Little Black Girl Lost (23 page)

S
eeing an ambulance and a crowd gathered in front of her home, Meredith's heart raced. She'd had her worst fears confirmed, and all she needed was more bad news. When she got out of the car, Meredith saw the coroner's wagon parked in front of her home. That could mean only one thing. Someone was dead. As she rushed to the house, Earl came out. He was crying.
Who's dead?
Then she saw her three daughters, Janet, Stacy, and Marjorie.

“Where have you been?” Earl asked.

Ignoring the question, Meredith asked with frayed nerves, “What's happened? Is everybody okay?”

No one said anything. They all just looked at her, hoping she would figure it out. Suddenly it hit her. Someone in her family was missing.

“Where's little Buck?” she forced herself to say.

No one answered. They just continued to stare at her with shell-shocked looks of grief on their faces.

“No. No. No. Oh, no . . . It isn't little Buck.” Meredith screamed. Earl held her as she began to cry uncontrollably. “What happened, Earl? What happened? Tell me it isn't true. Tell me he's hurt real bad.”

Earl wished he could tell her that, but he couldn't.

Meredith was shaking as Earl led her into the house and to the living room, where she saw the medical examiner and a couple of paramedics. Little Buck was on the sofa, covered from head to toe by a dark green blanket.

“I want to see him,” Meredith managed to say through unrelenting tears.

The medical examiner pulled back the blanket and Meredith saw her son. It looked as though he was sleeping. Meredith felt her knees get weak from the raw emotion of the sight of him, but Earl held her up. She cried loudly saying, “No! God no! Not my little boy! Not my child! Not my baby!”

At that moment, West Buchanan stormed in. He saw Little Buck's body on the sofa. “What the hell happened?” he barked loudly.

“West,” Earl, still brokenhearted, spoke. “It seems that Little Buck and the girls decided to climb the tree in the backyard and he fell and broke his neck.”

West turned to the girls and yelled, “Why the fuck would you let him climb up in that goddamned tree?” Before the girls could answer, he turned to Meredith and yelled at her too. “And where the fuck were you? You're his mother, for God's sake!”

“Daddy, it wasn't anybody's fault,” Meredith told him. “It was a terrible, terrible accident. Don't blame the girls.”

“The hell it wasn't!” West shouted. “These three wenches hated that boy and you know it! How do you know they didn't lead him up there, knowing he would fall?”

“Daddy, they would never do anything like that,” Meredith pleaded their case. “They loved little Buck. Didn't you, girls?”

“No, Grandpa. We would never do anything like that.” Janet, the oldest, spoke for her sisters. “We loved our brother.”

West was right. That's exactly what happened. They didn't want him to die, but they hoped he would get hurt. Little Buck was still everybody's favorite, and they were treated like stepchildren. The girls were sorry little Buck died, but they were glad to see the anguish on their grandfather's face. As far as they were concerned, it served him right for treating them so badly. They knew that if Little Buck had never been born, they would still be living in relative squalor. Now that he was dead, it gave them all immense pleasure to know that their grandfather lost more than a grandson. All of his planning for little Buck was now a memory.

West shot an angry glare at Earl, knowing he would now have to keep him at the helm of Buchanan Mutual. He would have to start treating him like the son-in-law he was, if the company was to survive with a Buchanan male at the top, even if only by marriage. West had hoped Claire, his wife, would have a son when they found out she was pregnant. Throughout the pregnancy, he continually talked about how he would groom his son to take over the company some day, how his son would continue building what West began.

Unfortunately, the pregnancy was a difficult one for Claire. She died from complications after giving birth to Meredith. West's heart was broken. Not only had he lost his beloved wife, she didn't give birth to his beloved heir. West loved Meredith, but he didn't believe women could or should run businesses. Their job was to rear children and take care of the home. And now, because of his beliefs about women, he had to turn everything over to a man he despised. West shook his head objectionably and stormed out of the house.

