Out of the Easy (24 page)

THIRTY-SEVEN

I loved Cokie’s cab.

But we weren’t in Cokie’s cab. We were riding in Mariah, and Cokie’s smile pulled clear across his face.

“Pour me another drip from that thermos, Josie girl. See, this is fine drivin’. One day I’m gonna get me a big black Cadillac like this, whitewall tires and all, that’s right.”

“This car attracts too much attention. We should have taken your cab. I love your cab. It’s so comfortable.”

“My cab’s a good girl. If she could talk, oooeee, what she seen. Now, this ain’t the route to Northampton. That’s north through Mississippi and up into Alabama. Cornbread say it’s better to drive as soon as the sun comes up and pull off before the sun goes down. I agree. You’ll stay with Cornbread’s cousin in Georgia, and he has an old aunt in Virginia if you need to stop there.”

“It’s so sweet of you to plan, Coke, but I haven’t been accepted yet.”

“You’ll be accepted. I know it.” Cokie nodded repeatedly. “You have to be.”

He turned to me from the wheel. “You got to get outta here, Josie. New Orleans is fine for some people, real good for a few. But not for you. Too much baggage that’ll pull you down. You got dreams and the potential to make ’em real. I bet you latched onto that rich man from Memphis ’cuz he fit your idea of a daddy. And I agree, ain’t no way you could turn out so good unless the other half was something fine. So you’ll be accepted, and you’ll do us all proud. You’ll sure do me proud.”

We passed the three hours talking. Cokie told me stories about his parents. His father was a white man from Canada who settled in New Orleans. He had a wife and kids and had taken up with Cokie’s mother on the side. He died before Cokie’s third birthday. Unlike me, Cokie had been close with his mother and got teary just talking about her. He loved her deeply and said she always did right by him. She died when he was sixteen. He said it made it impossible to find a wife, because he wanted a woman with the qualities his momma had. Any woman I’d suggest as a potential mate he’d reject with a scoff and comments that made me laugh so hard I nearly wet myself.

“Well, why not Bertha?” I asked.

“Now, Bertha’s nice, but she too old. I like a girl where her skin fits a little better.”

“And Tyfee?” I tried.

“Tyfee? You gotta be kiddin’. She only got three toes and sweats like a dog crappin’ peach seeds. And she’s always dyein’ that gray hair of hers with coffee grounds. Looks like dirt. No, thank you.”

Tyfee only had three toes. Who knew?

Cokie was picky about a mate but seemed to know exactly what he wanted in a woman. It made me think about Patrick and our awkward good-bye. He’d hugged me hard and long, like he’d never see me again. But he didn’t kiss me. He just stared, his eyes full of silence. I couldn’t tell if he was upset about me leaving or upset about Charlie.

We arrived just before lunch. Cokie stopped at Ray and Frieda Kole’s. He felt the hood of their car.

“It’s cold. They’ve been asleep awhile,” said Cokie.

Poor Ray and Frieda. I wondered what made them so scared of the dark.

Cokie set a box from Willie on their porch. It had a pot of Sadie’s gumbo, a carton of cigarettes, a bottle of muscatel, and a letter from Willie instructing them to keep an eye on me.

We pulled down the long tree-lined drive to Shady Grove.

“Now, Jo, you make sure you keep your ears wide. It’s nice and private down here, but that can also be trouble. You scream out here, no one’s gonna hear you. Not even Ray and Frieda. They’re a mile away.”

“You’re acting like there’s bears out here or something.”

“I’m not talkin’ ’bout no animals. I’m talkin’ ’bout criminals.”

I laughed. “No one wants to rob Shady Grove. There’s nothing here but furniture and old dishes.” Shady Grove was the picture of peace. A small Creole cottage with a deep front porch surrounded by moss-draped oak trees.

Cokie set the parking brake. “Now, Josie, I’m not foolin’. This business with your momma is serious. There’s lotsa people who don’t want her back in New Orleans. Willie’s smart pullin’ you out of the sizzle, but even out here, you got to be ready. Some folk might be stupid enough to think they can get to your momma through you.”

I got out of the car and pulled my small suitcase and a large box of books from the backseat. Cokie opened the trunk. It was packed with crates and boxes.

“Coke, this is half the pantry. I thought I was staying a week at most.”

“Sadie been cookin’ all night for you. You got plenty of supplies here.” He pulled Willie’s golf bag from the trunk. “Take this. You know I can’t stand no guns.”

I looked in the bag. “She sent all of them?”

“With extra rounds in the front pocket. She said she told you to bring your pistol.”

“Isn’t this a bit much?”

“Well, you never been out here alone. What if someone comes by?”

“Who, like Frieda Kole?”

“Like Cincinnati.”

It came out and then he couldn’t take it back. A chill pebbled across my neck. I heard his voice—
I’m gonna get you, Josie Moraine.
I pulled out one of the shotguns to examine what Willie had sent.

Cokie rubbed his forehead. “I shouldn’t have said that. Now, Josie, I’m not sayin’ that Cincinnati goin’ be out here. Willie’s worried that he and your momma might want you as a character witness for her, and well, Cincinnati is tied to some pretty bad folk.”

“Like Carlos Marcello?”

Cokie looked on the verge of tears. Then I remembered Patrick hugging me so hard it hurt, like he was saying good-bye. Cokie sniffed and started carrying crates onto the porch. I grabbed his arm.

“What’s really going on, Coke?”

“Your momma done got herself into trouble, Jo. A rich man wound up dead from a Mickey, and someone said she was with him.”

“Who told the police that?”

“I don’t know. If anything big happens, it will be in the paper. When you go to the grocery, you can pick one up. But make sure you take your pistol with you and case the house good and careful when you get back. Set some little signs for yourself so you know if someone been here since you left.”

