Out of the Easy(77)

“So this is what fifty dollars does?” he said. “I like it.”

I swallowed hard, hoping to force the nervous bile from the back of my throat. “Actually, I have change for you. I didn’t buy any perfume, just used the tester of Chanel at the counter.” I reached for my purse.

“You’re serious?” he said.

“Yes. You should be more budget conscious. You gave me money for clothes, and if I didn’t use it all, I need to give it back to you. I might need money, but I’m not a thief, Mr. Lockwell.”

“I’ve told you, call me John,” he said, loosening his tie at the throat. “And I think you are a thief. You’re stealing my heart.”

He grinned, pleased with himself. I tried desperately not to roll my eyes at the pathetic line, a line that would have melted Mother to mess. The thought of Mother brought me back to reality.

“You do remember our financial arrangement,” I said.

“Look at you, getting right down to business. I like it. I’m anxious too.” He hopped up, went to his desk, and pulled a banded stack of bills from his drawer. He handed it to me for inspection. I flipped through it. Fifteen hundred. Why didn’t I ask for three thousand? I was a fool. He snatched it from my hands and put it in his front shirt pocket.

“Dance with me.”

He pulled me off the sofa by the arm and swung my body into his. In heels we were the same height. Nose to nose. I turned my head and felt his hot breath against my cheek. Charlie Parker’s sax lamented a broken heart, and Lockwell’s right hand pushed into the small of my back.

He stopped moving. “Well, butter my butt and call me a biscuit, you don’t know how to dance, do you, Josephine?”

I didn’t know how to dance. I didn’t want anything to do with his biscuit.

“Well, now, it’s easy. Just move with me.” He pushed my groin to his and inhaled deeply at my neck. I tried to mirror his steps. He liked that. A lot. He danced me into the sideboard and moved himself harder against me. I trembled with nausea. I looked up at the ceiling and tried what Mother had described. Eating oysters. His hand moved up toward my chest. The beach. It wasn’t working. His grasp was hurting me. He slid his thumb into my mouth and told me to close my lips. I thought of the cool earth and the floorboards under the porch where I once carved my name and vowed that I would not become like my mother. He grabbed my hand and started to move it toward his waist.

I shook my head and pulled away.

“What’s wrong?” he said, following me toward the couch. “Are you scared?” He looked at me, perversion fully inflamed. “God, your mouth.”

“Stop it,” I said.

“Now, now. Don’t be a tease. Come here.” He tugged at his belt.

I reached for my purse, but he grabbed my arm. “Oh, no, you don’t. You don’t want me to call Smith and tell them not to accept you, do you?” His mouth was on my ear. “Come on, Josephine. Earn your money. Be a good little whore now.”

I heard his jaw pop as my fist connected to it. He overcame the initial shock and lunged at me with the fury of a bull, but my feet were already planted, pistol drawn. He jumped back, stunned.

“Put your hands on your head,” I told him. He didn’t move. I aimed over his shoulder and blew his hunting picture to pieces.

“Okay, okay!” he said, putting his hands up. I waved him into the corner.

“I’m sorry. You’re right. I was moving too fast. Just put the gun down, Josephine,” he pleaded. “Please, put down the gun.”

“Don’t tell me what to do. Sit on the floor,” I commanded. “Now.”

He sat in the corner. “Jesus, what did you think this was? Just leave, and we’ll pretend this never happened. Go. I won’t tell anyone.”

I took off the black heels and hurled them at him in the corner. “Don’t ever call me a whore. Ever,” I said through gritted teeth. “Close your eyes.”

“Oh, God, no. Josephine, please.”

“I said, close your eyes!” He closed his eyes.

I ran from the apartment, my stocking feet pounding on the sidewalk. The sky was black with thunder. I opened my mouth.

A large moth flew out into the night.





FIFTY-THREE


I found it the next morning. I came downstairs from my apartment, and it was staring at me through the glass of the front door.

Wedged against the shutter. A white sheet of paper. A black hand.

Twenty-four hours. Tangle Eye would be back at the shop, demanding five thousand dollars I didn’t have and had no way of getting. I owed Cokie two thousand dollars, an explanation, and an apology. I owed Forrest Hearne’s wife a gold watch. But I owed Carlos Marcello, and if I didn’t pay, I’d be a lot worse off than with John Lockwell.

I’d concocted a story to tell Willie. I’d say the liquor distributor had a shipment waiting at Sal’s and needed payment. She’d tell me to go into the safe and get the money. I’d take the five thousand then. The thought of stealing from Willie upset my every fiber, but once I paid off Marcello, I would explain it to her, let her know that I was protecting everyone. I’d have to work it off over several years to pay the debt. She’d get what she wanted. I’d be stuck in New Orleans.

The morning was full of hiccups. The constant pressure of the police had Willie agitated. She asked me to take the black book home with me and keep it at my apartment.