Cinnamon Kiss (19 page)

“Did I cause you a problem with them?”

“They ain’t gonna fuck wit’ me,” Mouse said with a sneer.

He sat back and blew a cloud of smoke at the ceiling. He wore a burgundy satin shirt and yellow trousers.

“What’s wrong then?” I asked.

“What you mean?”

“I don’t know. Why you send those girls off?”

“I was tired anyway. You wanna get outta here?”

“What about Pinky and Georgette?”

“I’ont know. Shit …all they wanna do is laugh an’ drink up my liquor.”

“An’ you wanna talk?”

“I ain’t got nuthin’ t’ laugh about.”

Living my life I’ve come to realize that everybody has different jobs to do. There’s your wage job, your responsibility to your children, your sexual urges, and then there are the special duties that every man and woman takes on. Some people are artists or have political interests, some are obsessed with collecting seashells or pictures of movie stars. One of my special duties was to keep Raymond Alexander from falling into a dark humor. Because whenever he lost interest in having a good time someone, somewhere, was likely to die. And even though I had pressing business of my own, I asked a question.

“What’s goin’ on, Ray?”

“You have dreams, Easy?”

I laughed partly because of the dreams I did have and partly to put him at ease.

“Sure I do. Matter’a fact dreams been kickin’ my butt this last week.”

“Yeah? Me too.” He shook his head and reached for a fifth of scotch that sat at the side of the red sofa.

“What kinda dreams?”

“I was glass,” he said after taking a deep draft.

He looked up at me. I would have thought that wide-eyed vulnerability was fear in another man’s face.

“Glass?”

“Yeah. People would walk past me an’ look back because they saw sumpin’ but they didn’t know what it was. An’ then, then I bumped inta this wall an’ my arm broke off.”

“Broke off?” I said as a parishioner might repeat a minister’s phrase—for emphasis.

“Yeah. Broke right off. I tried to catch it but my other hand was glass too an’ slippery. The broke arm fell to the ground an’ shattered in a million pieces. An’ the people was just walkin’ by not even seein’ me.”

“Damn,” I said.

I was amazed not by the content but by the sophistication of Mouse’s dream. I had always thought of the diminutive killer as a brute who was free from complex thoughts or imagination. Here we’d known each other since our teens and I was just now seeing a whole other side of him.

“Yeah,” Mouse warbled. “I took a step an’ my foot broke off. I fell to the ground an’ broke all to pieces. An’ the people jes’ walked on me breakin’ me down inta sand.”

“That’s sumpin’ else, man,” I said just to keep him in the conversation.

“That ain’t all,” he declared. “Then, when I was crushed inta dust the wind come an’ all I am is dust blowin’ in the air. I’m everywhere. I see everything. You’n Etta’s married an’ LaMarque is callin’ you Daddy. People is wearin’ my jewelry an’ drivin’ my car. An’ I’m still there but cain’t nobody see me or hear me. Ain’t nobody care.”

In a moment of sudden intuition I realized then the logic behind Etta’s periodic banishment of Mouse. She knew how much he needed her, but he was unaware, and so she’d send him away to have these dreams and then, when he came back again, he’d be pleasant and appreciative of her worth—never knowing exactly why.

“You know, Easy,” he said. “I been wit’ two women every night since I walked out on Etta. An’ I can still go all night long. Got them girls callin’ in languages they didn’t know they could talk. But even if I sleep on a bed full’a women I still have them dreams.”

“Maybe you should give Etta another chance,” I suggested. “I know she misses you.”

“She do?” he asked me with all of the innocence of the child he never was.

“Yes sir,” I said. “I saw her just today.”

“Well,” Mouse said then. “Maybe I’ll make her wait a couple’a days an’ then give her a break.”

I doubted if Mouse connected the dream with Etta even though she came into the conversation so easily. But I could see that he was getting better by the moment. The prospect of a homecoming lifted his dark mood.

For a while he regaled me with stories of his sexual prowess. I didn’t mind. Mouse knew how to tell a story and I had to wait to ask for my favor.

Half an hour later the door downstairs banged against the wall and the loud women started their raucous climb up the stairs.

