Killing Johnny Fry (29 page)

“Can I make a call?"

Jurgens walked out, but Mannes came back and unlocked my handcuffs.

“Don‘t worry,” he whispered. “He just wants his report to look like he did something. If you were white, he would have left you alone."

As Mannes walked toward the door, he said, “It‘s only local and toll-free numbers you could call."

He closed the door and left me in the bright light
of
the dingy room.

My hands felt swollen, but that was only an illusion brought on by the numbness. I relished the feeling as the painful prickles
of
sensation came back into my fingers. I closed my hands into fists to increase the sensation.

Pain was my friend. He reminded me that I was alive. He came to me when no mother or father or minister would. He was why I loved Sisypha and why I would always refrain from having sex with her.

Jo was a local call, but instead I called Cynthia‘s main line and entered her name.

“Hello?"

“Hi,” I said, exhaling the word heavily.

“How are you, L?” she asked. “Brenda said that you two got very close."

“I‘m in jail."

“What for?"

“There was a murder in my building. A murder-suicide, I think,
but
I had been with the woman a few nights before, the night you told me that I should get out there and experience my desires."

“A husband and wife?"

“Brother, sister."

“Oh,” she said. “What can I do for you?"

“Sisypha gave me her numbers, but I don‘t have them on me. Can you call her and tell her where I am?"

“Sure, Cordell. Anything else?"

“I told Joelle that I knew about her and Johnny Fry."

“How was that?"

“I don‘t know. I mean, I think deciding to tell her was more important than our talk. She, she‘s really fucked up about this stuff. We‘re gonna talk again in a few days. That is, if I can get out of here."

“Tell me where you are exactly,” she said.

I gave her what information I could.

“I‘ll call Bren right now."

When I got off the phone, I realized that Cynthia hadn‘t asked me if I was guilty. The truth of her omission was like a physical thing in my mind. It was like a compass or a beacon. For Jo, there was something past love that left me behind, but for Cynthia, there was something past innocence, and that was me.

An hour or so later, the door opened. Three men entered. One was Jurgens. He seemed cowed, somehow. With him came a police officer in an ornate uniform with lots of medals and shiny buttons. Next to the uniformed officer was a pudgy little man in a lavender suit.

“Mr. Carmel?” the pudgy man asked.

“Yes."

“Are you all right?"

“I guess I am. My feet are a little numb in these shackles, though."

“You have him chained?” the small man asked the uniform.

“Take ‘em off, Mike,” the uniform told Detective Jurgens.

Seeing the big cop negotiate with his belly to get down on his knees and unshackle me was funny, but I didn‘t laugh.

“My name is Dollar, Mr. Carmel, Holland Dollar. I‘ve been retained to get you out
of
here. Do you wish to press charges against the department for false arrest?"

It must have seemed to Jurgens and his superior that I was considering Dollar‘s request, but in reality I was thinking that Sisypha had laid out serious money to get me released. Here a lawyer that looked like a fop had gotten Jurgens to get on his knees to set me free. He was there in what must have been record time and got right to me. I remembered a time when it took three days just to get the pass to visit my father in jail.

“My name is Captain Haldeman,” the uniform said. “I apologize for any inconvenience you‘ve had, Mr. Carmel."

Mr. Carmel.

Sasha and her brother were dead. I was used as proof that the police didn‘t take the case lightly. I had been chained and arrested, but in suffering that minor bother, I found that Sisypha would move to save me.

Why?

“Do you wish to press charges?” Dollar asked again.

“No, sir. I don‘t. My neighbor and her brother are the ones who have suffered. Their parents will have to bear this weight. I don‘t mind if I can just go home now."

“There‘s a car waiting downstairs."

After my belongings had been returned, I found myself standing with Holland Dollar outside the police station. He handed me a lime-green card.

“Any trouble, any time, all you have to do is call. This number is twenty-four hours."

“Thank you, Mr. Dollar."

“Any time,” he said, and then he left me.

Once again Wan let me off in front of my building. While I was climbing out, he was running to get back, to open the door for me, I suppose.

“Good-bye, Mr. Cordell,” he said.

