Walter Mosley - Fear Itself

“Paris?”

“I’m goin’ to bed, Fearless,” I said.

He said something but I didn’t hear it. I scaled the stairs to my illegal loft. I don’t even remember getting into the bed. And I didn’t have one dream that I can remember. It was just as if I had died. That’s how far I’d fallen.

I DIDN’T FEEL HIM SHAKE ME but he must have. He’d stayed downstairs for nearly twenty hours, standing guard over my despair. When I opened my eyes Fearless was just sitting there in a chair beside my bed. He’d undressed me and covered me with blankets and a sheet.

“Hey, Paris. Feel better?”

“Ungh,” I said. “Ugh.”

A wave of nausea went through me and I got out of the bed and rushed down to the toilet. My head was aching and one of my nostrils was clogged. I’d lost a fortune because of a car wash attendant who would never know the value of the book he stole.

Fearless was at the kitchen table when I got there. He’d made pancakes with hot maple syrup and country sausage.

“Anybody call?” I asked.

“I took the phone off the hook, man. You needed your sleep.”

“Well, I better put it back. I got work to do.”

My first job was to read the morning paper.

Kit Mitchell had been found. He’d been dead for at least a week. There were signs that he’d been tortured before he died, but the cause of death was not immediately known.

Maybe, after I died and if I went to heaven, the celestial host would give me a medal for ending Theodore Timmerman’s rampage on earth.

RAWLWAY AND MORRAIN CAME BY at about five. Fearless went upstairs before I answered the door.

“Sergeant, officer,” I said in greeting at the door.

“May we come in, Mr. Minton?” Sergeant Rawlway asked.

“Sure can.”

They took seats this time and sat forward with clasped hands and elbows on their knees.

“We found some suspicious evidence at the house of the man you called us about,” Rawlway said.

“Oh yeah? What about him?”

The hairy cop just shook his head.

“Well,” I said, hesitating, “was there something else I could do for you?”

“What did you say his name was again?” Morrain asked in a surprisingly deferential tone.

“Timmerman,” I said. “Theodore Timmerman. Why?”

“His phone records and other papers seem to be a bit confused.”

“How do you mean?”

“He went by half a dozen names. And there were some very incriminating materials in his garage.”

“Really?”

“Just what did he say to you when he was here?” Rawlway asked. He took out the tiny notebook and small ballpoint pen made to scale.

“He asked if I knew a man named Fearless,” I said, looking up at the ceiling as if I had to think about my answer. “Then he asked about Kit. I told him that I didn’t know but I heard that Fearless worked for a man named Kit for a while but that was over now. He wanted to know Fearless’s address and I told him that I didn’t know. That’s when it got kinda strange.”

“How do you mean strange?”

“He put his hand on my forearm and squeezed it hard. Then he asked about Fearless again. It was as if he was testin’ me. You know his eyes were scary, and so I was happy that I passed.”

“Did he say anything else?” Morrain asked.

“No. He let me go and left.”

“How long ago was that?”

“Day before yesterday.”

“And you waited a whole day to call?” Rawlway asked.

“Yeah. Well, you know I didn’t wanna get involved. But then I woke up yesterday morning and I got worried. I tried to get in touch with Fearless but he’d gone somewhere. So then I called you guys because I don’t want my friend to get hurt.”

“It’s unusual for Negroes to willingly give up information to the cops,” Morrain speculated.

“Maybe about other Negroes, but Timmerman or whatever his name is is a white man.” Who died three feet from where you’re sitting, went through my mind.

“If Timmerman calls you again you should call us,” Rawlway was saying.

“You mean you didn’t catch him yet?” I said, putting a little fear in my voice. “I mean, what if he figures to come back here?”

“Don’t worry,” Morrain said. “We got his house covered. We’ll get him.”

“How can we get in touch with Fearless?” Rawlway wanted to know.

I gave them Ambrosia’s phone number and address. Fearless would call her and make sure she wasn’t helpful. Sooner or later he’d have to talk to the cops, but not before we finished our business.

AT NINE EXACTLY I called Bradford Craighton. He answered even before I heard the ring.

“Mr. Minton?”

“Hello, Bradford. I got what you wanted. I got even more than that.”

“Where?”

“Right here at Timmerman’s house. Fearless found the book and left it. He said that he didn’t see any reason to go runnin’ around with Timmerman in the hospital and the police lookin’ into three murders. You just bring my money here. Bring it and we’ll turn over the book to you.”

I never expected to see that money or anything else that was promised to me, but I had to act like I did. I gave him the Ogden address and he hung up the phone without even a good-bye.

44

THINGS FELL INTO PLACE QUICKLY after that. Bradford Craighton was arrested at Timmerman’s house on charges of attempted breaking and entering. Maestro Wexler had him out of jail before noon. The private secretary immediately fled the state, which set off a nationwide search. Over the next days there were a series of articles about the conspiracy between Minna Wexler, her brother, and Bradford Craighton to extort money from an unnamed millionaire. It was also believed that, with the help of an as yet unnamed accomplice, Bradford ordered the deaths of the brother and sister.

