Little Black Girl Lost (22 page)

I
t was dark outside and only a few guests remained. Lucas was sitting dutifully with Johnnie, but he couldn't stop thinking about what Marla had said about Napoleon. They were sitting under that same tree where Marla had approached Lucas. Except for the couple of hours she spent talking to her father, guests surrounded Johnnie the entire day, seeing to her wants and needs. And now, she wanted to tell Lucas what she and her father talked about.

“My father pretty much confirmed everything that Benny told me about my mother and Sheriff Tate,” Johnnie was saying, but Lucas was somewhere else. “He told me he wanted . . .”

“What's on your mind, Lucas?” Johnnie asked.

“Huh?” Lucas said with a confused, vacant look on his face.

“I've been talking to you for about ten minutes.” Johnnie frowned. “Are you even listening to me?”

“Yeah, you were tellin' me about the conversation you were havin' with your father.”

Johnnie rolled her eyes. “You were not listening to me. You know it and I know it. Now, do you want to tell me what's on your mind? It's gotta be more interesting than what I'm telling you. You still worried you gon' lose me?”

Seeing a convenient way out of having to tell her what he was wrestling with—the enormous temptation of being with Marla, the dilemma of wondering if Napoleon wanted her and if Bubbles knew about it—he simply said, “Yes.”

“Why can't you trust me, Lucas?” Johnnie asked. “I keep telling you that it's you I want to be with.”

“Yeah, that's what you say,” he said.

“You know, I can't believe you would do this today of all days. Why can't you just support me today, huh?”

“I'm here, ain't I? What more do you want?”

“I want your undivided attention when I'm talking to you, Lucas. Is that too much to ask?”

“Is it too much to ask to have the same freedom you have with Earl?”

Now Johnnie understood. She saw him talking to Marla from her bedroom window when she was pointing him out to her father. Talking to her seemed innocent enough, but Johnnie remembered the way they looked at each other at the funeral when they thought no one was paying attention. They were obviously attracted to each other, but Johnnie wasn't concerned about it until now.

“So, you want her?” Johnnie asked without malice.

Surprised that she would ask the question, Lucas frowned and tried to pretend he didn't know what she was referring to. “Who you talkin' about, Johnnie?”

She stared at him for about thirty seconds, narrowing her eyes and curling her lips the entire time. As she looked at him, the words of her mother echoed in her mind.

“Why you starin' at me like that?” Lucas asked innocently.

Johnnie chuckled and forced a wry smile. “I'm not stupid, Lucas.”

“I know that, Johnnie.”

“Are you?”

“Am I what?” He frowned.

“Stupid.” Johnnie paused for a moment. “Lucas, that's a white woman. And on top of that, she's married to a gangster who we know has no problem killing people. Is it worth dying over?”

Realizing he was caught before he even did anything with Marla, he just sat there shaking his head.
Damn, if Johnnie figured the shit out so quickly, I know for sure now that Bubbles was telling me he knew too. Is he going to tell Napoleon? Shit, I'm fucked and I didn't even do anything yet.

“Well, is it?” Johnnie repeated. “Is it worth dying for?”

“No,” he admitted.

“Now look, Lucas, if you feel it necessary to see other women, I'm not going to say anything. I don't like it, but what can I say at this point? Just don't be stupid about it. A white woman is instant death if you get caught.” Then she seemed to have an afterthought. “Well, I guess about the only place in town that's safe is the Savoy Hotel. But you gotta realize that if Napoleon finds out about it, he'll kill you. And where's that going to leave me? I can't imagine going through what I'm going through and still end up without you in my life. I've already lost a mother, a father, and a brother. I couldn't bear to lose you too, Lucas. Just promise me you'll be careful, okay?”

“Johnnie, you've still got your father and your brother, and I promise you won't lose me.”

“That's what I've been telling you. My father and his wife want me to move to East St. Louis, and my brother and his wife want me to move to San Francisco. But I want to stay here with you.”

“Oh come on, Johnnie. Who you kiddin'?” he asked, shaking his head. “You have strong feelings for me. That I don't doubt. But the truth is you wanna keep what you've got going with Earl until you've completed your plan. If it wasn't for that, I'm sure you'd go with either your brother or your father.”

Johnnie smiled. “Well, that's probably true, but I would want you to come with me.”

