Run Baby Run (15 page)

Before Miss Melba could say a word, the man held up his bucket and blurted out to her, "I decided tuh come over here to yuh, since I had this coupon for a free buffet. I know you told us all you'd come to us, but hey, my belly was callin'. Didn't win anything much, but it was great fun. Thanks for all the chips. I've got yours, just like you asked. Twenty-five of 'em. Thousand dollar ones. Want to count 'em to make sure?"

Both Miss Melba and Delery were at a loss for words, she from frustration and he from confusion. He knew, though, that the confusion was leading somewhere useful.

She managed an awkward "Thank you" and painstakingly dumped the casino chips from the gambler's bucket into her beer case.

"Again, I much 'ppreciate it. Gettin' a bite tuh eat 'fore headin' back to Texarkana," he said and loped off.

Delery sat back down.

"Mrs. Barnes, I think you know more than you've let on. A stranger brought you $25,000 like it was nothing," he said.

She knew it was coming but half-heartedly tried to brush it off. "I don't know what you mean."

Delery bluffed. He held up his broken phone and got bold.

"If I press redial, I can get an NOPD commander on the phone. Not to mention all the cops outside. I'm not a cop, though. Just trying to figure things out. The money that's missing... there are some bad people looking for it. They're probably responsible for the bodies outside. If you have some of it, your life's in danger."

Her eyes searched his. She saw someone who meant well but she couldn't totally trust. He saw the first sign of her vulnerability and fear. Also a sense of déjà vu that took him back to his childhood.

"Are you really so concerned about my safety, or do you just want to keep the status quo? If money's gone missing from bad people like you say, what'll it get used for if they get it back? Or if they police find it first?"

"I understand where you're coming from, but the fact remains that you're potentially at risk," Delery emphasized, "depending on where the $25,000 for those chips came from. Look, there are cops and probably mobsters looking for the money. I think some of the cops are looking on behalf of the mobsters. It's better you deal with me."

She sighed. "I understand what you're saying, but who are you? All I see is a man who tells me he's with the police, but he's not actual police. Who are you? Why should I trust you, especially since you're a... "

Delery took a long pause. "Mrs. Barnes, this is awkward. I'm sure you've dealt with a lot of prejudice over the years. Are you uncomfortable, at least in part, because you see a white man trying to get one over on a black woman?"

"You're the one who said it. I've worked with whites over the years. But... if I feel uneasy, that's my right. You don't know what I've been through."

Delery looked at her solidly and took a deep breath.

"This isn't something I usually talk about," he said. "I've learned it's better not to bring it up."

Miss Melba looked at him, wondering.

"Ma'am, I'm black," he said.

15

M
iss Melba pursed her lips and folded her arms. She remembered the whitest white man she had ever seen, face down in her yard. This was different, though. She raised her voice.

"Don't tell me
you're one of those white men who likes black music and black women, so you think you're black. Let me tell
you
something. The low down Klan used to book black bands for their functions. As for women, we all know what color master liked back in the slave days," she said.

The surrounding diners looked at each other cross-eyed, their faces stretching every which way as they heard the neighboring conversation getting real.

"I'm black, Mrs. Barnes," he said again.

"Maybe you've seen that Chappelle Show and think you know about black folks? Think we do nothing but sit around and talk about Rick James."

Delery closed his eyes. Being back home had him feeling emotional.

"I know I don't look it," he said. "A reverse oreo, that's me. My dad was white. Mama's black. She and both my brothers black as anyone in this room."

He paused before continuing on.

"I grew up in the 70's. The decade when our people finally had our own options. In our house, it was Muhammed Ali, not Bruce Jenner. Soul Train, not American Bandstand. James Baldwin, not Norman Mailer. Pam Grier, not Farrah Fawcett. I never saw Mama again after my parents split up, but right now your eyes remind me of hers."

Miss Melba was still skeptical, rightly so.

"Your answers don't answer. How do I know this isn't an elaborate story you prepared?"

He shrugged. "I don't know, ma'am. I can only say it's something I don't bring up much if I don't have to. It makes white people suspicious. Black people think I'm an ofay trying to front. Generally speaking. I realize things have been easier for me, all in all."

She nodded and thought, was about to speak, but corrected herself.

"Give me a minute. While I'm thinking, would you do something for me? I like to finish my meal with a lemon square. They're right over there in the desserts," she pointed. "Don't worry. I'm not going anywhere."

Delery initially kept looking back while on his way to the menagerie of desserts but realized she was staying put. He got a lemon square for each of them.

When he returned, she smiled warmly, but her eyes still pierced.

"I have three questions for you. Answer them right, and I'll believe you. Alright?"

He silently affirmed but furrowed his face, not knowing what was in store for him.

"While you answer, I'm going to start in on my lemon square. First one. BPT. What is it?"