L
ater that night, Meredith followed Earl to Ashland Estates. She couldn't believe he would go to his Negro mistress at a time like this. She wondered if Earl told Johnnie Wise about her and their family.
Does he talk to her about things he couldn't talk to me about? Is that why he had to see her tonight? Is this how he copes with life?

Meredith parked half a block away from Johnnie's house and watched Earl go to the front door. For a brief moment, she considered knocking on the door. There could be no denials if she did, but Meredith Shamus could never do that. She had too much pride to get into an ugly confrontation in public. She sat in the car and cried while she waited for Earl to come out. She toyed with the idea of confronting Johnnie but dismissed it.

Meredith picked up the file Hatcher gave her. For some strange reason, she had to see the photos again. As she shuffled through the pictures, she realized she hadn't seen all of them. She saw a strikingly handsome colored man talking to Earl. In the next still, the man was punching Earl. Meredith found herself staring at the man who had humbled her husband. He looked familiar. She shuffled the pictures until she came to a picture of Johnnie. She put the pictures side by side. The resemblance was uncanny.

Meredith reached inside the packet and pulled out a copy of the notes Hatcher took, which chronicled the dates and times Earl met with Johnnie. She read the notes rapidly, until she came to the night of the pictures at the Savoy Hotel. After reading through the notes, it occurred to Meredith that the notes and pictures were in perfect order. All she needed to do was put them back in their original order and she'd have the complete story.

From what she read, it was clear that the colored man was Johnnie's brother Benny. He and his wife Brenda were from California, according to the license plate on his car. They were there for the mother's funeral. The last entry under the Savoy Hotel said that Benny and Johnnie's next door neighbor rented a room at the Savoy.

Meredith started the car and pulled off. She decided to keep Tony Hatcher on the case. When she arrived at her home, she called Hatcher at his office.

“Hatcher,” he said when he picked up the phone.

“Mr. Hatcher, this is Meredith Shamus.”

“Yes, Mrs. Shamus. What can I do for you?”

“I want you to stay on the case. He's at the Negro woman's house right now. Can you get over there right away?”

“No problem, Mrs. Shamus. I'll get right on it.”

F
reshly showered and smelling good, Lucas Matthews walked into the Bayou sharply dressed in a charcoal gray shirt and slacks with matching shoes, ready for work. Napoleon called him at his new apartment and told him to be at the Bayou at 10:00 that morning. He had a job for him.
He must have something special for me. Maybe we're finally going to take care of Richard Goode.
In the month that he worked with Bubbles, he'd learned how to shoot a pistol, how to use brass knuckles, how to brutalize a man without killing him, and why it was important to keep a debtor alive. “If we kill 'em,” Bubbles explained, “we don't get paid.”

Lucas saw Napoleon and Bubbles sitting at their usual table, having a bite to eat. He greeted them and took a seat.

“You look good, kid,” Bubbles said. “Hard to remember that shabby bum that came in here a month ago.”

“Thanks, man.” Lucas smiled.

“Had a talk with Bubbles last night,” Napoleon said. “Found out some interesting things about you, kid.”

The comment made Lucas feel a little unsettled.
Did Bubbles say something about me and Marla?
“All good, I hope.” Lucas pretended to be at ease with what he'd just heard.

“Bubbles said you're doing a great job and you're ready to go on your own. What do you think? You think you're ready?”

Relieved, Lucas regained his confidence. “Yeah, I'm ready.”

“Great. You can start this week's pick-up by yourself. But I got a special favor I want you to do for me from time to time. You game?”

“Sure, Napoleon,” Lucas said, excited. “What is it, man? You want me to start doin' the payoffs too?”

Bubbles smiled. “My, my, my. Aren't we an ambitious boy?”

“No, nothing like that.” Napoleon smiled. “This is a little more personal. I want you to take my car and drive Marla wherever she wants to go.”

Lucas' smile evaporated. “I thought you wanted me involved with the Richard Goode thing.” He looked at Bubbles to see what he was thinking. Bubbles continued eating his breakfast, not even bothering to look at him. “Have Fort Knox or one of the other guys do it. I wanna be in on the Goode thing.”

