Part 19 (2/2)
”Yeah.”
”And she and her brother got somethin' to do with all this mess?”
”They, they did, yeah. But I cain't tell you about how until you find Kit.”
”We gave you our word, BB,” I said.
”I know,” he said. ”But I just wanna keep my secret until we got Kit here with us.”
”Who killed Minna and Lance Wexler?”
”I don't know, brother. That's why I'm hidin' here. Somebody's out to kill us.”
”Kill who?”
”Me and Kit and anybody else messed up in this.”
The chill returned to my gut then. I was messed up in BB's business. I didn't even know what was going on and I was still on a hit list somewhere.
”Where's the thousand?” Fearless asked BB.
The young man went to the ugly pink lamp and unscrewed the bottom. A thick roll of twenty-dollar bills fell out. He handed the wad to me. The moment the money changed hands a fearful shudder went through BB. He'd given us the money, now we could kill him or turn him over to his auntie. Why should he have trusted us?
”Why you so scared'a your auntie?” I asked BB.
”Who said I'm scared?” he asked, trying to achieve some approximation of bravery.
”You goin' up against me to keep away from her tell us you scared,” Fearless said.
”I cain't tell ya what we lookin' for,” BB said. ”But believe this: my auntie would see me dead before she'd let me get away wit' what Kit done did.”
I could see that BB wasn't going to let up on his secret, but that didn't matter right then. At least I knew that Winifred Fine's problem went deep enough to make her own blood afraid of her.
”You better find a new place to hide out, Bart,” I said. ”'Cause you know if we could find you then somebody else can too.”
”Where?”
”Wherever,” I said. ”But don't call n.o.body. Don't tell n.o.body where you are. Don't go out the door. Make sure you don't order no chicken from Sister Sue's. And when you light, call Milo Sweet's office, he's in the Yellow Pages under bail bonds. You'll get an answering service. Tell them where Paris can find Honeyboy.”
”Who's that?” BB asked.
”I'm Paris. You're Honeyboy.”
”Oh. Okay. You guys ain't gonna turn on me, right?”
”Not unless you do it first,” I said.
”WHAT NOW, PARIS?” Fearless asked when we got to the car. Fearless asked when we got to the car.
”I got to eat, man. Let's go over to that gumbo house you love so much.”
Fearless grinned. Blue crab gumbo was his reason for living.
Henrietta's Gumbo House was on Slauson just down the street from Paloma. Henrietta's served three kinds of gumbo, jambalaya, and red beans and rice. She also offered vodka drinks flavored with sugary lime and always had sweet potato pie for dessert. I was so hungry that I had it all-twice.
We started eating at about eight o'clock.
”So what now?” Fearless asked me.
”You said that that man, that Maynard Latrell would drive Kit in to work every morning?”
”Just about,” Fearless said. ”Maynard always tryin' to get on the good side of whoever he's workin' for. I wouldn't go so far as to say he was kissin' b.u.t.t. But you know he gets close enough for a good whiff.”
”Maybe he got close enough to know something that will let us on to where Kit went to.”
”I guess,” Fearless said. ”But you know I already asked him if he knew where Kit had gone.”
”Yeah,” I said. ”But sometimes people know things they don't think they know. Sometimes you need what they call a fresh perspective. So maybe you find him and we'll all talk together.”
”And where you goin'?” Fearless asked.
”This address I found in BB's pocket. Maybe I can see who else these boys is messed up wit'.”
Fearless shook his head.
”What?” I asked him.
”I'ont know, Paris. It's just that I'm used to you tellin' me how we should back up and stay away from trouble, and here you are jumpin' in wit' both feet.”
Maybe drinking those sweet lime c.o.c.ktails is what set my anger free.
”Listen here, a.s.shole. I don't wanna be out here. I don't wanna be thinkin' about dead people and killers and stolen money. I don't wanna be runnin' out my back door when I hear a knock on the front. But I can't help it. I'm in trouble and never did nuthin' to cause it. It was you did it.”
”Me?” Fearless protested.
”You. It was you came to me and asked for help. It was you that white man shot at us was lookin' for. It was you sent me lookin' for a man dead in his living room. This all started because you couldn't resist a pretty woman with a cryin' child askin' you for a favor. And now all I can do is try and keep my head above water.” I remembered my dream of drowning in money.
”I'm sorry, Paris,” Fearless and I said at the same time.
”That's what you always say when I'm under the gun,” I added. ”You're always sorry and I'm always up s.h.i.+t's creek. You're sorry and I'm in jail. You're sorry and, and . . .”
”You got a thousand dollars in your pocket,” Fearless said, finis.h.i.+ng my sentence.
I laughed then. What else could I do?
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