”

“The oil company?” I asked.

Jean-Paul looked up.

“Yeah, man,” Jackson said. “Portia told me to look up in the old newspapers back in ’sixty-four when a cop broke in on some burglars and one of the crooks shot him in the leg. He told me that the gun used in that shooting had my fingerprints on it, that he had got that gun from Charles Rumor. He said he would give it to the cops if I didn’t sign an investment note for twenty-three million dollars to a company that works for TexOk’s experimental drillin’ up in Alaska.”

“But you work in computers,” I argued, as if I was at the table with Portia and Huggins.

“I ’ave allowed Jackson some power as an officer of the company,” Jean-Paul said. “ ’E would be an asset for business because people underestimate ’im, and that is always good in negotiations.”

“So you made it that just one man can make a loan like that?” I asked Jean-Paul.

“Of course not. There must be three officers signing the document. This Portia must ’ave two of my men in ’is pocket.”

“So you could’ve done this?” I said to Jackson.

“Yeah, I
could
. Of course, then I’d be on the run. But if the cops got hold’a that gun that I know only I touched with bullets that I loaded it with, that’s attempted murder, twenty-five years minimum—if the cops don’t kill me first.”

“And how,” I asked, “does Portia make money on this investment?”

“At first I didn’t get it, Easy,” Jackson said. “But when I looked into it I found out that Portia’s sister’s husband owns the exploratory company. Jean-Paul found out that the place they’re lookin’ at probably won’t pan out, so the company goes bankrupt and they put a good half’a the money aside.”

“So you came to Jean-Paul?” I said.

“I woulda come to you, Easy, but you were in a coma and Portia give me a deadline.”

“What was the plan before me?”

“We were looking for countries where Jackson could go that did not ’ave extradition treaties with America,” Jean-Paul said.

“Makes sense. So now what?”

“I haven’t been able to find Rumor,” Jackson said. “You know I been off the streets too long. Nobody is where they were when I was at large. But you could find him, Easy.”

“That’s all?”

“Non,”
Jean-Paul said. “The president of TexOk is a man named Merkan. ’E will not believe this of his top man, not without proof. I want this proof … without paying for it, of course. I also want to find out who it is in my company that would betray me. I cannot allow people to do to me like this.”

“And you’ll hold my money?”

“I would if you ’elped us or not.”

I gazed into the Frenchman’s eyes. There was nothing for me to consider. “Okay, then. Let me try and come up with somethin’.”

Jean-Paul gave a satisfied nod and Jackson grinned like a coyote.

“I don’t care if you are Mama Jo’s zombie, Easy,” Jackson said. “I’m gonna shake your hand.”

I stuck out my hand to test Jackson’s mettle. He licked his lips and, with obvious gumption, he grabbed on. I smiled and held his eyes with mine.

“That’s a good thing, Jackson,” I said. “Because you know you got to get out there with me to make sure we get it right.”

Jean-Paul was stuffing money back into the laundry bag when Jackson and I left Proxy Nine. I offered to help, but he said that he liked doing manual jobs, said that he used to have to cook his own food and then bus the table back when he was in the underground looking for Nazis to maim, blow up, and kill.

I was glad to leave the CEO to it, because Mama Jo’s Gator’s Blood was thinning out in my veins.

We reached my Genesee house at a little after six p.m. I said that I was going to take a nap and told Jackson to call Raymond.

“Tell him we need to find Charles Rumor and that he should drop by at midnight.”

“Okay, Easy. You want me to wake you up when he gets here?”

“No. Let me wake up on my own.”

“What should I tell Jewelle I’m doin’?”

“Anything but the truth, Jackson. Anything but that. And one more thing,” I said.

“What’s that, Easy?”

I stared at him, wondering what his question meant. My mind had begun its now familiar slow spiral downward.

“Um, uh, oh, yeah … call over to the Presidio Arms and tell Nan … I mean, ask Nan Mann to tell the man in J that I’ll be there in the morning.”

