South Central Noir

“Miss Chimes, take his young man down to the infirmary. Dress his wounds, give him some proper vines, and feed him.”

“But there ain’t no room, Captain Pin,” Miss Chimes said. “We full up with help: janitorial, bellboys, waitstaff. We don’t need no more staff.”

“Then we’ll just have to make a place outta no place,” my Uncle Balthazar snapped. He thought on it. “He’ll serve as my personal factotum until we can find him suitable employment.”

They was using words I’d never heard of. “Fact... fact... tote...” I tried.

“Factotum,” my uncle corrected me. “That mean, every damn thing I say is a fact. And if I point to a heap of satchels yonder by the elevator, I expects you to hop up and tote ’em where they needs to go. Fact-tote-um — get me?” He turnt to Miss Chimes, said, “Now, he can’t bunk here. F’now, get one of the bellhops to make him a pallet back of the pantry. He can stay there till we find lodging downtown.”

“Yes sir, Captain Pin,” Miss Chimes said.

She cleared a space behind the pantry. A bellboy named Chipper came with the bedding. He didn’t say nothin’ to me, nor hardly look at me all the while he made the pallet. He knew there wasn’t no jobs, and here I was, the captain’s pet, getting one.

Chipper left out soon. In the infirmary Miss Chimes brought in supper, some cornbread and a bowl of gumbo. I swallowed it all before it stopped steaming. Then Miss Chimes pulled out a first aid kit. “Be strong, shorty. This is gonna hurt,” she said.

’Cepting my ma, I ain’t never had a growed-up woman touch me like Miss Chimes did that night. Now, she wasn’t trying to touch me in no sinning way (I don’t think), but all while she was rubbing me and dabbing me with Vaseline and stinging cream, and sticking bandages and cotton balls all up and down my legs, seem like my privates (which she never touched) was getting healed and scrubbed and rubbed and pampered some too. I thanked the Lord when she quit.

6

The smell of biscuits got me up ’round four a.m. ’Round five, Flip Cromwell, one of the busboys working mornings, brought me a pressed white shirt and pants and a white-and-black cap a milkman would wear.

My first uniform!

Flip Cromwell said, “We ain’t got no ski shoes to fit your big feets, so you gotta wear socks till we can find some. So, get cleaned up, scrub. Breakfast’s waiting in the break room. Chow down and report to Captain Pin in the lobby. Six sharp.”

The break room was all white, with a long counter, stools, and booths. Photos of celebrities was on every wall. Most of the talk was about the big fight, where the great Joe Louis knocked out Baer in four. When Miss Chimes came in with the maid staff and heard what all them folks was talking about, she banged a fork on her water glass and yelled, “Stop!”

Everybody stopped.

“The fight? The fight!” Miss Chimes said. “What about the colored girl dead by the river? What about her? What about her fight? Why ain’t none a you talking about her?”

Nobody said nothing after that. The only sound was the clinking of forks on plates. Miss Chimes glared at us the whole time. We was happy to run out of there at about a quarter to six.

Uncle Balthazar stood in the middle of the lobby. Wearing glasses, like a professor, and a chocolate tux with a bright-red bow tie. We sat around him on the big leather couches. He called for reports from the top peoples: head chef, bartender, waiter. Then said, “Friends, there is a killer among us. Killing our babies. Discarding them like garbage. The damn cops won’t help us. The damn mayor won’t help us. We alone and must be vigilant. Ever vigilant and ever ready to ensure our homes are safe for our chirrens, our grandmothers, and for our own selves. It’s up to us. So, be careful and be aware.”

A discussion of the murders followed. Once the speakers had their say, Uncle Balthazar turnt to me and said, “On a final note, comrades, I’d like to introduce you to the newest member of the Dunbar family. Master Prometheus Drummond. He my nephew and go by the nickname Theus. I have seen fit to establish the post of factotum for him. That mean he a lackey, lowest rail on the stool. Please spy on him. Torment him. If he slip up and sass back, I’m gonna kick him back to the river where he come from.”

He said these shocking words then looked around at all the faces. All but mine.

“Understand?”

They nodded, yes suh, Captain Pin.

“Okay. Now, get to it,” he said.

They hustled to they posts.

7

Uncle Balthazar sat at his desk signing papers. Cold as an icicle. Ack like he didn’t know me. “So, I took a chance and hired you last night, nephew,” he started off, “but you ain’t legit and on the books, official like, till daybreak Monday. That give you six days to familiarize yourself with your responsibilities as a steward and representative of the greatest colored hotel west of the Mississippi. Or six days to mess up. Got me?”