“You would, huh?”

“Yes, I would.”

“You love me that much?” he asked her.

“Yes, I do,” Johnnie answered convincingly. “Just promise me this. If you gotta do somethin' with that white woman, go to the Savoy. You'll be safer there, okay?”

“Okay, but I won't be doing anything with her.”

T
he following Monday, Bubbles, whose real name was George Grant, decided to take Lucas on what he called a road trip, which meant someone was going to be beaten to within an inch of his life. Bubbles could always count on someone to miss a payment and incur his wrath, which he dispensed with passion. This week's victim would be a longshoreman named Bruce Micheaux, who was behind on his payments.

Bubbles, born and raised on the mean streets of Chicago, enjoyed his work. He was tough, and loan sharking was his pride and joy. Napoleon promised to take care of him when they were released from prison. Bubbles saved Napoleon's life in prison, where Bentley was serving three to ten on a manslaughter conviction in an Illinois Federal Penitentiary some ten years earlier. Though Napoleon killed men before, he was innocent of the charges levied against him. He took the rap for Vinnie Milano, one of Chicago Sam's chief capos. Sam told Napoleon that John Stefano, the boss of New Orleans, owed him a favor. If Napoleon was willing to relocate, he could have the Colored section when he got out.

While quietly serving his time, a riot broke out in the prison cafeteria. Napoleon was about to be stabbed when Bubbles, who ran cell block E, subdued the would-be assassin and killed him in the struggle. Bubbles liked Napoleon. He wasn't like any white man he'd ever met. Napoleon didn't have an air of superiority like so many white men he'd known in prison. He found it strange that even in prison, white men thought they were somehow better than colored men were.

Later, Napoleon and Bubbles discovered that Vinnie Milano was the one who tried to have Napoleon killed in prison. The colored section of New Orleans was promised to Milano before he was implicated in a barroom shooting. Upon Napoleon's release, Chicago Sam kept his promise, and Napoleon moved to New Orleans, taking Bubbles with him.

As they drove down to the pier, Bubbles decided to give Lucas a warning without tipping his hand that he knew, or at least suspected, that something was going on between him and Marla.

“So kid, you and that girl of yours in love?” Bubbles asked.

“Yeah, we in love.” Lucas smiled. “You ever been in love?”

“Once or twice, I guess,” Bubbles admitted. “But the trouble with love is it can get all complicated and shit. You know what I mean?” He shot Lucas a menacing scowl. “Sometime people be in love, but they get a hunger for somethin' that don't belong to 'em. If they ain't careful, that hunger takes over, and they just gotta have what they set their hearts on havin'. Before you know it, somebody finds out and people end up dead.”

Lucas realized that he was talking about Marla and himself. Fear shook his body.
Does Napoleon know?
He wanted to ask but was afraid.

“Sometimes all a man needs is a stern warnin', and that's enough for him to set his mind on other things. Things that won't get his ass killed over some pussy. I told Napoleon that very thing the other night at the club. I don't know if he heard me, though.”

“Well, I hope he heard you, Bubbles,” Lucas finally said. “Sure would be stupid for a man to be warned and still end up dead over some pussy.”

“Uh-huh,” Bubbles grunted, satisfied he made his point.

It was 3 o'clock in the morning when they boarded the ship. Bubbles believed that the element of surprise was always the best approach. He preferred to catch them when they were in a deep sleep. “Nothing like wakin' a muthafucka outta his sleep and beatin' the shit outta him,” he told Lucas with a ruthless smile.

M
eredith Shamus nervously entered the office of Tony Hatcher, the private investigator she hired to follow her husband. He was sitting at his desk, enjoying a cup of coffee. Hatcher followed Earl for nearly a month, which was when Meredith had first heard him whispering to a woman on the telephone. When she hired Hatcher, she told him she wasn't sure if Earl was seeing another woman or not. She told him about the telephone calls and what she'd heard. Hatcher told her that when a spouse suspects cheating, the spouse is usually right. Rarely were their suspicions unfounded.

Hatcher saw how uneasy she was and offered her a seat and a cup of coffee. In his experience, no matter how confident the spouse was of cheating, there was nothing like confirming their suspicions. He saw so many lives shattered by infidelity that he could often tell who could handle it and who couldn't. He knew which marriages would survive and which ones wouldn't. Eleven years of experience taught him that rich women like Meredith Shamus would be hurt but the marriage would go on.

