Out of the Easy (7 page)

“Well, lookie this. I almost didn’t recognize you. You’ve grown up something, now, haven’t you?” He eyed my blouse, rolling the cigarette between his lips. “You spreadin’ your legs for Willie?”

“No,” I said quickly.

“That’s a shame.” He smashed his cigarette against the side of the bookshelf and moved closer. “I might actually take a turn with you myself,” he said, leaning in toward my face, “seein’ as we have a score to settle.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” I could feel my pistol, strapped against my right leg under my skirt. I just needed the opportunity to reach for it. But lifting my skirt did not seem wise, considering the circumstances.

“Don’t know what I’m talking about?” sneered Cincinnati. He held up his left hand, displaying a shiny red patch. “Some little witch burned me, burned me bad. And some old hag shot me in the leg. You know what it feels like to be burned, little girl?” He took a step toward me. “You wanna feel it? I bet you do. I bet you’re like your momma.”

“I’m nothing like my mother,” I told him, edging away from the stacks into the center of the store in order to be visible from the front window.

“Where you sliding to? You scared of me, Josie Moraine? You scared I’m gonna cut you up in little pieces and dump you in Marcello’s swamps?” He laughed, revealing brown tobacco stains on his bottom teeth. He grabbed me by the wrist, pulling me to him. “You’d be such sweet eatin’ for those gators.”

The door to the shop flew open. “Get your hands off her!” Cokie ordered. He was carrying a tire iron.

Cincinnati barely looked at Cokie. “Mind your own business, old man.”

“I’ll mind some business with this iron through your head.” Cokie raised the tire iron. “I said get your hands off her.”

Cincinnati let go of my wrist. “Oh, I see how it is. She’s your property. You keep her locked in this bookshop and stop by for a poke whenever you feel like it.”

“That ain’t how it is,” said Cokie.

“No? Well, how is it?” said Cincinnati, moving toward Cokie, taunting him. “Look at you. I can’t tell if you’re more cream or more coffee. Oh, wait, let me guess. Your granny was a real pretty maidservant, and she got bent over by the boss man, huh?”

Click, click.

Cincinnati spun around toward me. “All right,” he said, casually raising his hands. “Let’s not get crazy, Josie.”

“Crazy Josie—I kinda like the way that sounds.” I clutched my gun with both hands the way Willie had taught me. “Why don’t you get out of here before I do something crazy.”

Cincinnati laughed. “Take it easy, baby. I just came to give you a message from your momma.”

“Is that what you were doing? Giving me a message?” I said, keeping my gun drawn and steering him toward the door.

“Yeah, your momma said to meet her at the Meal-a-Minit at three o’clock. She’s got something to tell you.” Cincinnati took out a cigarette and lit it slowly, just to show me that my gun didn’t bother him a bit.

Cokie’s eyes were the size of half-dollars. The tire iron trembled slightly in his hand. He was terrified of guns.

“Lookin’ good, Josie,” said Cincinnati. He pointed his cigarette at me. “I’ll be waitin’ to see you again.” He pushed past Cokie and left the store.

“Sweet Jesus, put that thing down before someone in the street sees you,” said Cokie.

I lowered my arms, unable to release my grip on the gun.

“You okay?” asked Cokie. “He didn’t hurt you none, did he?”

I shook my head, finally taking a breath. “Thanks, Coke. Were you following him?”

“I got some eyes around. Frankie said he saw him walkin’ this way from the Roosevelt Hotel. I don’t know why your momma mess with that man. He’s evil. I can see it in his eyes.”

He was right. There was something ice-cold, dead in Cincinnati. I exhaled and began to release my cramped fingers.

“Cokie, were you able to go by the coroner?” I asked.

“Jo, what’s wrong with you, girl? Thirty seconds ago, you had guns on a criminal, and now you’re asking about that dead man from Memphis? What’s the story?”

What
was
the story? Forrest Hearne was a mystery, like looking down a dark well. But I knew in the deepest pit of my stomach. Something wasn’t right.

“There’s no story. He came into the shop on New Year’s Eve, and I met him, that’s all. He was a really nice man, and now he’s dead. So, did you talk to the coroner?”

“I did. I went to see Dr. Moore myself,” said Cokie. “And I had to wait around outside until he left for lunch. I wasn’t goin’ in that morgue with all them dead bodies. He wasn’t too happy to see me. He said he was a busy man—”

“And?”