“Excuse me, Wan, but can I ask you something?"

“Yes?"

“Are you a driver for hire?"

“No, sir. I work for the company Ms. Landfall owns."

He left me wondering about the porn actress, director, and Internet mogul. She was obviously a millionaire.

In my apartment I called to make a reservation for dinner and then showered. Standing in the prefabricated plastic stall that I had washed in for a dozen years I achieved an erection without intending to. My cock was as hard as it had ever been. The balls were tucked up tight underneath. The water hitting my erection made it jump now and then.

I wanted to masturbate but didn‘t. I didn‘t hold back because I expected to be having sex soon; it was because I was enjoying the excitement. I thought about Celia and Lucy and poor Sasha. They were all in that shower with me.

Jo was completely out of my mind.

When I got to the little Italian bistro, Monica was there, waiting at my usual table outside. She was wearing an old-time dress, white with a few big black polka dots here and there. It was a dress that a French model would have worn in the fifties. The full-length skirt flared out, and the bodice was tight around her bosom. She also had on white high heels.

“Am I late?” I asked, coming up to the table and sitting across from her.

“I got off my job at five today,” she said. “I just came down here early, is all. I asked them if you had a reservation, and they Just put me here an‘ gave me a glass of wine."

She touched the glass with one finger, and I reached over to touch that finger with mine.

“I‘m sorry,” I said. “If I‘d known, I would have made an earlier reservation."

“I wanted to come early,” she said. “I thought you was gonna forget or just not come."

“Why?"

“I just thought that you was flirtin‘, tryin‘ t‘see if the poor black girl on the train would go out with you. But then when they had your name waitin‘, I knew you were serious, so I just sat here an‘ read my French book."

She touched my finger, and the waiter came to leave us menus.

“Damn,” Monica said. “This expensive."

“The food‘s good and I‘m paying,” I told her.

“But what‘s this?” she said, pointing to an entry on the typed specials list. “It says a hundred dollars."

“It‘s a pasta. You know, spaghetti."

“For a hundred dollars?"

“It‘s made with real French truffles,” I said. “They‘re very expensive."

“Do they taste good?"

“Why don‘t we split an appetizer of the pasta and then you can order something else for the main course."

Monica loved the truffles. She ate most of that dish. She told me that she knew there was a reason for learning French and now that she‘d tasted good French food, she knew what that reason was.

After dinner we went to a movie on Sixth. I don‘t remember what it was about, because we started kissing the moment the lights went down. They were deep soul kisses that tasted like hunger. I didn‘t know if it was Monica‘s longing or mine, but when I was kissing her, there was nothing in nay past or my future.

When I moved to touch her breast, she took the hand and moved it.

“I want you t o , “ she whispered, and then tongued my ear until I was squirming in my seat. “But if you make get me excited, the whole place gonna hear it."

Then she put her hand on my erection and squeezed it.

I sat up a little, and she said, “Sit back."

The film was either six hours or ten minutes long. Her hand did not leave my cock the entire time.

When we got on the street, she took my hand, and we walked westward through the dark lanes of brownstones and small apartment buildings. We stopped now and then to kiss. I was breathless whenever we did that.

“I‘ll put you in a taxi whenever you need to get home,” I told her when we got to Hudson Street.

“You live around here?” she asked.

“A little south."

“Let me see your front door and then you can get me a taxi."

We walked slowly, holding hands and stopping to kiss at every intersection. She didn‘t seem to mind walking in those uncomfortable shoes.

I never wanted that walk to end.

When we got to my door, she looked up and asked, “Which one is yours?"

“Third floor."

“Mmm. You can come on and get me that taxi now."

I took a deep breath and made to walk east with her. But she stopped, pulling on my hand.

“So after you get rid‘a me, you gonna go call one‘a those girls you been seem‘?"

“ No . “

“You sure?” she asked, with no hint of a smile.

“Yeah. Why?"

“I think you might be a little excited after all that kissin‘ . . . an‘ stuff."

I squatted down and wrapped my arm around her thighs. She gasped as I stood up with her hanging over my shoulder.

“What are you doing, Cordell?"