“Done.”

I couldn’t have uttered another word. Staggering to my bedroom I fell a thousand miles into sleep so complete that it felt … final.
During the next five or six hours I had monumental dreams, but luckily, when I awoke they receded into the void of unconsciousness.

My alarm clock said 12:07. I smiled at the timing and rose up from the shroud of sleep.

Mouse had only recently arrived. He and Jackson were sitting at the dinette table drinking beers and laughing. Mouse was a great storyteller, mainly because he spoke the whole truth.

I stumped past the men to the back pantry, where I grabbed the bottle of Gator’s Blood.

Swallowing the stuff in a single gulp, I returned to the kitchen with the empty bottle in my hand.

“Gator’s Blood,” Mouse said with a grin. “Jo forced that foul shit down my gullet for eight days after I got shot that time.”

“Did it work?” I asked.

“I’m here, ain’t I?”

Jackson was looking back and forth between us. His expression contained equal parts fear and awe.

“You find Chuck?” I asked Mouse.

“Oh, yeah. I know a guy know a girl know a guy who knew where he was at. Before I came here I checked it out. He’s there.”

The warmth was returning to my limbs. A feeling of nascent hilarity rose in my chest.

“You armed, Ray?” I asked.

“For Mr. Bear and his brothers.”

“Good.”

Out at the car Raymond said, “Why’ont you let me drive, Easy?”

“Why?” I was almost angry.

“That shit’a Mama Jo’s make you lose control sometimes, especially when it’s been in your system for a few days. I should know.”

I piled into the backseat of the Barracuda while Mouse drove and Jackson explained the point of bracing Rumor. He didn’t mention the fact that he was an officer of the company or that he had partial
power to loan out millions; there was no need to let a man like Mouse know where he could wangle that kind of money.

“Damn,” Raymond said. “He got a whole sack full’a guns with fingerprints not his on ’em? That shit is some long-range plannin’ right there.”

“Yeah,” Jackson agreed. “Plannin’ to damn me.”

“Why didn’t you call me in the first place, Blue?” Raymond asked. He almost sounded hurt.

“I … I guess I should have. But you know, Ray, I didn’t wanna, wanna …”

Mouse laughed and said, “Don’t worry, man. You got me now.”

Charles Rumor lived on the sixth floor of an apartment building that had one unit per floor.

“There’s a indoor stairway up in front,” Mouse said. “And a fire escape door out the back. You go up the front way and ring the bell, but gimme eleven minutes before you do.”

When he was gone I asked Jackson for a cigarette. He handed a Kool over the seat and lit a match.

After my third drag he said, “I went into the bedroom to ask you a question, Ease. It was only about a minute after you went in there. But you were dead to the world.”

“The aftermath of the accident. I get really tired.”

“I know, but …”

“But what?”

“Easy, you looked like you really was dead, man. I mean, most’a the time when people are at rest that’s what it is—rest. But your mouth was hangin’ open and slack just like my uncle George when he died in his bed.”

“Is there some point to this, Jackson?” I didn’t like the menthol taste but kept on smoking.

“What does it feel like, man? What does it feel like to come back from sumpin’ like that?”

I took in a lungful of smoke and held it. The question tickled me. It brought me to a place I had not considered before—at least, not directly.

“It was like,” I said. “No … It
is
like there’s no yesterday and no tomorrow, like time comes together right where I’m standing. It’s … it’s magnificent, almost too beautiful to bear.”

“Damn,” Jackson said, and I felt I had imparted some kind of vital knowledge that I didn’t even understand.

“We better be goin’, Blue,” I said. “It wouldn’t be good to keep Ray waitin’.”

We went through the unlocked entrance of the dirt-streaked salmon-colored building. The walk up to the top floor winded Jackson, but I was running on superior fuel. When we got to Rumor’s door I knocked loudly, like a cop might do.

I could see at the crack of the door when the light came on. The two little shadows that appeared indicated that someone was standing there, looking through the peephole.