Three days later it all came to naught. Bradford Craighton hung himself in a three-dollar-a-night room in Toledo, Ohio.

A long way from the Left Bank.

Maybe a week after that a couple camping in the Santa Monica mountain range found the desiccated body of a tall white man. The corpse had no hands and had also been beheaded. Nearby there had been a fire that contained the remains of human bone.

I PUT IT ALL OUT OF MY MIND: the one unbroken thread of African history as it bled into the world of slavery; the possibility of being a rich man with a house near the shore; the first, and hopefully the last, killing my hands would ever commit. I forgot about everything and went back to my spotty life of book sales and reading.

Rose Fine moved in with Fearless’s mother. Son, Brown, and Leora decided to stay in L.A. to be near her. The cops picked up Fearless but he played ignorant and they soon let him go. The information I found in Timmerman’s files never made it to the news. Neither did the money he had in that rusty box.

A few weeks later I was lamenting not taking at least a few dollars for the trouble Timmerman had caused me. The dread of his evil files and photographs had worn off but the mailman was still delivering the bills. I was having those thoughts when my telephone rang.

“Mr. Minton?”

“Oscar?”

“My sister would appreciate it if you could come to the house this afternoon. Shall we say four-thirty?”

***

THE HOUSE WAS GOING THROUGH a major renovation. The lawn had been cleared of the junk that had been rusting there. The façade was being painted. Hard-muscled men of every race were straining and struggling to make the Fine house into the mansion it could be.

I felt guilty as I approached the front door. I’d lost the greatest fortune this family owned, maybe the greatest treasure for American Negroes. Maybe, I thought, Winifred now knew about the loss and she wanted to hire me to search down the book. I had decided that I wouldn’t take her money. It would just be the wrong thing to do.

SHE WAS SITTING AT HER DESK with the curtains open on the Eden behind her. She wore a pink dress that was cut low enough to show the pendant against her chest. It was a large emerald surrounded by white stones that looked like diamonds but which were really white sapphires.

“You got it back,” I said.

“As if you didn’t know,” she replied. “Have a seat, Mr. Minton.”

“What do you mean?”

“Do I have to explain the word seat?”

“I mean about the pendant.”

“It’s okay, Mr. Minton. Your friend Fearless brought it back to me of his own free will.”

“Oh,” I said as I lowered into the soft chair. “I see.”

“He also returned my family book. When I spoke to you I didn’t even know that it was missing. With Son being taken from me and the pendant too I was distracted.”

“I imagine so,” I said pleasantly. But inside I was boiling. Fearless had done it to me again. He knew that I planned either to keep the book or to sell it, and he made the decision that either act would have been wrong. He stole the book from me and gave it back to Winifred. I silently swore never to help him again.

“He told me,” she was saying, “that you found the book and turned it over to him so that he could protect it until you gave it to the rightful owner.”

“Well, that’s how it was, I guess. What is it you wanted today?”

“I’ve already made my allowances for Fearless,” she said as if I should have understood. “And now all I have to do is meet your request.”

“I see,” I said. There were prickles now working their way up my spine.

“I have an offer that you may or may not be interested in.”

“And what’s that?”

There was a black-and-yellow garden spider sitting in the middle of her web in the window. She was a behemoth. Near the web a tiger swallowtail butterfly, also yellow and black, fluttered haplessly looking for pollen and a place to lay her eggs. I began to be afraid for the butterfly. I wanted more than anything for her to go the other way.

“I could give you the ten thousand that Fearless said you wanted,” Winifred Fine said. “But —”

I forgot the butterfly then.

“But what?”

“I also have in my possession the same amount of money in a stock that I intended for Son’s education. I’ll get more stocks in the future, and I’d like to hold on to as much cash as possible because I’m about to embark on a new gas station business in Compton.”

“I’ll take the money, ma’am.”

“Are you sure? The stocks might make a great surge and you can always sell them.”

“No ma’am. I’m just a poor shopkeeper. I don’t know about finance. You got the money here?”

“It’s in the briefcase next to your chair.”

I looked down to see a slender alligator skin case on the right side of my chair. When I looked up the spider was wrapping the butterfly and Winifred L. Fine was smiling.

“I see that you’re fixing up around the front of the house,” I said to make a little conversation before running out of the door with my loot.

“As I told you, the front of the house was Rose’s domain. Now that she has left us I have taken over that responsibility.”

Which one was crazier? I wondered.

“Tell Mr. Jones that I met my end of the bargain,” she said.

I nodded and stood, my treasure in tow. I turned to leave and then turned back.

“What was the name of the stock you wanted to give me?”

“International Business Machines,” she said. “They make typewriters.”

I smiled and wandered out of the house, not a rich man, but certainly not poor.

45

“YEAH, PARIS, you know I had to give that lady back her book. It was a family heirloom.”