Trick Baby (7 page)

Blue grinned and winked at me. I shook my head and smiled.

The Reverend raised his head from the nest. He looked up at Blue. His yellow face was radiant. His craggy features were softened, almost saintly.

He chirped joyously, “Blue, you big black fool! Ain't you got enough sense to know that were the Lord Hisself? Oh, praise His holy name! Thank You, precious Lamb! You touched a sinner with Your immortal spirit. Hallelujah, Jesus! Hallelujah!”

Blue took the Reverend gently by his shoulders and guided him backwards to his seat on the bunk. Blue had a smug look on his face as he stepped back.

He was approaching that stage in his tale that black grifters call the hook. White grifters call it the convincer.

When con is played for money alone, it's that point at which the sucker is hooked or convinced by actual or paper profits that he can reap a bonanza. Once on the hook, a sucker usually can't get off. But the buyer must believe the final decision to buy is his alone.

The Reverend had to believe at the end of the tale that the decision to hide us out was his. The Reverend's conscience had to be allowed to take over and buy Blue's tale.

Blue said, softly, “Reverend Joe, you have made me see the light. Johnny and I were on a divine mission when we went down South and brought Bob to Chicago. We borrowed an old but roadworthy Dodge from a friend. We got down there around dusk, two days after I tried to call Western Union. We went right to the cave.

“I put my flashlight on him. Bob covered his eyes and screamed. He thought we were the white mob come to lynch him. We carried him through the woods and fields to the Dodge. We got back to Chicago three days ago around eight
P
.
M
. I was proud and happy I had saved him. We were all safe, I thought.

“Johnny and I got up early the next morning and went to open our restaurant. That evening when we got home Sporty told me Bob had written Jessie to tell her where he was and how Johnny and I had driven down and rescued him. If Cleo, my wife, had not been with her sick mother, she would have stopped him.

“I was angry and worried. If they hadn't been half sick, with no place to go, I would have turned the stupid twins out then and there.

“Early Friday morning, Johnny and I were dressing to go to the restaurant. The doorbell rang. It was a telegram for Bob from Jessie. I tore it open.

“In crude code it said, ‘Bad Landry rigmarole. Said you the ones. I'm praying for you both. Love, Jessie.'

“She was warning Bob that the white people were looking for him and Sporty for raping Marva Landry. Lying or not, Marva's charge could get them lynched.

“That white clerk at the Western Union office in Vicksburg had to be awfully drunk or careless. It was a miracle that the telegram had ever been sent from Vicksburg.

“Jessie, by now, was most likely in jail. The Mississippi police would have Bob's letter proving our part in his flight.

“Reverend Joe, no more than ten minutes after that telegram came all of us were out of the house. It wasn't too soon. In his rear-view mirror, Johnny saw two squad cars stop at our house.

“We drove to a friend's home who has big political connections. We needed advice and to get off the street. Our friend stayed on the phone for most of Friday and today. Finally, he told us he could clear us if we told him where the twins were hiding.

“Reverend Joe, I told my disgusted friend I just couldn't see them
taken back to Mississippi. He was very angry. Tonight around ten, he ordered us from his house. We didn't know where to go until I remembered you. And here we are.”

Suddenly, Blue clapped his palms against his ears. He twisted and pounded them against the side of his head in a savage ritual of mental agony. He pointed his chin at the ceiling.

I heard a creaky pop as he wobbled his head around like a punchy pug loosening up before the phantom clang of an inner gong. The hook, the convincer was in play. By whatever name, its purpose was the same. The Reverend's mouth was an awed chasm.

Then, in tinny tones of an amateur ventriloquist's dummy, Blue said, “Think of yourself, Blue. You're sixty-seven years old. Why stick your neck out? Call the police and turn in those no-good niggers. They're not worth the money you plan to spend Monday to get them out of the country.

“I know Bob Bigelow worries you. You can't forget his one noble deed. You feel you're in his debt. You don't owe him anything. He didn't save your life. Turn them in and enjoy what's left of your life.”

Then in his true voice, Blue said, “Thank you, Lord, for priding me again.”