Bubbles stopped eating and looked at him, obviously aggravated by Lucas' arrogance. “Look, kid, do what the fuck he tells you! You got that?”

Lucas was surprised to hear Bubbles take Napoleon's side; especially after the two warnings he'd given him.

“I thought you and Marla got along, Lucas,” Napoleon said.

“We got along fine, Napoleon.”

“Then what's the problem?”

Lucas looked at Bubbles briefly. He had that same aggravated look on his face.
I guess he's coverin' his own
ass.

“It's no problem. But why me? Why don't she drive herself?”

“Marla's afraid to drive. A couple of years ago, she was blind-sided by a truck haulin' moonshine. She's been reluctant to get behind the wheel ever since.”

Lucas mumbled, “She ain't got no friends to drive her around?”

“Look, man, I told her I'd send someone. She doesn't like any of my other people and asked me to send you. Now, help me out here, man.”

“Okay, Napoleon,” Lucas said with resignation.

“Great. She's just got a few errands to run. It shouldn't take too long. Here's the keys to my car.” He tossed them to Lucas. “That baby better not have a scratch on it when you bring it back.”

“Don't worry. It won't,” Lucas said. “Now, what about the other thing?”

“What other thing?”

“You know. The thing you promised Johnnie. She's been buggin' me about it.”

The truth was, Johnnie hadn't said too much about it. She was surprisingly patient. Lucas knew Johnnie agreed with Napoleon. If they were going to get away with murder, they had to be patient.

“Didn't I promise to take care of it?” Napoleon asked Lucas.

“Yeah.”

“Trust me then. We're already planning the thing, okay?”

“Okay, I'll tell Johnnie. Then maybe she'll get off my back,” Lucas said. “So, what time do I pick up Marla?”

“Now.”

“Now? I haven't even had breakfast yet.”

“I'll call her and have her make something for you. It'll be ready by the time you get there.”

“Okay. I'm gone,” Lucas said and left.
This is just great. Napoleon is gonna end up killin' me over this shit. I haven't seen her since the funeral. And now, I gotta drive her around.

Bubbles waited until Lucas left the table then said, “Why you doin' this to the kid?”

“Because I can! Now, are you sure he got the message?”

“Yeah. I'm sure.”

“Good. It's all coming together.” Napoleon smiled.

“I don't understand,” Bubbles said. “When you told me that you thought Marla liked the kid, I thought you should know that I already warned him about her. This is fucked up, man. A lotta good people are gonna die over some pussy, man.”

“Men have always killed and died over pussy, Bubbles. And we'll continue to kill and die over it. That and money. And for the record, it's not all about fucking his woman. It's mainly about the money. But yeah, I'm gonna fuck Johnnie—at least once.”

Bubble stared at Napoleon disapprovingly.

“Look, man, you don't need to understand everything right now. Just back me up like you've always done. And you're gonna make more money on this thing than you can possibly imagine, okay? Trust me on this.”

“Okay, man. I just don't wanna kill the kid.”

“We might have to, old friend.”

“H
i, Lucas,” Marla said, smiling from ear to ear. “Don't you look nice today.”

“Thank you,” he said shyly, almost embarrassed.

“Come on in. Breakfast is on the table. I hope you like hot cakes, eggs, bacon, and toast.”

“Yeah.” Lucas smiled. “I'm starvin' too.”

“Well, there's plenty. If you want more, I'll be glad to make it for you.”

As they walked to the kitchen, he couldn't help noticing how nice Marla smelled. Her perfume was intoxicating, and the way she smiled at him gave him a jackhammer erection. He'd seen Marla three times now. Each time he saw her he wanted her all the more. He fought the temptation to cop a feel of her shapely derriere, but stared hypnotically at it all the way into the kitchen.

“Lucas, I know you're staring at my ass.” The tone of her voice was lighthearted and encouraging.

“Huh? No, I'm not,” he said, wondering how she knew.

