Authors: William Lashner
“Why didn’t you tell the judge?”
“And spoil the surprise? No, this cross-examination should be fun, me going after Gullicksen, shark to shark.”
“You think you’ll draw blood?”
“Oh, I hope so, but it doesn’t really matter. This is all just the preliminary fencing. None of this really matters.”
“Then what does?”
“Sonenshein,” I said. “Everything depends on little Jerry Sonenshein. You want to worry about something, worry about him.”
Horace T. Grant stood on the corner in front of Tommy’s High Ball, his chin up, his creased face creased with concern. It was not a good look for Horace. His natural expression was one of repugnance, disdain, his features were generally etched with a sweet scorn for the general stupidity of the world. I watched him a moment as he worriedly fingered his bow tie. I almost felt something for him then, some sort of empathic pity, before I beeped the horn and he saw my face in the window and his normal derisive expression returned.
“You get lost, boy? Seems like I been standing here since Truman was president.”
“The judge held us longer than I expected.”
“Did you tell him I was waiting? Did you tell him his inconsiderate lethargy was seriously inconveniencing an upstanding member of the community? I’m an old man, I don’t got time to waste.”
“Probably less than you think. I’ll tell him next time.”
“You do that. Remind him he works for us, not the other way around.” He bent his ancient frame to fit into my car. “Now, where we going? You found us a shaman this time, or a conjure man, or any other of your garden-variety frauds and tricksters intending to feed us smoke and mirrors and tell us squat?”
“We’re going back to Madam Anna.”
“That old scarecrow? Why we going to waste any more time with her? I’d just as soon stick a hot poker in my ear as listen to her screech again about my shoes or that there spirit world she’s in touch with.”
“She called me,” I said. “We set up a meeting.”
Horace T. Grant leaned back, stared at me for a long moment. “How’d you get that one-eyed witch to call you?”
“It was funny, actually. Out of the blue, an L&I inspector paid our Madam Anna a visit. Would you believe she didn’t have a business-privilege license after all?”
“Shocking,” said Horace T. Grant.
“The inspector, in the course of his writing out the violation notice, mentioned my name. It turned out that I successfully defended this same inspector in a DUI case just last year. Funny how that works, isn’t it? When she called, I said I would tell her how to take care of the violation notice, so long as I learned what I needed to learn about the girl.”
“I must then say, I am sorry.”
“For what?”
“For calling you a less-than-useless piece of seagull doo.”
“Apology accepted.”
“See, I can admit when I am wrong. Takes a big man to do that, but here I am. You still a piece of seagull doo, and you still pretty much useless. But not less than that, no, sir, not less than that at all.”
It wasn’t long before we were back in that maroon room in Madam Anna’s apartment, candles burning on that pale blue table, the yellow symbols dancing around us as if alive. We were waiting again, that seemed to be Madame Anna’s method of operation, make the stiffs wait so long that when she finally does appear, it seems like a deliverance from on high. Horace’s black porkpie hat sat in front of him on the table.
“How’s this?” I said, showing Horace my thumb-twiddling technique. “I think I have it down.”
Horace took a look, raised his gaze to the ceiling. “Lord, save us from amateurs.”
Just then the far door opened, and Madam Anna, in her shimmering green robe, entered the room, accompanied by a skinny man in a plain black suit, white shirt, narrow black tie. The man had long arms, yet still the sleeves of his jacket reached his knuckles. He looked, the man, with his long arms and hunched shoulders, as if he had just come from burying the dead. The two sat across from us and stared for a moment. We let them.
“I have something for you,” Madam Anna said finally. She reached into one of the sleeves of her gown, pulled out a piece of paper, handed it to me.
I hoped it was an address. No such luck. Instead it was a notice of violation made out to Madam Anna by the Licenses and Inspection Department of the City of Philadelphia. I looked at it and shrugged as I tossed it onto the table.
“They want five thousand dollars in fines and fees,” she said. “You will take care of that.”
“Tell me where Tanya Rose is.”
“I don’t know where she is,” she said. “But I brought the Reverend Wilkerson to talk to you. He’s a man of the cloth, so I assume you will trust what he says.”
“I appreciate the reverend’s being here. We can all use the help of the Lord in our endeavors. But I’m not here to pray, I’m here to find a little girl. An address is all I need.”
“We understand the seriousness of your mission, Mr. Carl,” said the Reverend Wilkerson. He had a beautiful, deep voice and a warm smile, both of which seemed out of place in his small, hunched frame. He sat with his hands clasped in front of him, and he fixed me with his eyes as he spoke, as if they had some unearthly power. “And our hearts are touched by your concern for such a young and vulnerable member of our community. That is why I have come. I am here to assure you that she is in the best of hands and there is nothing for you to fear.”
“So why am I suddenly more afraid for her than I was before?”