“I better be goin’, Ray,” I said. “But I need your help in the mornin’.”

I stood up.

“Stay, Easy,” he said. “Georgette likes you an’ Pinky gets all jealous when she got to share. Stay, brothah. An’ then in the mornin’ we take care’a this trouble you in.”

Before I could say no the women came in the door.

“Hi, Ray,” Pinky said. She had two champagne bottles under each arm. “We got a bottle for everybody.”

Georgette lit up when she saw that I was still there. She perched on the table in front of me and put her hands on my knees.

Raymond smiled and I shook my head.

“I got to be goin’,” I said.

BUT THE EVENING wore on and I was still there. I had nowhere to go. Mouse popped three corks and the ladies laughed. He was a great storyteller. And I rarely heard him tell the same story twice.

After midnight Pinky started kissing Ray in earnest. Georgette and I were on the couch with them, sitting very close. We were talking to each other, whispering really, when Georgette looked over and gave a little gasp.

I turned and saw that Pinky had worked Ray’s erection out of his pants and was pulling on it vigorously. He was leaning back with closed eyes and a big smile on his lips.

“Let’s go in the other room and give ’em some privacy,” Georgette whispered in my ear.

The bedroom was small too, only large enough to accommodate a king-size bed and a single stack of maple drawers.

I closed the door and when I turned to face Georgette she kissed me. It was as passionate an embrace as I had ever known. Our tongues were speaking to each other. Hers telling me that I had her full attention and everything within her power to give. And mine telling her that I was desperately in need of someone to give me life and hope.

I put my hand under her coral blouse and laid the hot palm at the base of her neck. She groaned and so did Pinky in the next room.

Georgette reached for the lamp and turned it off.

“Turn it back on,” I said.

She did.

I sat on the bed and stood her between my knees. Then I started on the buttons of her blouse. She stood still, breathing lightly as I drew the silky top down and dropped it to the floor. She moved then, attempting to sit next to me, but I grabbed onto her forearms, making it clear that she was to stay where she was. I moved close to get my arms around to unhook the black bra she wore.

Her nipples were long, hard things. I licked them very lightly and she held my head, moving it the way she wanted my tongue to move.

The black miniskirt was tight around her butt, and taking it off while kissing her hard nipples I pulled the pink panties down too. Her pubic hair was broad and dense. I buried my face in it to get the full scent of that field of tomatoes. If I had any notion of stopping, it evaporated then.

Georgette was a large woman. And even though she was slim of waist her belly protruded a bit. Her navel was a deep hole, dark against even her dark skin. Tentatively I poked my tongue inside.

She gasped and jumped back, holding both hands in front of her stomach.

“Come back here,” I said.

Georgette shook her head with a pleading look on her face.

Pinky started yelping in the next room.

“Come back here,” I said again.

“It’s too sensitive,” she said.

I held out a hand and she allowed me to draw her near. I positioned her between my knees again and moved slowly toward the belly button.

This time I stuck my tongue all the way in so I could feel the rough skin at the bottom. I moved the tip of my tongue around and she shuddered, holding my head for support.

After a few seconds she cried, “Stop!”

I moved my head back and looked up into her eyes.

“This is like food to me, Georgette,” I said. “Do you understand? Food for me.”

She replied by pressing my face against her stomach. My tongue lanced out again and she screamed.

After another minute she moved my face back.

“Can I lay down now, baby?” she asked.

I moved to the side and she got down on her back.

We did things that night that I had never done with any woman. She did things to me that even now make me tremble with fervor and humiliation.

We fell asleep in each other’s arms, still kissing, still rubbing.

But when I jolted awake, I found myself alone.

I stumbled to the toilet and then back into the living room. Mouse was laid out naked on the couch with his hands crossed over his chest like a dead king on display for the public to mourn. Pinky was gone.

S
ensing me, Mouse roused from his slumber. He opened his eyes and frowned. Then he sat up and moved his head in a circle. His neck bones cracked loudly.

“Mornin’, Easy.”

“Ray.”

“The girls gone?”

“I guess so.”

“Good. Now we can take care’a business an’ not have to mess with them.”

He stood up and stomped into the bedroom toward the toilet.