Like a sleepwalker Blue went to the bed. He got our coats and hats. He walked over to me. I took my hat and coat. I rose from the couch and put them on. I helped Blue put on his.

The Reverend sat there staring at us. We weren't worried. Reverend was like a bloody bar room brawler, too anted in the fray to feel the pain right away of the knife in his back. We walked toward the doorway.

The delayed pain of Blue's hook struck and wrenched a cry of anguish from Reverend Joe. He propelled himself from the bunk. He charged past me and grabbed Blue's arm and spun him around. His eyes were wild.

He shouted, “Satan's trying to trick you. That ain't the Lord's
voice you heard. Satan's trying to fool you into hell. You got sense enough to know that were Satan lying when he told you I ain't caring for my friend that saved my life.

“He knows the Lord ain't never going to allow you in heaven if you betray our friends in need. I ain't going to let you do it. You ain't going nowhere. The Lord will forgive the vilest sinner and take him to his bosom.

“I ain't going to let you leave here until Monday. Blue, the Lord ain't going to let no harm befall you here. He knows, just like Satan, that you planning to get them boys away. You'll be blessed when you do.”

Blue shrugged him off.

He said, “Reverend Joe, I'm afraid to stay. That voice I heard was the same voice I heard when that phone was snatched from my hands. I can't afford to disobey the Lord. Johnny, what do you think?”

I said, “Blue, I just don't know. I know the devil is pretty clever. He bamboozled Adam and Eve into the original sin. Reverend Joe's word can be trusted. Let's stay here in the safe hands of Reverend Josephus and Jesus.”

Blue said, “Johnny, maybe you're right. I love Reverend Josephus and trust his judgment.”

Reverend said, “Praise the Lord. Good night, friends.” He walked from the room.

I took off my suit-coat and shoes. I couldn't get Phala off my mind. I kept thinking about the filth and her screaming and all. I put my coat on the couch. I loosened my tie and sprang to the top bunk. I didn't turn the blanket back. If bedbugs were there I didn't want to see them.

For a long moment I stared through the doorless entrance to the bedroom. The tiny wall light gave the hallway the murky dimness of a mortuary slumber-room.

Blue's bulk shook the bed when he lay down. I didn't want to
talk. We lay there in the shadows. I listened to Blue's heavy breathing for a long time.

Finally he said, “I wonder why the hell Cleo isn't home yet? God! I hope those torturers haven't got her!

“Son, life is like a crazy crap game. I'm like a sucker who gets a long run of good luck. Then the dice turn against him. The silly creep had conned himself. He had thought his good luck run was all due to his big brain.

“The bubble bursts and the chump finds himself broke and in a gutter. I'm not broke. But think of it—I had to con that square bastard until I got hoarse, just to stay in this pigsty for a weekend.

“At this moment I'm wishing my ass off that I had stayed down South. What the hell good did it do me to leave there and try to improve myself?

“Goddamnit! I taught myself to read and write, and speak fair English. I had a horror of winding up like the ignorant niggers I grew up with. Tonight I had to kiss the black ass of one of those same niggers I've held in contempt. I've come a full, funky circle, Folks.”

I said, “Blue, you've really had it tough, haven't you? Even though your mother and father died in your teens, at least, Blue, you had a taste of happy home life.

“I barely remember my father. The weak white sonuvabitch fled back to his white world after his hot yen for a nigger body went cold.

“Your mother's heart died. My mother's brain withered. She died a drooling mental cripple. The first time I went to see her she tried to snatch my balls off.

“So, Blue, I could get a license to bellyache. You're lucky to be jet black. What if you had been a racial freak like me?

“It isn't exactly a happy limbo to be a white Nigger in a black world driven paranoid by a white world to hate white skin. But, pal, I'm thankful you came North. I would have been a lost ball in high weeds without you. Say, shouldn't you call home again?”

Blue said, “I think I will.”

The bed creaked and he stood up. He was a blank silhouette in the near darkness.

He said, “Folks, you're right about my limited advantage in having black visibility. I know you've shown raw heart for all your life in this black world.