“Dr. Moore said the rich man from Memphis died of a heart attack.”

I shook my head. “No.”

“Well, now, Josie, that’s what the man said. He the coroner.”

The door burst open with a yell. I drew my gun, and Cokie whipped around, raising the tire iron.

Patrick jumped back, looking from the tire iron to my gun. “What’s wrong? It’s just Proust!” he said, holding a large box of books.

TEN

I sat in the vinyl booth at the Meal-a-Minit, facing the door. The diner was air-cooled in the summer, but now the air was thick and the sweat behind my knee ran down my calf, making it stick to the booth. I picked at a cigarette burn in the red vinyl and watched the ceiling fan spin, letting my eyes blur on the rotating blades. Willie had sent a thug named Sonny to sit in the booth in front of me. He was reading a paper. I didn’t think Cincinnati would come with Mother, but I couldn’t be sure. I arrived ten minutes early. Mother was twenty minutes late. Typical.

Jesse Thierry was sitting in the booth across from me. He dropped some coins on the table.

“Thanks, darlin’,” said the waitress. “Say hi to your granny for me.” Jesse nodded. I watched out of the corner of my eye as he pulled on his leather jacket to leave. He caught me looking and smiled.

“Happy New Year, Motor City,” said Jesse. He left the diner.

A fat man with a pink face walked by and stopped at the booth. “Well, hello there, Josie. Remember me?”

Walter Sutherland. He was an accountant at a matchbook factory and one of the men who sometimes spent the night at Willie’s. I had run into him once or twice in the mornings. He had a way of looking at me that made me wish I was wearing a winter coat.

“Hello,” I said, avoiding direct eye contact.

“Are you alone?” he asked.

“I’m meeting my mother,” I told him.

“Oh. Are you”—he lowered his voice—“working yet?”

I turned to face him. “No.”

He looked at me, adjusting his waistband as he bit his bottom lip. “You’ll tell me if you start, won’t you? I want to be the first,” he whispered.

“I won’t work at Willie’s.”

“Well, it doesn’t have to be at Willie’s. I know it must be hard for you, Josie. If you ever need money, you let me know. We could work out a nice arrangement. I’d pay handsome to be the first.” He mopped his sweaty forehead. “And I wouldn’t tell a soul. It could be our secret, Josie.”

“Get lost, fatso,” said Sonny from the booth in back of me.

Walter scurried out like a frightened squirrel, passing Mother as she walked in.

Mother wore a new red dress with jewelry I had never seen. She slid into the booth, laughing.

“Walter Sutherland. What a pathetic old pig. He’s slow as molasses and then wants you to hug him all night while he cries. I’m so glad he’s never picked me. He’s loaded, though. He generally goes with Sweety. She’s made a mint off him.”

I nodded.

Mother looked at her wrist, admiring her diamond bracelet. “You changed your hair, baby. Looks real pretty.”

“Thanks. You look good too. New dress?”

“Yeah. Cinci’s taking me to Antoine’s tonight for dinner. You know how I love Antoine’s. It’s been years since I’ve been able to go.”

The saliva in my mouth soured. The thought of Mother having a fancy dinner with Cincinnati at Antoine’s was revolting. And what if one of the patrons recognized her stolen jewelry on Mother?

“New Year’s Eve was a real ball this year. You have a good time?”

Mother had told Willie that she didn’t feel well on New Year’s Eve. Now she was saying she’d had a ball. “Yes,” I said. “I stayed in and finished a book.”

Mother rolled her eyes. “You better get your nose out of those books and get busy livin’, Jo. In a couple years, you’ll be past your prime. You’d be something to look at if you wore a little more makeup and a better bra. I was a real knockout at your age . . . until I had you.”

The waitress arrived at our table. Mother ordered a sweet tea. I saw Sonny over Mother’s shoulder, still buried in the newspaper. His ashtray was already overflowing with butts.

“Mother, I’ve been wondering . . . why did you name me Josie instead of Josephine?”

“What are you talking about? Her name wasn’t Josephine.”

“Whose name?” I asked.

Mother took a compact out of her purse to inspect her lipstick. “Besides, aren’t you happy I didn’t name you Josephine? That sounds like a fat old washwoman. Josie’s much sexier.”