I didn‘t answer. I just took out my keys and worked them in the locks.

On the way up the stairs, she said, “Put me down or I‘ma scream, Cordell.” But she never raised her tone, even when I began unlocking the door to my apartment.

I didn‘t put her down until we got to my sofa. Then I got down in front of her on my knees and raised that French hem.

“Cordell,” she complained, but when I pulled her thonged panties to the side and pressed the flat of my tongue against her enlarged clitoris, she raised her white high heel to nestle against my shoulder, situating her bared pussy so that I could lick it from top to bottom.

“Oh shit, Cordell. Damn, niggah, you know the spot. Shit."

When she came, I wondered if Martine would call the police. I didn‘t care.

“Stop, stop, stop,” Monica cried. “That‘s too much. Too much."

I moved back six inches, watching the pink insides of her pussy pucker in and out like a hungry mouth chewing on something good.

“Let me up, Cordell,” she breathed.

“No,” I said, looking up into her eyes.

“Why not?"

“It tastes too good to me, baby. I need more."

“Oh shit,” she said, her ass clenching and hot liquid running down from her vagina onto my sofa.

With that, I stuck my tongue up inside her. She reached down and grabbed my head pressing it hard against her flesh. Her thighs sandwiched my ears, and I was trapped by her second orgasm.

When that was over, she asked me again to let her up. Again I refused.

“You know what you taste like?” I asked her, and then flicked my tongue against her clit.

“Oh, oh. No. What?” she said.

“You taste like home,” I said, and then I thrilled her some more. “You taste like my dreams in the back room I shared with my brother. You taste like all the love I ever wanted."

I think her last surge of passion was more from me talking to her than what I said or what I was doing. She slid off the sofa and crawled on her back away from me.

I stood up and let my pants fall.

She stared at my erection with the awe of first sight.

I sat down on the sofa and said, “Get up on this thing, Monica."

“But, Cordell, this just our first date."

“Get up here now, girl."

“Cordell . . ."

“Take off those underwear,” I said and she did it quickly. “Now come over here and sit on this thing."

She came over slowly, put a knee on either side, but stayed up high so that my cock barely touched her lips.

I put my hands on her generous hips and pressed her down so that she took my whole cock instantly inside her.

She grunted and moaned in my ear and started moving back and forth, saying, “We shouldn‘t be doin‘ this, baby. Oh shit yeah. You know we shouldn‘t."

I hummed a deep bass note in her ear and said, “That‘s good, Monica. Now I want you to fuck it."

She started going up and down, slapping her big, well-formed ass on my lap.

“Kiss me,” I said, and she did. “Don‘t stop fuckin‘ me, though, Monica. Kiss me and fuck me at the same time.” And she did that too.

It didn‘t take long for me to get near coming. When I grabbed her waist and started pressing my hips to make her go faster, she cried out, “Don‘t come inside, baby. Please don‘t."

I started fucking her faster, harder.

“Please don‘t,” she begged.

“I can if I want to."

She looked at me then, coming down on me as hard as I was coming up into her. She nodded and bowed her head. That‘s when I moved her to the side and stood straight up. She grabbed on to my cock and I was coming all over the coffee table. I lost my footing but she still held on.

“Damn,” she said. “You been savin‘ it up for me?"

I was on my back by then. She was at my side, kissing my nipple and biting now and then.

“Thank you for not comin‘ in me,” she said. “I know you wanted to. I wanted it too, but I cain‘t get pregnant right now. I got to make sure Mozelle gotta way to make it first."

“Can you spend the night?” I asked her.

“No, baby. I want to, but I got to get home."

“Okay,” I said. It was somewhere around midnight. “I could put you in a taxi, ride with you in a taxi, or walk you over.

Whatever you say."

“What did you mean when you said I tasted like home?” she asked.

“When you were a child, did you lie m bed at night thinking about the perfect lover?” I replied.

“Uh-huh. He was a singer and he was real rich and everybody knew him. When he come over, he‘d have flowers an‘ shit. And he had a boat with a glass bottom where we‘d make love with fish lookin‘ at us. What did you dream?"