“But now you can turn that white skin into an advantage I've been denied. You're still young; I'm old. You don't need me. When we get out of Chicago, go across that invisible steel fence and pass as one of the privileged.

“Folks, you'll have lots of company. I wouldn't be shocked to learn that several millions of white Niggers just like you are in that sweet garden of opportunity on that other side.

“It's really kind of comical when you think about it. I can almost see those Niggers squirming and suffering at their interracial breakfast tables. Even in the executive suites of some of America's most honored corporations, those white fakes get hot flashes at that word nigger. Of course, some of the fakes don't quake. They revel in secret glee at the epithet.

“Their lives are booby trapped with the constant terror of exposure. But a fin will get a C-note that for them the reward outweighs the tensions.

“Don't be a sucker, son. All the milk and honey is on the other side of this hell.”

He glided through the bedroom doorway. I lay there hoping Cleo was home. I wondered how I could phrase the truth about her to Blue. Then I thought about his determination to take her with us. No, he'd be immune no matter how I phrased it.

I heard Bertha's growls lengthen in sequence. I hoped she wouldn't awaken. I couldn't stand a repeat of Blue's cave tale. I couldn't understand how Reverend could get a wink of sleep so close to the guttural muzzle of Bertha's snoring.

I heard muffled thudding, perhaps like a runt elephant stomping
on a bale of cotton. It was Blue stocking-footing it up the stairway. He came in and fell into the bunk.

He said, “I didn't get an answer. I let it ring a dozen times. I don't understand it. I tried to call Felix. He's probably at a poker game.

“It's after midnight. I called the Sutherland Hotel Lounge. Ray Charles is there, I think. She'd go a hundred miles to hear him. I got her paged. No dice.

“There's a big dance in Robbins. She could be there. Anyway, I'm going to make one more call at three. I'm going to that Southside if she's not home then. I have to know what's wrong. Like I told you, I can't leave without her.”

I started to point out the obvious danger for him. But then I thought about the flaming passion I had felt for the Goddess.

Perhaps if I were in Blue's spot, and it were the Goddess over there, I'd be chump enough to risk my own life. I decided to soothe him. The odds were long against it, but maybe I could still get an angle later to persuade him to leave town and send for her.

I said, “There's nothing to worry about. I'm sure she'll be there at three. If she's not, you could slip to the Southside in Reverend's truck. Or you could let Fixer find her for you. Wait until three like you said. No point in getting upset about the unknown. Only suckers do that.”

He said, “I'm not the worrying kind. I just want to get her off the Southside before daybreak. I want to keep my promise to you, that we leave Chicago on schedule.”

We lay there, two slick grifters at bay. We had a load of spending money. But it couldn't buy us a clean bed.

B
ertha had stopped snoring. The tomb silence was broken by the rapid throbbing of a car engine. I could hear tires gnashing their rubber teeth against the gritty alley floor. The car screeched to a halt. The engine idled.

Then I heard the faint thumping of a jazz drummer from the car's radio playing counterpoint to the presto racing of my heartbeat. Was it Nino out there in the alley? Had he found some way to trace us?

I sat up. I had started to swing my leg over the bunk rim. I was going to the window to look out on the alley. Then I sank back to the bunk in relief. The car throbbed away down the alley.

For some strange reason, I couldn't forget the sound of that drum. I wondered why. I tried to turn my mind from it. It was no use. Then I closed my eyes and let my mind grope back through the past. Perhaps it could make some kind of connection there.

Then the painful reason why the sound of that drum was so insistent came in a blinding burst of chrome. The connection lay, not in a sound, but in pictures! On the screen behind my closed eyes, I saw once again that glittery, elusive drum. . . .

I saw the featureless image of the blond giant striding through the hazy doorway. I felt again the transient, joyful fear in the pit of my
stomach when the shadow hurled me into the air. He'd catch me and squeeze his cheek against mine.

At his feet would be the drum. I heard Phala's cries of happiness as she rushed into the visitor's arms.

I heard her soft sobbing moans behind her bedroom door. I saw me so lonely, amusing myself making faces in the gleaming trim of the drum.