Read Online Six Easy Pieces by Walter Mosley - Free Book Online Page A

bad.”
    “What you sayin’, man?”
    “You just tell the minister that Easy Rawlins wants to talk to him about something of paramount concern. I’ll be sittin’ in this chair right here till you get back.”
    Fatso took the message, and Bumpy waited with me. I sat there looking around Winter Baptist. It didn’t feel like a church then, but I knew when the organ started playing and the minister was in his groove that a holy light would shine in. I had friends who didn’t believe in Heaven or its Host, but still they never missed a Sunday sermon at Winter Baptist.
    Birds were chirping from somewhere up around the ceiling. They had come into the church and set up their nests. I thought that the minister probably left them there to make that sacred space seem something like the Garden of Eden.
    “Do I know you?” a gravelly voice asked.
    He had come in from behind me, probably hoping to see if he knew me and my implied threat.
    “No, sir,” I said, rising to my feet. “My name’s Easy Rawlins.”
    “What do you want?” Reverend Winters looked more country than usual that evening. He wore blue jeans and a checkered red work shirt. The brown leather of his shoes was old and worn out. You could see the impression of his baby toes on the outer edges. A pair of shoes like that might have outlasted a marriage.
    “Can we talk privately for a moment, Reverend Winters?”
    The minister made a gesture with his head, and Bumpy started patting me down. I didn’t like it, but I didn’t lay him out either. Bumpy grunted and Winters motioned toward the other side of the room.
    We walked together, under the scrutiny of his private guards.
    “Well?” he asked me. “Let’s get this over with. I got a sermon to deliver in just an hour and a half.”
    Winters wasn’t tall or striking, neither was he delicate or particularly strong. His chin was subpar, and the top of his head was almost large enough to indicate a whole new species of man. His skin had the color and luster of dark honey standing on the windowsill. But it was his voice that set him apart from mortal men. As I said, it was raspy, but it was also rich and commanding. His voice alone made you want to go along with whatever words he was making. It was very disconcerting, but other things bothered me more.
    “Cedric Boughman and Etheline Teaman,” I said.
    That brought the minister up short. He seemed to be studying his own reflection in my eyes.
    “This some kinda blackmail or somethin’?” he whispered.
    “Never did like that word,” I said. “And you don’t have nuthin’ I want, except maybe the truth.”
    “Fuck you.” The words shocked me. For some reason I never expected a man of God to be coarse in that way. But the shock went deeper than that. It was like a slap in my face, making me aware of my situation.
    “Somebody stole somethin’ from Etheline,” I said. “An album of photographs.”
    “How the hell would you know that?”
    “I got my ways, Brother Winters. Believe me. Someone stole her photograph album.”
    “So what?”
    “Do you know where it is?”
    “Why would I?”
    “Etheline was a prostitute not a month ago,” I said. “She had a regular, a man in your employ name of Cedric Boughman. She also attended your church. She got special instructions from you—in person. Now Cedric is cryin’ in his bedroom and you sendin’ him his salary until he’s fit to come back to work.”
    “This is a Christian institution, Mr. Rawlins. We don’t turn away lost sheep. We don’t persecute a man when he loses someone he cares for.”
    “That sounds good, but it’s a lie. Cedric is either crazy or he don’t even know that Etheline is dead.”
    “What does that have to do with me?”
    “I don’t know what’s goin’ on,” I said. “I don’t know who killed Etheline or why. All I know is that there’s a picture I need to see lost somewhere, and I intend to find it. I will keep on asking questions until I do find