Cinnamon Kiss (21 page)

Our steaks came soon after that. Mouse ate like two men. Jackson didn’t even touch his food. After the meal was over Jackson took the check. I had known him nearly thirty years and that was the first time he ever willingly paid for a meal.

We made small talk for a while. Mouse caught Jackson up on what our mutual friends were doing. Who was up, who was dead. After forty-five minutes or so Jackson looked at his watch and said that he had to get back to work.

At the door Mouse took him by the arm.

“You like that little girl Jewelle?” he asked.

“Love her,” Jackson said.

“How ’bout yo’ car an’ clothes an’ this here job?”

“Great. I never been so happy. Shit, I do stuff most people don’t even know that they don’t know about.”

“Then why you so hot and bothered over a few dollars on a tape? Fuck that tape, man. That money ain’t gonna suck yo’ dick. Shit, if you happy then keep on doin’ what you doin’ an’ don’t let the niggah in you run riot.”

Raymond’s words transformed Jackson as he heard them. He gave a little nod and the hopelessness in his eyes faded a little.

“Yeah, you right,” he said. “You right.”

“Damn straight,” Mouse said. “We ain’t dogs, man. We ain’t have to sniff after them. Shit. You an’ me an’ Easy here do things our mamas an’ papas never even dreamed they could do.”

I appreciated being included in the group but I realized that Mouse and Jackson were living on a higher plane. One was a master criminal and the other just a genius, but both of them saw the world beyond a paycheck and the rent. They were beyond the workaday world. I wondered at what moment they had left me behind.

I
dropped Mouse off at his apartment on Denker. He told me that he was going to look into Cicero, his habits and friends.

“If you lucky, Ease,” he told me, “the mothahfuckah be dead by the time you see me again.”

Most other times I would have tried to calm Mouse down. But I had looked into Joe Cicero’s eyes deeply enough to know, all other things being equal, that he was the killer and I was the prey.

SAUL LYNX AND DOREEN lived on Vista Loma in View Park at that time. Their kids had a yard to play in and colored neighbors who, on the whole, didn’t mind the interracial marriage.

Doreen came to the door with a toddler crying in her arms.

“Hi, Easy,” she said.

We had a pretty good relationship. I respected her husband and didn’t have any problem with their union.

“Saul call yet, honey?”

“No. I mean …he called once but George answered it and he didn’t call me. I was hanging clothes on the line out back.”

I could see my disappointment register on her face.

“I’m sure that he’ll call soon though,” she said. “He calls every evening about six.”

It was just past three.

“Do you mind if I come back at about five-thirty or so? I really have to talk to Saul.”

“Sure, Easy. Can I help you?”

“I don’t think so, honey.”

“How’s it going with Feather?”

“I’ll catch you in a couple’a hours,” I said. I didn’t have the heart to talk about Feather one more time.

WHEN CINNAMON DIDN’T ANSWER my knock I figured that either she was dead or out eating. If she’d been killed, there wouldn’t be anything to learn from her body. If she’d had the bonds they’d be gone, and so the only thing I could gain by breaking in would be another possible murder charge. So I decided to sit at a bus stop bench across the street and wait until she returned or it was time for me to go talk to Saul.

While waiting I thought about my plan of action. Survival was the priority. I had to believe that Joe Cicero wanted to kill Cinnamon and anyone else that got in his way. Therefore he had to go—one way or another. The police wouldn’t help me. I had no evidence against him. Axel Bowers was dead but I couldn’t prove who had killed him. All I could do would be to tell the cops where his body was hidden—and that would point a finger at me.

Money was the next thing on my mind. I needed to pay for Feather. It was then that I remembered Maya Adamant’s last call.

There was a phone booth down the street from the Pixie Inn. I called my old friend the long-distance operator and asked for another collect call.

“Lee investigations,” Maya answered.

“I have a collect call for anyone from Easy Rawlins. Do you accept the charges?”

“Yes, operator,” she said a little nervously.

“How much?” I asked.

“You were supposed to call me yesterday—at my house.”

“I’m callin’ you now.” I wondered if Bobby Lee had his phones bugged too. Maya was probably thinking the same.