Delery leaned back. This one was easy.

"BPT is Black People Time, the idea that we're always late. You don't hear CPT used much anymore. Of course, in New Orleans, it should just be NOPT. Almost everybody's running behind here, regardless of race," he said.

"Alright." She nodded in his favor. "Number two. Your mama's black? Tell me how she did her hair."

"Sure." He leaned in. "Like I said, I grew up in the 70's, so she kept her hair natural. But when she got a part-time job, she had to straighten. Mama used a hot comb, the kind you put on the stove to heat it up. I remember the smell of the previous oils and greases."

"She ever burn herself?" Miss Melba asked.

"Knicked her ear once. Only time I heard her curse. After I was nine, I don't know what she did. I went away with my dad."

"The things we do with our hair. That'll make anybody talk salty," she mused. "Alright. Last one. In church, what happens after the preacher's altar call?"

"I haven't been to church in a while," he said, wondering if it was a trick question, "but after the altar call and maybe prayer, the pastor calls on the congregation to come forward and give what they can. Some people tithe, but others wait until after the sermon to see if the preacher moved us, made us feel blessed, put his all into it. The preacher might keep the congregation there for a while, trying to get them to give. It's not only that we're skeptical people, for good reason. We just don't give up our money until somebody can show us something. Assuming you're talking about a black church."

Delery looked at her expectantly and nervously ate a piece of his lemon square. She'd already finished hers.

Miss Melba bobbed her head several times before she spoke.

"Well, I'll be. Goodness, that beats the devil with a shovel. I thought it was a set up at first, you coming up to me. You are the whitest looking black man I've ever seen. Not albino either."

She laughed and lowered her voice.

"Alright, Bobby. It's time to tell what I've been up to. I'm only telling you this because I need some help to finish today's journey. You can talk the talk. Now it's time to walk the walk. You said there are a lot of police and criminals and criminal police looking for the money?"

"Yes, ma'am. Look how much cash we're talking. Wait, do you know how much it is?"

"Yes, but I didn't know where it came from until you said. It got unintentionally brought to me by a person who obviously didn't own it. Whitest looking white man I've ever seen."

Delery's eyes lit up. It had to be the guy he'd seen earlier who'd gotten away.

"I knew, though, that much money in a beer box had to be dirty. Am I wrong?"

Delery agreed.

"What do you do with dirty money?" she asked.

"You clean it," he answered.

"What do you do?" she repeated.

"Clean it," he said.

"Yes, you do," she said. "That's what I've been up to. With some help. By the way, your mama really let you watch those Pam Grier movies?"

He smiled. "Of course not, but we'd trade pictures in school."

"I bet you did. I wasn't born yesterday. Before I got here, a big limping man had been following me all the way back from Franklin. Maybe one of the men who got killed," she said. "Another one was after me too, but he stopped following for some reason."

Miss Melba put her hand out.

"Let's back up. Listen to me now. When I found the money, there were ninety-seven packets. Each packet had 100 marked $100 bills. New crisp ones. $10,000 per packet. I tossed two packets into the wind back by the bus stop at Canal and Rampart for a distraction. That gave me a head start from the ones after me. I only got rid of that much money because I couldn't keep putting them off from getting the box. I tithed one packet at church too. Didn't need to wait until after the sermon. Kept one packet in my purse, just in case."

She grinned about referencing Delery's answer to her earlier question.

"That left me with $930,000. I've never gambled a day in my life, but I am fond of the buffet. From being here, eating in the casino, I know a little how things operate. So, I took a chance on self-interest and trust."

She took a sip of water.

"What choice did I have? The minute I got inside Harrah's, I gathered thirty-one people playing the slots. Most around my age. Each of them got three packets of money. That's $30,000 a piece, Bobby."

"You gave away over $900,000 to slot machine gamblers?" Delery asked, incredulous.

She shrugged. "Like I said, there wasn't much choice. A desperate man was after the beer box. All that dirty money to clean. Yes, I hoped for honest gamblers. Still hoping."

Miss Melba checked her watch.

"I've only got a couple minutes, then it'll be an hour, so I'll talk quick. Again, the thirty-one people each got $30,000. They were told to convert $25,000 of that into $1,000 chips with the cashier for me. I let them skim off $5,000 for their own chips. They were to gamble away and wait for me to come collect my chips an hour later. As you know, one of the thirty-one couldn't follow directions."

She gestured with her thumb off toward fishing hat man on the other side of the dining room.

"I wanted them to wait an hour so that anyone after me would see my empty beer box and just go away."

Delery nodded knowingly.

"So, yes, I gave them a total of $155,000 to help me out, but I'm about to go over to the slot machines and collect $775,000 in $1,000 chips."

"Ma'am, I'm not totally following," he said. "You're still going to have all that money in casino chips."

