enough of a window for Socrates to have disarmed and killed the undercover cop. He considered the action and rejected it before Maxie turned back and stepped over the threshold, pulling the door shut behind him.
“What do you want, Socrates Fortlow?”
“I honestly don’t know.”
“What you mean you don’t know? What the fuck you doin’ here at my house?”
“What was you doin’ at my place, Officer Truman?”
“That’s police business.”
Socrates smiled. There weren’t many times that he could stand on equal footing with a cop.
“Is your address police business too?”
“How did you find it?”
“Do you care if I tell the people at the Nickel that Maxie is really a cop live ovah in the Crenshaw district?” Socrates asked. “Could I be arrested for exposin’ a spy?”
“Are you threatenin’ me?” the man with the gun asked.
“Are you threatenin’ me?” Socrates replied.
“No threat, mothafuckah,” Maxie said. “I will kill you.”
“Maybe. Maybe you will. But that don’t have to be. I ain’t done nuthin’ but what you did. All I’m askin’ is for you to tell me why you was up in my house with my friends lyin’ about who you are and reportin’ what you heard to the law.”
Brown veins stood out on the smaller man’s neck. His gun hand began to quiver.
Socrates understood that he had never been closer to his own death. The prospect didn’t scare him though. He himself was a murderer and could expect no better from life.
The door came open and the sand colored woman came out with a tiny light brown baby in her arms.
“Martin,” she said. “Is everything okay?”
“Go back inside, Linda.”
“Should I call somebody?”
“Go back inside.”
The baby started crying. Linda took a step backwards and stopped.
“Let me help you, Maxie,” Socrates said then. “You worried that I will tell where you live and that you’d have to run to stay from losin’ all you got. You worried that there’s gonna be a bull’seye on you an’ your family. That’s a real fear there. But you know I ain’t told nobody a thing about you. I did give somebody a sealed envelope sayin’ what I know about you and where I went today.”
“What’s he talking about, Martin?” Linda asked. “Why is he calling you Maxie?”
Marty/Maxie turned, screaming incoherently at his wife. The baby yowled as the enraged cop slammed the door on them. Then he turned to Socrates, holding his gun up toward the excon’s chest.
Socrates smiled and held his hands out to his side.
“There’s a diner ovah on Avalon called Benny’s Red Beans and Rice,” Socrates told him. “Come ovah there tomorrow at three. Let’s see if we can talk this shit out.”
Socrates walked away from the man known as Maxie aware of the possibility of being shot down in the street. He was mindful of Maxie’s gun and his rage while thinking about the sights and smells and sounds of the people who, for a short while, inhabited the Crenshaw bus.
3.
Socrates got to Benny’s twenty minutes early but Officer Truman was already there. He was wearing his signature stained army jacket and drab green gardener’s pants. Socrates had on a dark green T-shirt and white cotton pants. Los Angeles was experiencing a hot spell and he had been sweating in his bed, under just a thin sheet, the night before.
Maxie was seated in a window booth in the empty diner. Before him was a white ceramic mug decorated with blue dots around the rim.
Socrates maneuvered his way into the bench across from the policeman.
“Riot weather out there,” the ex-con said.
“Say what?”
“The heat. Back in the sixties if the mercury got over ninety-two it was riot weather. Air-conditionin’ is the only reason the United States didn’t have a revolution in the sixties.” Socrates smiled at his own humor but the man that had joined his Thinker’s group only a month before was no longer interested in his ideas.
“I’m not comin’ to your place anymore,” he told Fortlow.
“Why
“What do you want, Socrates Fortlow?”
“I honestly don’t know.”
“What you mean you don’t know? What the fuck you doin’ here at my house?”
“What was you doin’ at my place, Officer Truman?”
“That’s police business.”
Socrates smiled. There weren’t many times that he could stand on equal footing with a cop.
“Is your address police business too?”
“How did you find it?”
“Do you care if I tell the people at the Nickel that Maxie is really a cop live ovah in the Crenshaw district?” Socrates asked. “Could I be arrested for exposin’ a spy?”
“Are you threatenin’ me?” the man with the gun asked.
“Are you threatenin’ me?” Socrates replied.
“No threat, mothafuckah,” Maxie said. “I will kill you.”
“Maybe. Maybe you will. But that don’t have to be. I ain’t done nuthin’ but what you did. All I’m askin’ is for you to tell me why you was up in my house with my friends lyin’ about who you are and reportin’ what you heard to the law.”
Brown veins stood out on the smaller man’s neck. His gun hand began to quiver.
Socrates understood that he had never been closer to his own death. The prospect didn’t scare him though. He himself was a murderer and could expect no better from life.
The door came open and the sand colored woman came out with a tiny light brown baby in her arms.
“Martin,” she said. “Is everything okay?”
“Go back inside, Linda.”
“Should I call somebody?”
“Go back inside.”
The baby started crying. Linda took a step backwards and stopped.
“Let me help you, Maxie,” Socrates said then. “You worried that I will tell where you live and that you’d have to run to stay from losin’ all you got. You worried that there’s gonna be a bull’seye on you an’ your family. That’s a real fear there. But you know I ain’t told nobody a thing about you. I did give somebody a sealed envelope sayin’ what I know about you and where I went today.”
“What’s he talking about, Martin?” Linda asked. “Why is he calling you Maxie?”
Marty/Maxie turned, screaming incoherently at his wife. The baby yowled as the enraged cop slammed the door on them. Then he turned to Socrates, holding his gun up toward the excon’s chest.
Socrates smiled and held his hands out to his side.
“There’s a diner ovah on Avalon called Benny’s Red Beans and Rice,” Socrates told him. “Come ovah there tomorrow at three. Let’s see if we can talk this shit out.”
Socrates walked away from the man known as Maxie aware of the possibility of being shot down in the street. He was mindful of Maxie’s gun and his rage while thinking about the sights and smells and sounds of the people who, for a short while, inhabited the Crenshaw bus.
3.
Socrates got to Benny’s twenty minutes early but Officer Truman was already there. He was wearing his signature stained army jacket and drab green gardener’s pants. Socrates had on a dark green T-shirt and white cotton pants. Los Angeles was experiencing a hot spell and he had been sweating in his bed, under just a thin sheet, the night before.
Maxie was seated in a window booth in the empty diner. Before him was a white ceramic mug decorated with blue dots around the rim.
Socrates maneuvered his way into the bench across from the policeman.
“Riot weather out there,” the ex-con said.
“Say what?”
“The heat. Back in the sixties if the mercury got over ninety-two it was riot weather. Air-conditionin’ is the only reason the United States didn’t have a revolution in the sixties.” Socrates smiled at his own humor but the man that had joined his Thinker’s group only a month before was no longer interested in his ideas.
“I’m not comin’ to your place anymore,” he told Fortlow.
“Why
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