South Central Noir

She got up. Kept her eyes on me and descended the steps. Thirty-nine paces in all from the porch to the street. I counted every step.

She came close.

I could smell her body.

Her perfumes and her sweat.

Lord, she was fine.

Eyes bigger than spotlights at the Club Alabam. Her face round like a walnut.

She pulled out a cigarette. “Got a match?” she said.

’Course, I seen that California trick before. Was ready. I pulled out a match, smooth, like Humphrey Bogart. Lit her cigarette.

She smiled. Could have studied that smile all night. “Lordy, you tall. How big is you, cutie?”

“Six foot five,” I said.

“My goodness, tall as sugarcane. Sweet inside too, I bet,” she said, studying, making sure it was so. “Mmm, you a whole lotta man to drink in. So, where you headed, handsome?”

“Home,” I said.

“Oh yeah? Where’s home?”

“Couple blocks up Broadway.”

She thought about that a moment, smoking her cigarette, looking me up and down, not saying nothing. Her eyes was fingers, searching me.

“I seen you gliding by,” she said finally. “On your pretty bike. In your pretty uniform. Watching me. You been watching me, sweetie?”

“No ma’am,” I said. “I just be going home. I don’t look at nobody.”

“Don’t look at nobody, huh?” she said laughing. “Well, you ain’t having no trouble looking at me now. Is you, cutie?”

“No ma’am,” I said.

“What’s your name?”

“Theus. Theus Drummond.”

“Work at the Dunbar?”

“Yes’um,” I said.

“Man, I’d love to go there. I hear it’s like a palace. A palace run by colored folks. I just love thinking about that.”

She got serious a minute, smoking her cigarette, then she said, “Say, Theus, you think maybe one night when you ain’t got nothing to do, and I ain’t got nothing to do, you can maybe show up and take me out to see what’s going on at the Dunbar? Mix in with all those rich folks and celebrities? I’d like that fine if you could.”

She said that, then turnt away real quick, then back, like she was ’fraid I was fixin’ to say no. Instead, I said, “Yes’um. We can do that.”

“Oh Theus,” she said, like a little girl, amazed at what I said, and before I could say nothing else she’d threw her arms ’round me and kissed me full on the mouth.

I ain’t never been kissed like that.

I suspect nobody has.

She fixed her dress where us mashed together had mussed it, then looked at my busted tires. “I see you got work to do. I won’t keep you. Just wanted to make your acquaintance — Mr. Theus Drummond. I been wishing for a strong handsome man to squire me ’round this fabulous city. Back home they say Central Avenue is glamorous and fun. But it ain’t been no fun for me so far. Anyways, a girl without a companion is looking for trouble. Can’t be too careful, y’know? With that killer on the loose. Raping and killing women who’s unprotected and all alone. Alone like me.”

“Yes’um,” I said.

I don’t remember walking the Flyer home. Only that when I got there, and fixed the busted tires, I was too happy to sleep. All I could think about was the lady in yellow. I popped open a Coke-Cola, pulled up the window, and listened to my neighbors fussin,’ playin’ music, and laughin’ outside. Listened till the sun came up. Then I realized, Damnit, Theus, you ain’t got her name.

17

Whenever I rode past Pink House, I was on the lookout for the lady in yellow. Didn’t see her nowheres. I started to fret she left town. Finally I got up the gumption to knock on her door at Pink House. I tapped real polite-like, at first. Could hear folks stirring. Nobody came to the door. I gave it a bang. Could hear Madam Sweet howling inside, like she’d been shot. “Bust that door, boy, and you done bought it,” she said through the closed door.

“Sorry, ma’am, I was huntin’ for one of the ladies that stays here.”

“What lady?”

“The pretty girl in yellow,” I said.

Madam Sweet was quiet a minute, pretending she was looking for something. Then said, “Ain’t nobody here matching that description.”

“Y’mind if I come in? Look around?”

“Fuck yeah, chile. ’Fore you can step up in here you gots ta show me the dough-ray-me.”

“I got money,” I said.

She cracked the door open. “Show me.”

I pulled out my wallet, fat with greenbacks.

Madam Sweet pulled the door wide open. Inspected me head to toe. “Why, you just a baby. How old is you, son?”

“Almost twenty-two.”

“And youse a lyin’ sack a shit,” she said. “Come back when yo’ dick grows big as yo’ feets.”

She slammed the door.

18

Uncle Balthazar allowed me to work the graveyard shift Thursday night, December 12. I could spend all my time Friday shopping for Christmas gifts. Mostly, I was trying to figure what the glamorous lady at Pink House would like — something shiny and expensive, I was thinking.

I decided to take a break from all that thinking and hunting, and rode the Flyer over to Komix & Kandi. I happened to glance in my mirror: I was being followed.