Marla looked over her shoulder and smiled approvingly. “Go ahead and look. I like the way it makes me feel when you look at me, Lucas. It makes me feel beautiful and desirable.”

“I do?” he asked, more innocently than surprised. “Ummm. It smells almost as good as you, Marla.”
Shit! What the hell did I say that for?

“Dig in.”

“Ain't you gon' eat?” he asked, looking at a table full of food.

“No, it's all for you.”

“Marla, I can't eat this much food,” he told her with wide-eyed wonder.

“Nobody says you have to,” Marla smiled. “Would you like some milk and O. J.?”

“Uh-huh,” he said, pouring syrup on his pancakes.

Marla took two large glasses out of the cabinet and set them on the table. She watched Lucas devour the food as if he hadn't eaten in a month, and it pleased her.

“Say when,” she said as she poured the beverages into the glasses, one container in each hand. She sat in the chair across from him and watched him eat. “So, are you afraid of me, or what?”

“What do you mean afraid?” Lucas asked, playing dumb.

“You know what I mean.” Marla had a serious look on her face. “I know you enjoyed what I did for you the last time you were here. And I know you can't get it out of your mind, can you?”

Looking confused, he said, “What's the deal with you and Napoleon?”

“What do you mean?”

Lucas curled his lips and sucked his teeth. “You know what I mean. How come you and him don't get along? And how come y'all bothering with me and my girl? Are you tryin' to get back at him, or what?”

“If I tell you, will you answer my question?” Marla bartered.

“Yeah, but you go first.”

“Well, Napoleon and I have been together for twenty years. I married him right out of high school. We've had good times and bad. Mostly bad, relation-shipwise. As far as material things, I've had it pretty good, never wanted for anything. Even when he went to prison, he saw to it that me and the children were well taken care of. I don't fault him for that. I guess our relationship started to disintegrate when we moved down here to New Orleans.”

“What happened when y'all moved down here?” Lucas asked, listening to every word, still shoveling food into his mouth.

“You know, as much as I'd like to put the blame squarely on his shoulders, the truth is I was just as much to blame as him. It's never just one person when a marriage goes bad. It takes two to tango. Anyway, I guess we just lost interest in each other. At first, we had sex all the time. Anywhere, anytime.”

Lucas blushed from the open sex talk. Like most men, he thought that women basically had sex with men because men wanted them to. If a woman were the aggressor, she was a whore. Marla sensed what he was thinking and said, “I can see you've been brainwashed.”

“Brainwashed? What do you mean brainwashed?” he asked, dumbfounded.

“Basically, it means to continuously fill a person's mind with information that you want them to believe. Pretty soon, whatever information was in their brain is replaced by the newer information, even if the new information is bogus. Understand?”

“Yeah, but why do you say I'm brainwashed?”

“Tell me something. Have you ever heard the cliché ‘good girls don't put out'?”

“Yeah. I've heard it.”

“Do you believe it?”

“Yeah. I guess.”

“Why do you believe that?”

“I don't know. I just do.”

“That's my point exactly,” Marla said forcefully. “Somebody told you that, and now you believe it, yet you don't know why. That's how brainwashing works. The victim never knows what's happened to him.”

“Well, my mother is one of the people I heard it from.”

“No offense, Lucas,” Marla said sincerely. “I'm not putting your mother down, but women have been brainwashed too. You see how this thing perpetuates itself? Women tend to put each other down for doing the very thing they fantasize about.” Lucas sat there listening, amazed at her candor. “Do you remember me asking you if you've ever had a woman and not some teenage girl who doesn't know her own sexuality yet?”

“Yeah, I remember.”

“Good. What I didn't tell you was that often women don't really blossom sexually until they're around thirty-two or so. That's when we have sex on our minds all the time. Kinda like you do now.”

Frowning, he said, “I don't have—”

“Don't even bother denying it. I know that sex is almost always on your mind. You don't have to admit it for it to be true. The bottom line is when a woman reaches a certain age, being a good girl loses a lot of its luster. We become more like a teenage male in our thinking.”