“I can’t imagine,” he said, still smiling.
“Who are you to the girl?”
“She is among my flock.”
“I suppose, then, you are exactly the man I should be speaking to.” I took a copy of the order appointing me to be Tanya Rose’s counsel and placed it in front of the reverend. “I have been named by the Court of Common Pleas as counsel to the young girl we’re talking about. I need to see her, and I need to see her right away.”
“That’s not possible.”
“And why is that?”
“Because she is now happy and healthy with her new family. Everything is going wonderfully. Your appearance would disturb her delicate equilibrium.”
“Me? I’m a sweetheart. Aren’t I a sweetheart, Horace?”
“He’s a sweetheart, all right,” Horace said with a grump in his voice.
“See? I wouldn’t disturb a fly.”
Reverend Wilkerson glanced at Madam Anna. “Some would beg to differ,” he said. “And the family she is now with is frightened of what you might do. Frightened that you might take away their child.”
“First, she is not their child. Second, I don’t have the power to do anything on my own, everything I do is within the bounds of the law. And third, anyone who is keeping me from seeing my client is indubitably not working in her best interests.”
“Indubitably, Mr. Carl?”
“Quite,” I said. “Let’s start at the beginning here, Reverend. How did you get involved with Tanya?”
“Madam Anna and I have known each other for some years. She understands my deep concern for the children of the community. When she mentioned to me that she was aware of a girl who needed a home, I told her I would make sure she was taken care of.”
“Any money change hands?”
“Is that important?”
“I suppose that means yes.”
“There may have been expenses we reimbursed.”
“And you investigate these homes carefully, Reverend? You do home visits, background checks, follow-ups to make sure she is being properly taken care of? An outreach program with ongoing support and evaluation?”
“I do what I need to do, the good Lord does the rest.”
“So let me get this straight. Tanya’s mother simply gave the girl to Madam Anna. Then Madam Anna sold the girl to you. And you gave her away, or sold her to the highest bidder, hoping that providence would keep the girl safe, is that it?”
“What are you really doing here, Mr. Carl? What’s your angle in all this?”
“I’m here pro bono.”
“Who the hell’s Bono?”
“U2?”
“Me what?”
I sighed loudly. “This girl is my client. I’m just doing my job.”
“But how did she just happen to become your client? That order drop out of the sky into your hand?”
“Something like that,” I said, although, truth be told, it wasn’t something like that at all.
“Have you ever considered, Mr. Carl,” said the reverend, “that we are just trying to help that girl?”
“You’re trying to help, I’m trying to help, everyone seems to be trying to help, but things keep getting worse, don’t they?”
“You won’t leave this be, will you?”
“No, I will not.”
“So we are at an impasse.”
“Not for long,” I said, standing. “You do know, both of you, that baby selling is against the law. Expect the police to show up at your door, Reverend.”
“I have the protection of the First Amendment.”
“That’s what they said at Waco.”
“I know you,” said Horace to Reverend Wilkerson. “I recognize your voice. You drive that hearse through the city, the one with the fake coffin and the body sticking up out of it, the one preaching out against drugs and violence.”
“That is I,” said the reverend.
“Driving around with that ugly thing on top your car, quoting Scripture out a bullhorn, making all kinds of racket when we’re just trying to sleep. What do you think you’re going to accomplish?”
“I’m trying to save our community.”
“How about saving my sleep? You get my age, it don’t come so easy. And then, just as I’m sinking into slumber, you drive along and blast me sky-high with your preaching.”
“Maybe you need saving, too, old man.”
“And you got that run-down hotel on Fifty-first that you turned into some sort of shelter and meeting place, the Hotel Latimore, it is, where you take care of all kinds of families don’t got no homes for themselves.”
“I do what I can.”
“Yeah, I know you, all right,” said Horace. “We got enough folks making things worse, so I appreciate those fighting to make things better. But you should appreciate what this boy’s fighting to do, too. He’s not from us, is ignorant of our ways, among many other things, but that don’t mean he don’t care. He had a choice, he could have walked away from this girl who he’s never in the life of him ever met. Others would have, said it was too hard, thrown up their hands. But he didn’t. Now he got himself in the middle of a mess, legally responsible for a girl he can’t find, standing up to a man with a bullhorn. It takes a heap of stupidity to do all that. It’s not up to you to shut him out.”
“I have my responsibilities,” said the reverend.
“So does he.”
“I am sorry,” he said. “I’ve done all I can.”
“That’s not good enough,” I said. “I am scared for my client, and I am not in the mood to be patient. I tried to do this the polite way, Reverend, but that’s over. Let’s go, Horace.”
Horace pushed himself to standing, propped his hat on his head. “Quite a boy, ain’t he?”
“A real firebrand,” said Wilkerson.
“I taught him everything he knows,” said Horace.