I lifted the shutters on the windows and pulled back the curtains. Cokie put the supplies in the kitchen.

“Now, don’t worry your head. Willie just takin’ precautions. You enjoy yourself out here. Get some rest and read all them books you brought. I’ll be back in a sneeze to pick you up.”

Mariah rolled down the thin drive, kicking dust around her rear. I stood on the porch watching, gripping Willie’s shotgun.

THIRTY-EIGHT

I no longer wondered why Ray and Frieda were afraid of the dark. I was too.

Each night I walked down to their house at dusk and joined them in the car. I lay in the backseat and slept while they pretended to drive to Birmingham, Montgomery, and someplace new each night. I made them a big breakfast at sunrise and then walked the mile back to Shady Grove with my pillow. Each day at lunch, I’d walk to the grocer to check for messages and mail.

I loved Shady Grove and didn’t miss New Orleans a bit. But I missed Patrick and wrote for updates on Charlie every day. A week passed, and I hadn’t received a return letter from him. When I called Willie from the grocer’s, she said Randolph had seen Charlie every day and that he had settled down and was sleeping a lot. She wouldn’t tell me much about Mother, just that she returned, posted bond, and was staying at the Town and Country Motel. That meant she was with Cincinnati. Carlos Marcello owned the Town and Country. Willie said she had sent Cokie out to Slidell to mail the typewritten letter for Miss Paulsen that Patrick had given her.

I tried phoning Patrick from the grocer, but no one answered.

I had just finished washing my hair when I heard the noise. It sounded like the rumble of an engine but then went quiet. I ran to the kitchen and grabbed the shotgun. I crept toward the front of the cottage and peered out the window. Nothing. I carefully pushed the screen door open with my bare foot. The hinges on the door complained, betraying my silence. I walked slowly out onto the porch, pointing the barrel of the gun in front of me at the drive. Something crackled on the side of the porch. I spun to my left, finger on the trigger.

“Whoa, easy there, now.”

Jesse Thierry was standing next to his motorcycle by the side of the porch.

“I cut the engine on the drive and walked it down because I didn’t want to scare you. Obviously that didn’t work,” he said.

I dropped the shotgun and let out a breath.
“Look at you, locked and loaded, like Mae West of the Motor City.”

It was hard to be angry when Jesse was funny. “I’m surprised to see you, that’s all,” I said.

“Hopefully it’s a good surprise?”

“Sure. You drove all the way out here?”

Jesse took off his leather jacket and hung it over the seat of the motorcycle. “Weather’s great, so it was nice. I ran into Willie in the Quarter yesterday and she gave me directions. She also said I have to report back to her.” Jesse smiled. “So am I invited up on that porch, or are you still debating whether you want to shoot me?”

“No—I mean, yes, come up.”

The words had barely come out of my mouth before Jesse jumped up and was at my side.

“I don’t know how you do anything in those jeans,” I told him.

“These? They’re not tight, just shrink to fit. See, when you get a new pair, they never fit right, so you gotta get into a hot bath with ’em.”

“You wear them in the bathtub?” I laughed.

“Yep. The hot water shrinks ’em to your body and then they fit perfectly.”

“But you have to walk around in a wet pair of jeans all day.”

“Just for one day.” Jesse motioned to my hair. “Looks like you’ve been in the bath yourself.” He settled into a chair on the front porch.

“I had just washed my hair, but then I had to go shoot someone. Do you want a cold drink?”

When I returned, Jesse was reading my book of Keats. We sat on the front porch playing cards and drinking iced tea. He said he’d seen Mother on Bourbon and that she looked thin and tired.

“That guy she’s with looks rough, Jo.”

“Cincinnati? He’s worse than rough. He should be in jail. He’s a task man for Marcello’s crew. And my silly harlot of a mother adores him.”

Jesse took another card. “I’ll see your silly harlot of a mother and raise you a reckless alcoholic father. So reckless he wrapped his car around a tree. Killed my mother, busted up my foot, and scarred my face.” Jesse put down his cards. “Gin.”

“Oh, Jesse, I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”

“It’s not your fault. It’s not my fault. It’s just the way it is. My foot’s fine now. It’s not like I’m three-toed Tyfee or something. But I’d never get into the service with it. How ’bout we play some poker?”

“Sure.” I watched Jesse shuffle the cards, smiling at me. He said it wasn’t his fault. I wished I could feel that way about Mother. I knew that I hadn’t done anything wrong, but for some reason, I always felt guilty. Jesse dealt the cards to me, and I tried to remember all the poker hands.

“So,” I said, “if you put my mother together with your father, that’s a full house.”

Jesse took a sip out of his glass, his eyes on me the entire time. “Sounds like a pretty empty house to me.” He continued staring. “If the cops can pin it on your mom, it’s a murder charge, Jo.”

“I know. Willie’s scared that they’ll want me as a character witness. That’s why she’s hiding me out here.”

“You feel safe?”

“I’m okay.” Something inside of me wanted to admit to Jesse that I spent the night in the back of a rusted-out Buick on a fictional road to nowhere.

Jesse leaned back in the chair and looked out off the porch. “Gotta say, it’s a beautiful hiding place. I wouldn’t mind getting lost here at all. What’s further down the road?”

“Want me to show you?”

THIRTY-NINE

I spread an undetectable layer of dirt on the front steps. That would allow me to see footprints or any trespassing while I was gone. I handed Jesse my pistol and asked him to put it in his leather jacket.

“Man, you’re a regular Bonnie Parker.”

“A dame that knows the ropes isn’t likely to get tied up.”