“Where are you?”

“Down the street from the apartment where Cinnamon Cargill is staying.”

“What’s that address?”

“How much?” I asked again.

“Three thousand dollars for the addresses of Cargill and Bowers.”

“It’s the same address,” I said.

“Okay.”

I couldn’t tell if she knew about Bowers’s death so I decided to try another approach.

“Tell me about Joe Cicero,” I said.

“What about him?” she asked at about half the volume of her regular voice.

“Did you put him on me?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Mr. Rawlins. I know the name and the reputation of the man Joe Cicero but I have never had any dealings with him.”

“No? Then what was Joe Cicero doin’ at my office askin’ about Cinnamon Cargill?”

“I have no idea. But you’d be smart to look out for a man like that. He’s a killer, Mr. Rawlins. The best thing you could do would be to give Mr. Lee the information he wants, take the money, and then leave town for a while.”

I had to smile. Usually when I was working I was the one who did the manipulating of people’s fears. But here Maya was trying to maneuver me.

“Thirty thousand dollars,” I said.

“What?”

“Thirty grand and I give you everything you want. But it gots to be thirty and it gots to be today. Tomorrow it goes up to thirty-five.”

“A dead man has no use for money, Ezekiel.”

“You’d be surprised, Maya.”

“Why would you think that Mr. Lee would be willing to pay such an outrageous figure?”

“First, I don’t think Mr. Lee knows a thing about this conversation. Second, I don’t know the exact amount on those bearer bonds —”

“What bearer bonds?”

“Don’t try an’ mess wit’ me, girl. I know about the bonds because I’ve talked to Philomena. So like I was sayin’ …I don’t know exactly how much they’re worth but I’m willing to wager that even after the thirty grand you and Joe Cicero will have enough left over to make me look like a bum.”

“I have no business with Cicero,” she said.

“But you know about the bonds.”

“Call me this evening on my home phone,” she said. “Call me then and we’ll talk.”

TWENTY MINUTES LATER Cinnamon walked up to her motel door. She was carrying a brown supermarket bag. It made me like her more to see that she was conserving her money, buying groceries instead of restaurant meals.

“Miss Cargill,” I called from across the street.

She turned and waved to me as if I were an old friend.

She used her key on the lock and walked in, leaving the door open for me. She was taking a box of chocolate-covered doughnuts from the bag when I came in.

“Have you heard anything about Axel?” were the first words she said.

“Not yet. I had a visit from your friend in the snakeskin jacket though.”

There was fear in her eyes, no mistaking that. But that didn’t make her innocent, just sensible.

“What did he say?”

“He wanted to know where you were.”

“And what did you tell him?”

“I pointed a gun at his eyeball and all he did was shrug. It’s a bad man who’s not even afraid of a gun in his face.”

“Did you shoot him?” she whispered.

“Somebody else asked me that,” I replied. “I sure hope that you’re not like him.”

“Did you shoot him?”

“No.”

The fear crept over her face like night over a broad plain.

“What are you gonna do, Philomena?”

“What do you mean?”

“Nobody is interested in you. It’s those bonds they want, and that letter.”

“I promised Axel that I’d hold them for him.”

“Have you been calling him?” I asked.

“Yes. But he’s nowhere to be found.”

“Does he know how to get in touch with you?”

“Yes. Yes, he has Lena’s number.”

“What does that tell you, Philomena?” I asked, knowing that her boyfriend was long dead.

“But how can I be sure?”

“Those bonds are like a bull’s-eye on you, girl,” I said. “You need to use them to deal yourself out of danger.”

I didn’t feel guilty that getting those bonds might also net me thirty thousand dollars. I was trying to save Philomena’s life too. You couldn’t put a price tag on that.

“I don’t know,” she said sadly, hanging her head. She sat down on the bed. “I promised Axel to make sure the world knew about those bonds if he failed.”

“What for?”

“Because they were wrong to do that work. Axel felt that it was a blight on him to live knowing that his father dealt with the Nazis.”

“But his father’s dead and he is too, probably. What good will it do you to join them?”

She clasped her hands together and began rocking back and forth.

