around — for security, no doubt.
“What’s your name?” she asked.
“Easy. What’s yours?”
“Tourmaline.”
That made me happy. I laughed and decided that the .38 in my pocket would equalize any situation that security might raise.
“My name is funny?”
“Quite the contrary,” I said. “It’s a beautiful name. A gem.”
“I like your name too,” she said.
I could almost hear the heavy breathing of overweight guards climbing the stairs.
“Why’s that?” I asked as if I had all the time in the world.
“It’s got two syllables. I hate one-syllable names. Mel and Brad and all the rest of them: Bill, Max, Tom, Dick — I especially hate Dick — and Harv.”
“Christmas has two syllables,” I said.
Tourmaline admired my ability to think for a moment that seemed to last minutes.
“What’s it worth to you?” she asked.
“A hundred dollars or dinner at Brentan’s,” I said. “Both.”
Tourmaline smiled and I saw a light somewhere.
That’s when my old friend Thunder and a black security guard just as big as he was came out from the entrance to the stairs.
“Hey, you,” Thunder said.
I swiveled my head to regard him and his minion.
Instead of snarling, he gave me a quizzical look.
But I wasn’t worried about what was on the big man’s mind. I wondered if I could take him down. I decided that it was possible. I’d get hurt in the process, but I was a man trying to impress a woman. I could maybe take him.… It didn’t matter, though. With his helper, Thunder would have torn me in two.
The big white security guard was looking at me, still pondering. I turned my head to see that Tourmaline was frozen, probably holding her breath.
“Mr. Rawlins,” Thunder said, and I knew that Mouse had had a talk with him too.
“Hey, Thunder. Listen, I know you gotta kick me out. Just give me one word with the lady here.”
“Come on, Joe,” Thunder said to his partner.
Joe showed no emotion, just followed his supervisor down the stairs.
I turned to Tourmaline, and she said, “I’ll meet you there at eight, Mr. Rawlins.”
• 12 •
R aymond Alexander had always been a fixture in my life. He was a ladies’ man, a philanderer, a fabulous raconteur, a stone-cold killer, and probably the best friend I ever had; not a friend, really, but a comrade. He was the kind of man who stood there beside you through blood and fire, death and torture. No one would ever choose to live in a world where they’d need a friend like Mouse, but you don’t choose the world you live in or the skin you inhabit.
There were times that Mouse had stood up for me when I wasn’t in the room or even the neighborhood. That’s why, sometimes, men like Thunder backed away from me, seeing the ghostly image of Ray at my shoulder.
I lived in a world where many people believed that laws dealt with all citizens equally, but that belief wasn’t held by my people. The law we faced was most often at odds with itself. When the sun went down or the cell door slammed, the law no longer applied to our citizenry.
In that world a man like Raymond “Mouse” Alexander was Achilles, Beowulf, and Gilgamesh all rolled into one.
I STOPPED at a phone booth and dialed a number.
“Library,” a man’s voice answered.
“Gara, please.” I knew she’d told me to wait for a day, but I also knew my hundred-dollar incentive would get her to move quickly.
I waited there, smoking a low-tar cigarette. Usually when I smoked I thought about quitting. I knew that my breath had been shortened and that my life would suffer the same fate if I continued. At the end of most smokes I crushed out the ember planning for it to be my last — but not that day. That day Death held no sway over me. She could come and take me; I didn’t care.
“Hello?” Gara said in a rich tone that I associated only with black women.
“Any headway?”
She laughed at my knowledge and said, “Come on by.”
WHENEVER I
“What’s your name?” she asked.
“Easy. What’s yours?”
“Tourmaline.”
That made me happy. I laughed and decided that the .38 in my pocket would equalize any situation that security might raise.
“My name is funny?”
“Quite the contrary,” I said. “It’s a beautiful name. A gem.”
“I like your name too,” she said.
I could almost hear the heavy breathing of overweight guards climbing the stairs.
“Why’s that?” I asked as if I had all the time in the world.
“It’s got two syllables. I hate one-syllable names. Mel and Brad and all the rest of them: Bill, Max, Tom, Dick — I especially hate Dick — and Harv.”
“Christmas has two syllables,” I said.
Tourmaline admired my ability to think for a moment that seemed to last minutes.
“What’s it worth to you?” she asked.
“A hundred dollars or dinner at Brentan’s,” I said. “Both.”
Tourmaline smiled and I saw a light somewhere.
That’s when my old friend Thunder and a black security guard just as big as he was came out from the entrance to the stairs.
“Hey, you,” Thunder said.
I swiveled my head to regard him and his minion.
Instead of snarling, he gave me a quizzical look.
But I wasn’t worried about what was on the big man’s mind. I wondered if I could take him down. I decided that it was possible. I’d get hurt in the process, but I was a man trying to impress a woman. I could maybe take him.… It didn’t matter, though. With his helper, Thunder would have torn me in two.
The big white security guard was looking at me, still pondering. I turned my head to see that Tourmaline was frozen, probably holding her breath.
“Mr. Rawlins,” Thunder said, and I knew that Mouse had had a talk with him too.
“Hey, Thunder. Listen, I know you gotta kick me out. Just give me one word with the lady here.”
“Come on, Joe,” Thunder said to his partner.
Joe showed no emotion, just followed his supervisor down the stairs.
I turned to Tourmaline, and she said, “I’ll meet you there at eight, Mr. Rawlins.”
• 12 •
R aymond Alexander had always been a fixture in my life. He was a ladies’ man, a philanderer, a fabulous raconteur, a stone-cold killer, and probably the best friend I ever had; not a friend, really, but a comrade. He was the kind of man who stood there beside you through blood and fire, death and torture. No one would ever choose to live in a world where they’d need a friend like Mouse, but you don’t choose the world you live in or the skin you inhabit.
There were times that Mouse had stood up for me when I wasn’t in the room or even the neighborhood. That’s why, sometimes, men like Thunder backed away from me, seeing the ghostly image of Ray at my shoulder.
I lived in a world where many people believed that laws dealt with all citizens equally, but that belief wasn’t held by my people. The law we faced was most often at odds with itself. When the sun went down or the cell door slammed, the law no longer applied to our citizenry.
In that world a man like Raymond “Mouse” Alexander was Achilles, Beowulf, and Gilgamesh all rolled into one.
I STOPPED at a phone booth and dialed a number.
“Library,” a man’s voice answered.
“Gara, please.” I knew she’d told me to wait for a day, but I also knew my hundred-dollar incentive would get her to move quickly.
I waited there, smoking a low-tar cigarette. Usually when I smoked I thought about quitting. I knew that my breath had been shortened and that my life would suffer the same fate if I continued. At the end of most smokes I crushed out the ember planning for it to be my last — but not that day. That day Death held no sway over me. She could come and take me; I didn’t care.
“Hello?” Gara said in a rich tone that I associated only with black women.
“Any headway?”
She laughed at my knowledge and said, “Come on by.”
WHENEVER I
Similar Books