"That's the second part, Bobby. First convert the marked dirty money to chips so the $100's couldn't be traced. Next, those chips are going to organizations who need the money. They'll send someone in here with the chips to convert them back to cash. I'll need your help getting out of here safely with all the chips. Delivering them too. Be thinking about that. Let's go load this up."

She picked up the box and stood. Delery waited.

"Mrs. Barnes, one question. What line of work were you in before you retired?"

"I was an accountant for the Marriott Hotel, baby. What'd you think?"

They left the dining room and walked around to the area of slot machines near the Canal Street entrance. Friendly faces met Miss Melba, and she had thirty buckets of $1,000 chips poured into the beer case.

After goodbye's were said, Delery whispered to Miss Melba, "We can't go back out on Canal. I saw there's a way to get over to the hotel."

They walked through the connecting underground tunnel, Miss Melba insisting on carrying the box. They came out at the hotel shortly after.

"Why don't you wait in the lobby. I'm going to my car and driving back here. While you're waiting, will you get the addresses for the organizations you want these chips to go to? The concierge will have a phone book. Find out where the closest UPS store is too," he requested. "I'd let you use my phone, but it's broken."

She gave him a look and nodded knowingly.

Delery went outside and briskly walked Poydras a few blocks before turning toward Canal Street. He wound through the Quarter, retrieved his car, and took Rampart over to Poydras.

After picking up Miss Melba, they went to the UPS store on St. Charles, and Delery darted inside. When he returned, he had ten shoebox-sized shipping boxes, as she'd requested, along with packing tape, a marker, and a ream of paper.

There in the car, he folded the boxes up, and taped them in place. She carefully counted out the chips and distributed them to each box.

Five boxes got seventy-seven $1,000 chips. Five boxes got seventy-eight chips. Using her left hand, Miss Melba used the marker to write, "Private Donation — Take to Harrah's to redeem," on ten pieces of paper. She was right-handed, writing as a lefty for anonymity. After a note was placed inside each box, Delery sealed them all with tape. Miss Melba wrote the name of the organization on the box.

Next they made the rounds. At each address, Delery ran up with the corresponding box and left it on a step, behind bushes, or wherever it could be slightly tucked away. He rang no doorbells.

After a couple hours, their work was done. Delery drove Miss Melba home. Along the way they passed a swarm of hopeful types, some flea-bitten, others fresh-faced. All had heard through the grapevine about the missing money and were traipsing around like gold prospectors.

"Bobby, thank you," she said. "This was the right thing to do."

They embraced.

"I think you're right, ma'am," he said.

"You can call me Melba," she said. "I'd invite you in so you could see Allen Toussaint acting his charming self, but after all the activity today, I need to rest."

Delery was ready to believe anything at that point.

"Wait, Allen Toussaint is here?" he asked, pointing at the house. "
The
Allen Toussaint?"

"Of course. Moses too."

She squeezed his arm.

"But they're cats."

"Oh, I see. Melba, can I ask you one last question?"

"Of course, Bobby."

"What are you going to do with the last $10,000 you said you'd kept just in case? Those bills are marked."

She said, "I guess I don't know quite yet, but the money needs to go to Harrah's and get swapped out in a few days." She paused and smiled. "What I do know is to get this thing done, I had to keep skimming off the top for everyone."

With that, she left the car.

Delery drove until he found a working payphone. He'd written Commander Jones' phone number in his notebook, which he'd tucked into the glove box when he'd retrieved the car to pick up Miss Melba.

He opened the glove box and pulled out the notebook. It was stuffed with something. He opened it and counted fifty $100 bills. Each had the telltale small highlighter dot in the top left corner. Miss Melba must've stashed them there when he was inside the UPS store buying supplies. He knew what to do with the money.

Delery let loose a big grin. He was sweaty, wrinkled, and tired, but he didn't care.

"Welcome to New Orleans," he said, looking around. He folded the money and shoved it into his pocket.

That same evening in two instances, and the next morning for all the others, those from nine New Orleans organizations involved in the arts, tutoring, adult education, or job training were delighted to discover their mysterious boxes of casino chips. The SPCA too.

Others in the city weren't so happy. They didn't have quiet engines for days to come. Their plagued minds stayed on the boil. The mean streets became a little meaner.

Delery found Jones' number and left a voice mail message explaining the bloodbath he'd seen after following the trail down Canal Street. He also said that he was at a brick wall to proceed further with the case.

"And Commander Jones, I won't need any officers to assist after all with my refrigerator delivery. I'm going to take it easy the rest of the day. I'll definitely call in that favor at some point, though."

Delery flipped a few more pages to see the name Ellis Smith and her email address again. He savored the recent memory and hoped for what it might lead to. She was radiant. He couldn't wait to see her again.

After reflecting for a couple minutes, he walked with a light step to the car, and drove off, ready to start unpacking.