“Oh, Mr. Carl,” said Madam Anna before we could leave. “We had a deal. What about this paper from the city? What about the fines?”
“You want my help, is that it? My expert legal opinion?” I stepped to the table, picked up the notice, scanned it quickly. “This shouldn’t be a problem.”
“What should I do?” she said.
“Pay it.”
“There it is,” said Horace. “It used to be a place in the old days, used to be something special. ‘Where you staying?’ we’d ask our cousins visiting from down south. They chests would swell with pride, and they’d say, ‘The Hotel Latimore.’ ”
Horace was nodding toward a dilapidated four-story building, made of brick, wedged between a linoleum outlet on one side and a Chinese restaurant on the other. There were people milling outside, some going in, some going out, some just sitting on the porch and spitting. Parked in front was a large white van with a dummy in a suit on top, sitting up as if it had bolted right out of the coffin in which it had been laid to rest. An old neon sign swung above the building’s door, hissing as it blinked on and off:
HOTEL LATIMORE
.
“From what I been told,” Horace said, “his office is on the first floor. And there’s an old ballroom on the top where he has his meetings.”
“Who’s that guy standing by the steps?” I said.
“He’s big, isn’t he?”
“Big isn’t the word. Monumental, epic, and massive come to mind.”
“Never seen him before.”
“With his size, that black leather jacket, and the way he’s standing there, looking around like he owns the place, I’d make him for some sort of muscle.”
“What would they be needing with muscle at the Hotel Latimore?”
“Good question, but a guy that size, I’m not going to tap him on the shoulder and ask.”
“Does that mean you’re not going in?”
“I thought we’d sit here and stake out the place, maybe catch Tanya coming in or out.”
“And how would you recognize her, you fool? You got a picture?”
“No, I’ve got something better.”
“What?”
“You. We’ll stay right here, keep an eye out while we’re keeping out of the big guy’s way.”
“I didn’t know I was sitting next to a coward. Ugly, I knew. Dumb as a post, I knew. A taste in clothes would kill a mongoose, I knew.”
“What about the tie?”
“The tie, I like. What happened, you pull it out of a box of Cracker Jack?”
“It’s silk, baby.”
“Then it must have been a gift, because you being cheap as a two-bit whore, I knew. But I didn’t mark you as a coward.”
“Well, now you know that, too.”
“Keep hold of that tie. Yellow suits you.”
“Wait a second,” I said as a big red car slid to a stop right behind the van. “Wasn’t that car parked outside Madam Anna’s?”
We had driven to the Hotel Latimore right after our meeting with the good reverend in the fortune teller’s fortune-telling room. We had parked well down the road, in what I thought to be prime surveillance position. I had hoped we could get a jump on the situation before Reverend Wilkerson put out the word that Horace and I were personae non gratae, but that plan now seemed to have gone awry. The reverend himself stepped out of the red car, looked around, stopped his pan in the direction of my car, peered a little closer. He put his hand on the big guy’s shoulder and had a few words, pointing in our direction. I was coming to the conclusion that my surveillance technique, to be frank, sucked.
“You think he’s talking about us?” I said.
“You maybe. He’s got no beef with me.”
“Don’t slight yourself, Horace.”
“Go ahead, try to push this all off on Horace T. Grant, you yellow-tie coward. But that dog won’t hunt. Any idiot can see I’m just along for the ride.”
“You know, Horace,” I said, “except for that you are a hundred years older than me and a foot shorter than me and black, except for all that, we could be twins.”
“I dress better.”
“That you do. Here they come.”
“Shouldn’t we drive away?”
“That would denote weakness.”
“Nothing wrong with denoting. I’m all for denoting. But if we’re not driving away, shouldn’t we maybe lock the doors?”
“I tried that once before, and it didn’t work out so well. Come on, let’s step on out and face the music.”
We both climbed out from the car and leaned against the hood in as close to a posture of nonchalance as we could muster while Reverend Wilkerson, with his graveyard hunch, crossed the street toward us. The man mountain in the leather coat stayed slightly behind the reverend as they approached, and he looked away from us, first down one side of the street and then down the other, not an ounce of concern on his face. As far as he could tell, we weren’t trouble, we weren’t even potential trouble, we were gnats on the wall.
“I expected you’d pay us a visit, Mr. Carl,” said Reverend Wilkerson with his usual broad smile, “but I didn’t think you’d move with such alacrity.”
“Horace was telling me about the good work you do here, Reverend. I was hoping you could give me a tour of your facilities.”
“That won’t be possible. We don’t allow uninvited visitors, and you most surely are that. No one likes a snoop, especially Rex. Isn’t that right, Rex?”
The big man, while still looking away, scrunched up his face and grimaced, showing a row of twisted teeth. “That’s right, Mr. Reverend, sir,” he said in a rich bass.