Something about this motion made me think about her San Francisco apartment. That reminded me of something else.

“Who do you know in the Westerly Nursing Home?”

She looked up at me. There was no knowledge behind her eyes. She shook her head and stopped rocking.

“You called there from your home phone.”

“I didn’t. Maybe Axel did. He stayed over sometimes. If he used my phone he’d pay for it later.”

I stared into those lovely eyes a moment longer.

“I don’t know anyone in a nursing home,” she said.

Whether she did or didn’t, I couldn’t tell. I moved on.

“Listen,” I said. “Think about how much those bonds will be worth to you dead. Think it over. Talk with whoever you trust. I’m gonna write a number down on this paper here on the desk.”

“What is it?”

“It’s the phone number and address of a friend of mine—Primo. He lives in a house down on One-sixteen. Call him, go to him if you’re scared. I’ll be back later on tonight. But remember, if you want to get on with your life you got to work this thing out.”

I
got to Saul’s at a quarter to six. Doreen and I sat in the living room surrounded by their three kids. Their eight-year-old daughter, Miriam, was listening to a pink transistor radio that hung from her neck on a string necklace, also pink. She had brown hair that drooped down in ringlets and green eyes, a gift from her father. George, the five-year-old, had the TV on and he was jumping around on a threadbare patch of carpet, acting out some swashbuckling derring-do. Simon, the toddler, was wandering back and forth between his sister and brother, making sounds that wouldn’t be understood for another six months or so.

“So how long will Feather have to be in the clinic?” Doreen asked.

“Might be as long as six months.”

“Six months?” Miriam cried. “I could go visit her if she’s lonely.”

“It’s in Switzerland,” I explained to the good girl.

“We could go to ’itzerland,” George said, bravely swinging his imaginary sword.

“It’s way far away in the Valley,” Miriam told her brother.

“I know that,” George said. “We could still go.”

“Can we go, Mom?” Miriam asked Doreen.

“We’ll see.”

It was then that the phone rang.

“Daddy!” George yelled.

“No, George,” Doreen said but the boy leaped for the phone on the coffee table.

Doreen put out her hand and George bounced backward, falling on his backside. As Doreen was saying hello, George began to howl. I saw her mouth Saul’s name but I couldn’t hear what she was saying because Simon was crying too and Miriam was shouting for them both to be quiet.

Doreen gestured toward the kitchen. I knew they had an extension in there and so I went on through, closing the door behind me.

“Hello!” I yelled. “I got it, Doreen!”

When she hung up the sound of the crying subsided somewhat.

“Easy,” Saul said. “What’s wrong?”

“I got a visit from a guy yesterday,” I said. “He knew that I was working on the Lee case. He told me to give him what I knew or he’d kill me and my family too.”

“What was this guy’s name?”

“Cicero.”

“Joe Cicero?”

“You know him?”

“Don’t go home, Easy. Don’t go to your office or your job. Call this number.” He gave me an area code and a number, which I wrote down on a notepad decorated with pink bunnies. “I’ll be there as soon as I can. Put my wife back on the line.”

When I went back into the TV room the children had quieted down.

“Saul wants to talk to you, Doreen,” I said and she took up the phone.

“Daddy!” George cried.

“Dada,” Simon echoed.

Miriam watched her mother’s eyes. So did I.

We both saw Mrs. Lynx’s expression change from attentive interest to fear. Instead of answering she kept nodding her head. She reached for her pocketbook on the coffee table.

“I wanna talk to Daddy,” George complained.

Doreen gave him one stern look and he shut right up.

“Okay,” Doreen said. “All right. I will. Be careful, Saul.”

She hung up the phone and stood in one fluid movement.

“Holiday time,” she said in a forced happy voice. “We’re all going to Nana’s cabin in Mammoth.”

“Yah,” George cried.

Simon laughed but Miriam had a grim look on her face. She was getting older and understood that something was wrong.

“Saul said that he’d be at the meeting place by nine tonight,” Doreen told me. “He’s in San Diego but he said that he’d drive straight there.”

“What meeting place? He just gave me a number.”

“Call it and they will tell you where to go.”