Lucas blushed again. “So, you sayin' women your age want to do it as much as men do at my age?”

“Uh-huh. Hard to believe, huh?”

“Yeah. And why are you tellin' me this?”

“I'm trying to teach you something about women. For example, you ever notice how women call each other sluts and whores and the like?”

“Yeah.”

“Because we've be socialized to only want sex when it's socially acceptable. But at the same time, when we go to a rock and roll concert, we scream our heads off and often throw our panties on the stage. Why? Because the performer's bigger than life. But if the same guy we saw on stage was just another guy walking down the street and women chased him, that wouldn't be socially acceptable—hence the brainwashing. Understand?”

“Man, Marla. You smart.” Lucas grinned, feeling a little more relaxed, dropping his guard. “You know a lotta big words. Did you learn how to talk like that in college?”

“No. I learned to talk like that by reading books like
Lady Chatterley's Lover.
It's one of D. H. Lawrence's best. It's been banned in the United States as pornographic, but through some of Napoleon's Chicago connections, I was able to procure a copy.”

Having no idea what she'd said, Lucas nodded.

“Books help shape your thinking,” she went on.

“You mean brainwashing?”

Marla laughed. “Kinda, but different. Reading opens your mind to different views. In other words, when you read, you get to determine what goes in your brain. You basically brainwash yourself with ideas you never thought about until you picked up a book and started reading. Understand?”

“Not really. But it sho' do sound good when you say it.”

Marla laughed again. “Are you finished eating?”

“Yeah. I'm full, thanks. It was delicious.”

Marla cleared the table then asked, “Is your girlfriend a good girl?”

“Yes. A great girl.”

“Have you had sex with her?”

“Well . . . yeah.”

“And she's still a good girl?”

“Yeah. I think so.”

“Okay. Are you her first and only?”

Lucas frowned. He thought about Earl and how he agreed to put up with their sexual liaisons. Anger began to mount and it showed on his face.

“Judging by the look on your face,” Marla continued, “you're not, are you?”

“No, I'm not,” he grudgingly admitted.

“Well, is she still a good girl?”

Lucas hesitated. “Yeah. I guess so.”

“Why is she still a good girl?”

“I don't know. I guess because I like her.”

“So, let me get this straight. Your girlfriend can have two lovers or more and still be a good girl?”

“Well, I guess two or three is okay, but not many more.”

“Okay, so is five too many?”

“That's pushin' it, but okay. Five and that's it.”

Marla smiled. “So, anything less than five lovers and you won't consider your girlfriend a whore. Is that a fair statement?”

“Yeah. Five or less is fair.”

“Okay. Well, I've had less than five men. Am I a whore?”

“How did we get on this subject anyway?” Lucas asked, exasperated.

“Answer the question, Lucas. Would you consider me a whore if I've had less than five lovers?”

“I couldn't say you're a whore if both of you had less than five men.”

“So, then I'm a good girl too, right?”

“Right,” he said with a laugh. “Are you happy now?”

“I'm not finished with my questions. After I finish, maybe then I'll be happy.”

Lucas shook his head. “Ain't we supposed to be runnin' some errands?”

“Don't worry. Well get to that or we won't,” Marla told him. “Now, when you first did it with your girlfriend, who was the aggressor?”

“You mean who made the first move?”

“Uh-huh.”

“I did,” he said.

“So, you seduced her?”

“Huh?”

“You know. Got her in the mood and she surrendered?”

“If you mean did I make her wanna give it up, I sho' did.”

Marla laughed. “Yeah, that's what I mean. You did what was necessary to get what you wanted, right?”

“Yep.”

“So, what's wrong with a woman doing the same to achieve the desired result?”

“Marla, you sho' do talk pretty.”

Feeling in control of the situation, she said, “Come here, Lucas.” When he didn't move, she went over to him and kissed him. “You like that?”

“Yes,” he heard himself saying, and the jackhammer came alive again.