I sat down and fell asleep in that position.

The flush of the toilet jolted me awake.

When Raymond came back in he’d put on black slacks and a black T-shirt—his work clothes.

“Place ain’t got no kitchen,” he said. “If you want coffee we gotta go to Jelly’s down the street.”

“What time they open?” I asked.

“What time you got?”

“Twenty past five.”

“Let’s go.”

WE WALKED the few blocks down Denker. The sun was a crimson promise behind the San Bernardino Mountains.

“What you got, Easy?” Mouse asked when we were halfway to the doughnut shop.

“Man up in Frisco hired me to find a black girl named Cinnamon. I went to her boyfriend’s house and found him dead —”

“Damn,” Mouse said. “Dead?”

“Yeah. Then I came back down to L.A. I found the girl but she told me about a dude in a snakeskin jacket she thinks killed him. That day a man in a snakeskin jacket come around askin’ at my house for me.”

“He find Bonnie an’ the kids?”

“She and Feather are in Switzerland and Jesus is out on his boat.” I decided not to mention that Ray’s ex-girlfriend was with my son.

“Good.”

“So the guy shows up at my office. Says his name is Joe Cicero. He’s a stone killer, I could see it in his eyes. He threatened my family.”

“You fight him?”

“I took out the gun you gave me and he left.”

“Why’idn’t you shoot him?”

“There was other people around. I didn’t think they’d lie for me.”

Mouse shrugged at my excuse, neither agreeing nor disagreeing with the logic I offered. We’d arrived at the doughnut place. He pushed the glass door open and I followed him in.

Jelly’s seating arrangement was a long counter in front of which stood a dozen stools anchored in a concrete shelf. Behind the counter were eight long slanted shelves lit by fluorescent lights. These shelves were crowded with every kind of doughnut.

A brown woman stood at the edge of the counter smoking a cigarette and staring off into space.

“Millie,” Mouse said in greeting.

“Mr. Alexander,” she replied.

“Coffee for me an’ my friend.” He took a seat nearest the door and I sat next to him. “What you eatin’, Ease?”

“I’ll take lemon filled.”

“Two lemon an’ two buttermilk,” Mouse said to Millie.

She was already pouring our coffees into large paper cups.

I needed the caffeine. The way I figured it Georgette and I hadn’t gotten to sleep until past three.

Our doughnuts came. We fired up cigarettes and drank coffee. Millie refilled our cups and then moved to the far end of the counter. I could tell that she was used to giving my friend his privacy.

“Thanks for talkin’ to me last night, Easy,” Mouse said.

“Sure.” I wasn’t used to gratitude from him.

“How you spell that guy’s name?”

“The Roman is C-I-C-E-R-O but he didn’t spell it for me.”

“I’ma use a pay phone in back to ask around,” he said. “Sit tight.”

“Early to be callin’ people isn’t it?”

“Early for a man workin’ for somebody else. But a self-employed man gotta get up when the cock crow.” With that he walked toward the back of the shop and through a green doorway.

I sat there smoking and thinking about Joe Cicero. It didn’t really make sense that he worked for Lee, because why would Lee fire me and then put a man on my tail? But there seemed to be a divide between Lee and his assistant. Maybe she had put Cicero on me. But again, why not just let me work for Lee and bring them what information I got? She was my only contact with the man.

A cool breeze blew on my back. I turned to see an older black man come in. His clothes were rumpled as if he had slept in them and he gave off an odor of dust as he went past. He sat two seats down from me and gestured to Millie (who never smiled) and murmured his order.

I put out my cigarette and thought about Haffernon. Maybe he hired Cicero. That could be. He was a powerful man. Then there was Philomena. But she had said that she was afraid of the snakeskin killer. That made me grin. The day I started believing what people told me would probably be the day I died.

The man next to me said something to the waitress.
Nice day,
I think.

And didn’t Philomena say something about a cousin? And of course there was Saul. Maybe he knew more than he was letting on. Maybe he stumbled across something and was trying to get around me. No. Not Saul. At least not yet.

“They havin’ a festival down Watts,” I overheard the man saying to Millie. She didn’t answer or maybe she whispered a reply or nodded.