“And of course the remark comparing what we do here to Waco was rather frightening, seeing as that situation ended in fire and death. Did you mean that as a threat, Mr. Carl?”
“Not at all,” I said. “I merely used it as an example of how small misunderstandings between people of goodwill can sometimes spiral out of control.”
“But we don’t have a misunderstanding. You think you are doing good, but you are only a well-intentioned fool bound to leave behind nothing but pain and misfortune as you skip from one little project to the next.”
Ouch, I thought.
“I don’t want to have to clean up your mess,” said Wilkerson. “I’ve cleaned up enough in my time. Rex, take a good look at this man.”
“Don’t forget my friend,” I said, indicating Horace with my thumb.
“Right you are.” The reverend smiled at me. “Rex, I want you to take a look at these two men. They are not welcome here, not welcome in the hotel, not welcome anywhere near our work.”
Rex turned his attention to us for a moment, as if burning our visages into his distracted brain, and then looked away again. “Got it, Mr. Reverend, sir.”
“You better be off now, gentlemen.”
“We’ll be off when we are good and ready to be off,” said Horace, “and not one minute before.”
“What’s your name again, old man?”
“Horace T. Grant. My friends call me Pork Chop.”
“What does he call you?” said the reverend, indicating me.
“He calls me whatever he damn well likes.”
“So tell me, Pork Chop, what are you doing, going around town carrying his load like a caddie? Don’t you have any pride in yourself? You need the work so bad, come work with us.”
“There’s no shortage of pride in me, you smiling fraud, and I’d sooner pluck my eyebrows than work for you. And you might be drawing the wrong conclusion about who here is caddying for who. All we want to do is find that girl, and the more you stand in our way, the more suspicious we get.”
“You two better scoot,” said the reverend, “before an accident occurs.”
“Not till we’re good and ready. This is a public street.”
Wilkerson leaned forward, broadened his smile. “See, Pork Chop, that’s where you’re wrong. It’s not public, not public at all. Keep them company, Rex, until they leave us be.”
With that, Wilkerson spun around and headed back to the hotel, leaving Rex to stand close to us while not looking at us. Even without saying anything, he was quite a presence, his breaths were heavy, his body gave off heat. Finally, while still looking away, he dropped a meaty hand on my shoulder.
“Time to go,” he said, his voice deep as a Texas well.
“We’re looking for a small girl,” I said softly when Wilkerson was far enough away not to hear. “She’d be about seven. Her name is Tanya.”
Rex looked behind him, looked to the side. “Tanya?”
“That’s right, Tanya Rose.”
“What you want with Tanya?”
“Believe it or not,” I said, “I’m her lawyer. I just want to find her, talk to her, make sure she’s okay. Is she here, in the hotel?”
“Not anymore.”
“Where is she?”
Rex shrugged, looked down, kicked at the street.
“Who would know where she is?”
“The reverend.”
“Who else?”
“Miss Elise, maybe.”
“Where’s this Miss Elise?”
“In the hotel.”
“Can I get in to talk to her?”
“No.”
“Can I talk to her without it getting back to the reverend?”
“Hardly.”
“It’s like that between them, is it?”
“Time to go.”
“I need to talk to Miss Elise.”
“No you don’t,” said Rex, pressing down now with his hand. “You need to leave.”
“We’re not leaving till we’re good and ready,” said Horace.
Rex squeezed my shoulder.
“I don’t take orders from a fraud like that, I don’t care what he says,” said Horace. “We’re not moving an inch, not an inch, until we’re damn good and ready.”
Rex squeezed harder.
“We’re ready,” I said in a wounded screech as my knees buckled in pain. “We are so ready.”
Rex stayed right where he was, not watching me as I clawed my way back to my feet, not watching us as we jumped like thieves into the car, not watching us as we drove away. It was as if he was afraid to stare straight at us, afraid that we’d see something soft in his eyes.
“She was there,” said Horace.
“Yes, she was.”
“That boy knew her.”
“And he liked her, too.”
“She’s a likable young girl.”
“But still he wouldn’t talk to us.”
“He was afraid of something, afraid of Wilkerson. What do you think is going on?”
“I have no idea,” I said, “and that’s what frightens me.”
“So what are you going to do now?”
“I don’t know.”
“You better come up with something quick.”
“Yes, I better. But to tell you the truth, Horace, I think this whole situation has gone beyond my meager talents. I think it’s time we call upon a higher authority.”
“The police?”
“I don’t know if that would get us what we need. If she really is in trouble, and the police do show up asking all kinds of questions, I’m afraid of what these people might do to her to keep themselves off the hook.”
“What then? That judge?”
“No, higher.”
“The mayor? You know our skunk of a mayor?”
“Higher.”
“Who then? Who’s higher than a judge, who’s more powerful than the mayor? Who you got in your pocket that’s going to help?”
“My dentist,” I said.