Sexier. I looked across the restaurant and saw a mother sitting next to her daughter in a booth, helping her read the menu. She smoothed the little girl’s hair and put her napkin on her lap.

“Whose name was Josie?” I asked.

“Josie Arlington. She was the classiest madam in Storyville years ago. Had a house on Basin. Willie used to talk about her all the time, said she died on Valentine’s Day. So when you were born on Valentine’s Day, I thought of Josie Arlington and named you Josie in her honor.”

“You named me after a madam?”

“Not just any madam, the most high-class madam that ever existed. She was a smart woman. With your brains, Jo, you’d make a fine madam yourself.”

“I have no interest, Mother.” Humiliation bubbled inside of me. I thought about explaining to Charlotte Gates that I wasn’t named after a virtuous character in
Little Women.
I was named after a woman who sold five-dollar hookers on Basin Street. And my mother thought I should be proud of that.

“Don’t get on your high horse, Jo. What, you think you’re gonna be Cinderella?” She tipped her head back and laughed. Ugly. “You think your life is going to be some fairy tale, hon, like in one of your books?”

The waitress brought Mother her iced tea. I knew what to do. I should have ended the conversation there. I should have left. Instead, I sat in the booth staring at her, wishing that she could be like other mothers, wishing that she were different. Mother would never square up. I knew that.

“So, what did you want to tell me?” I asked.

“We’re leaving,” said Mother.

“What do you mean?”

“Me and Cincinnati.” Mother leaned in toward the table. “We’re going to California. I need you to tell Willie for me, but wait until tomorrow, after we’re gone.”

“You’re going to California.” For some reason, I wasn’t surprised.

She tousled her hair. “It’s time to get outta Dodge. This could finally be my break, going to Hollywood.”

My mother was ridiculous. “Mother, I don’t think it’s wise for you to go anywhere with Cincinnati. He’s dangerous. He beat you. I don’t want that to happen again.”

“Oh, he’s changed, baby. Look at the gorgeous bracelet he bought me.” She extended her arm.

“Who cares, Mother? It’s probably stolen.”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Maybe not, but I know you’re too old for Hollywood.”

That did it. I had taken my foot off the brake, and we were barreling toward blackness. Soon we’d be a hideous, mangled mess. Mother lurched over the table and grabbed my wrist.

“I am
not
too old,” she said through her teeth. “You’re just jealous, and you know it. You’re lucky I didn’t throw you in a trash barrel, you little ingrate. I sacrificed everything for you, so don’t tell me what I am.”

I took a breath and tried to speak quietly. “You don’t mean that, Mother. Stop it. You’re making a scene.” I tried to pull my arm from her grasp. “And you’re hurting me.”

“I’m hurting
you
? Oh, that’s ripe. You ruined my body and tied me down during the best years of my life. I could have been famous. And you say I’m hurting you?” Mother released my arm, pushing it away from her. She leaned back against the booth and began digging in her purse. She pulled out a small flask and took a swig. “This is finally my chance, Jo, and I’m takin’ it.”

“Fine, take it.”

“I don’t think you understand. Don’t expect me to come back.”

“I understand. I just wish you’d find someone other than Cincinnati. He’s a no-good criminal, Mother. You don’t want to get messed up in that.”

“You don’t know anything about him.” She pulled a huge wad of bills from her purse and threw one on the table. “There. This one’s on me.”

Generous. I hadn’t ordered anything.

Mother stood up and smoothed her dress. “Don’t forget to tell Willie. I’ll try to write, but I’ll probably be too busy.” She put a hand under her curls and bounced them a bit. “Maybe you’ll read about me in the papers!” She kissed the air in my direction and then walked out.

I closed my eyes and clenched my teeth, hoping to stop any tears that might be forming. I hummed Patrick’s Rachmaninoff piece and felt my shoulders relax. I saw his torso swaying over the ivory keys, his father healthy again, standing and listening in the doorway. I saw Charlotte smiling and waving to me from the street and then suddenly, the image of Forrest Hearne, frantic, mouthing my name and waving the copy of Keats he had bought. I gasped at the image of Hearne and opened my eyes. Sonny was staring at me. The fluorescent lights buzzed and the ceiling fan creaked overhead.