He often wondered why they even bothered to find out. He decided to follow the rich wives to see if they had anything to hide, and most did. Affluent people often endured marriages of convenience, Hatcher discovered. Most of the women, he deduced, needed to feel justified when they fooled around. It was the only thing that made sense to him. Meredith Shamus didn't strike him as one who would fool around. She seemed wholesome, and he respected her for it.

Meredith took a sip of coffee and said, “Well, Mr. Hatcher, what do you have for me?”

“Your suspicions were true,” he told her reluctantly.

Meredith sighed and looked almost relieved. “Do you have a name, pictures, tape recordings and things like that?”

“No recordings, but I do have a name and pictures. Are you sure you want to see them?”

Meredith took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “I suppose I shouldn't care, but I do. Yes. Let's see the pictures.”

“Are you absolutely sure, Mrs. Shamus?”

“Yes, I'm quite sure. Don't worry, Mr. Hatcher. I won't fling myself out of your office window.”

Hatcher looked at her for another second or two. He opened a desk drawer, took out a yellow packet of pictures and surveillance notes, and handed it to her.

“I have the negatives in a safe place, just in case something should happen to the pictures,” he assured her.

Without a word, she cautiously opened the packet. Hatcher watched her closely, waiting to see how she would reacted to the photos. After seeing Johnnie for the first time, Meredith's heart shattered into a thousand pieces. She lowered her head and began to sob softly.

As though she couldn't believe what she was seeing, she said, “Earl's seeing a Negro?”

Hatcher wondered if he should tell everything he knew. Sometimes he hated his profession. It seemed like he was always the bearer of bad news. He felt like the grim reaper most of the time, holding a sickle, waiting for the most inappropriate time to lop someone's head off. But this was what he did. This was what he was good at. Besides, that's what she paid for, Hatcher thought.

“There's more, Mrs. Shamus,” he said delicately.

“I want to know everything, Mr. Hatcher.” She continued weeping. “Please, don't try to spare my feelings.”

Hatcher took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Not only is she a Negro, but she's only sixteen years old.”

“What!” Meredith was astounded.

Hatcher walked around his desk and sat beside Meredith. She wanted to know everything, and he would tell her. He picked up the pictures and shuffled them until he came to the pictures of Johnnie getting out of Marguerite's car at the Savoy Hotel.

“This is where they met as recently as last week,” Hatcher began. “When your husband went to Chicago, it gave me time to check her out. It turns out that he paid for her and her mother to stay at the Savoy for about a week.”

“Her mother?” Meredith recoiled. “You mean he's seeing mother and daughter? Together?”

“I'm not sure what was going on between the three of them,” he admitted. “I do know that your husband bought this young girl, Johnnie Wise is her name, a fifteen thousand dollar home in Ashland Estates.”

“Are you absolutely sure about that, Mr. Hatcher?”

“There can be no doubt, Mrs. Shamus. None at all.”

“And you say the mother and daughter both live there?”

“No, just the daughter.”

“So, the mother approves of this?”

“That's the strange thing, Mrs. Shamus,” Hatcher went on. “The mother and the daughter argued at the pool while they were staying at the Savoy. A few days later, the mother ends up dead. Beaten to death by an unknown assailant.”

“And you think Earl did it?”

“Hard to say, but that's how it looks. The woman wasn't raped or robbed, just beaten to death. The question is, who wanted her dead?”

“Thank you, Mr. Hatcher. You'll keep this confidential, won't you?”

“Of course,” Hatcher promised. “But what are you going to do with that information?”

“I'm not sure.”

“Be careful, Mrs. Shamus,” Hatcher warned. “If he did kill the mother, he's more dangerous now. He has nothing to lose. Do you understand?”

“Yes,” she said, still not fully grasping the gravity of what Hatcher was trying to convey. “Well, I'll be going. I'll look at the rest of this later. Thanks for a fine job. Ill be sure to give you good references.”

“Thank you. Let me see you to the door.”

Tony Hatcher looked out of his twelfth floor office window. He watched as Meredith Shamus got into her Cadillac. “Poor broad,” he muttered.