“Uncle Easy,” she dubbed.
“Little Gigi.”
“Did you come for me?”
“Not this time. But soon.”
“You’re the one that that woman Fabricant sent?” the lumberjack asked.
“Yes.”
“Are you sure?”
“Am I what?”
The question did its job. I could see realization dawning in Teddy’s eyes. Why else would I be there?
“Oh,” he said. “Okay. Yeah.”
Cradling Gigi with my right arm, I asked either one of the couple, “Are you related to the family?”
“Her mother was my second cousin, once removed,” Trude, probably Trudy, said. “When she, um, you know...”
Gigi laid her head against mine at that moment.
“...well, anyway, that’s why Mrs. Fabricant brought her to us,” the woman called Trude concluded.
“Is she supposed to stay here with you?”
“No,” Gigi said sternly. “I’m gonna go with Uncle Easy and live with him and Auntie Lutie.”
“Can I talk to her alone a minute?” I asked the couple.
“Outside, in the backyard,” Teddy suggested. “There’s a picnic table out there.”
And, I thought, you could watch us through the back window.
It was a working-class neighborhood with small houses that had small yards out back. The patio was defined by the rear of the house, the wall of the garage, and two chain-link fences that were overrun by passion fruit vines. The flora reminded me of the internal greenhouse belonging to the murdered cattle baron.
“You want to sit in a chair, sweetie?” I said to the child who had adopted me.
“No.”
“Okay.”
I sat on one of the folding aluminum chairs with the ghost girl on my lap.
“Have Teddy and Trude been nice to you?” I asked the child.
“I don’t like them.”
“How come?”
“They don’t do anything.”
“Do they feed you?”
“Yeah.”
“Do they hurt you?”
“No.”
“But you want a better place to live.”
“I want to live with you.”
“Hm.” I had a notion. “I’m gonna have to think about that.”
“Really?”
“It might not be exactly what you want, but something. Okay?”
“Okay.”
“Now can you do something for me?”
“What?”
“I’m lookin’ for your aunt Lutie. But I don’t know where to go. Is there anyplace she goes that she told you about?”
“Um...” The serious expression on Gigi’s face was adorable. She was trying so hard and coming up with nothing.
“She... she likes playin’ for money with seven cards,” she said at last. “Um, yeah, seven.”
“Three cards?”
“No, silly, seven cards,” she said, giggling.
“Seven?”
“Uh-huh.”
“You’re sure?”
“That’s what she said,” Gigi huffed in faux exasperation. “She told me that playin’ cards relaxes her and... and helps her think about things.”
We talked a little longer. She reminded me of when I was younger, having one-sided conversations with Jesus and later conversing with Feather. I liked taking care of kids. When I told her that I had to go out to look for Lutie, she accepted that with a stern nod.
Fearless was waiting for me in the car. I hopped in and drove the six blocks to my office.
Clementine Bowers was at the reception desk, doing nothing that I could see.
“Hi, Mr. Rawlins.”
“Hey, Clemmie. This is my friend Fearless Jones.”
“Hi, Mr. Jones.”
Fearless stepped forward and offered a hand. For some reason this gesture charmed the temp.
“When Niska and this other girl get here, send ’em on back,” I said.
“Okay.”
In my office, I explained about Niska’s training as a detective and a little about the job she’d undertaken.
“She wanna be like you, huh?” Fearless asked.
“Yeah. What you think about that?”
“I think women should be policemen, paratroopers, presidents, and priests. That way the world would work better.”
“Why you say that? You think women are better than men?”
“Not bettah, different. And if somebody think different is half’a the world, then they should be a part’a what make the world go round.”
It was a good argument. I had nothing to add.
“So, we gonna he’p Niska,” Fearless offered, “and then we go see about Orem Diggs?”
“You think that’s the best way to go about it?”
“I think so.”
“I thought this guy was so dangerous.”
“He is, but that’s when he comin’ up behind ya,” Fearless said with a smirk. “Face-to-face we could parley.”
There was something about his crooked grin... I would have asked about it, but just then Niska and her client, Doreen, walked in.
Both ladies were dressed up. Niska wore a tight blue calf-length dress that I might have expected Clemmie to wear. Doreen had on a dark green minidress and a necklace with a single pearl hanging from a thin gold chain.
Doreen was a white woman, pink of skin with a broad face that belonged on a larger body. But for the while she was young and slender.
“Hi, boss,” Niska said. “This is Doreen Anton.”
“Nice to meet you.” We shook hands. “This is Fearless.”
“Hi, Mr. Jones,” Niska said while Doreen shook his hand.
“Hey, baby,” Fearless replied.
Niska said to me, “I thought you were coming in at eleven thirty.”
“Yeah. Fearless and I had some business in the neighborhood, and we came here after it was over. Why don’t we go get breakfast and talk over what you guys gonna do.”
17
After breakfast and strategy, it was time for us to execute Niska’s seemingly simple plan. The four of us went to a bus stop a few blocks away from the restaurant Delroy had invited Niska to — Clooney’s Diner.
Taking a deep breath, Niska walked across the street and then down toward the restaurant.
After ten minutes or so, Fearless and Doreen followed me to another bus stop bench that was catty-corner across the street from the eatery. Fearless was elected to go in and scope out the scene. It took him seven long minutes to return.
“Where you been?” I asked him. “I was about to come in after you.”
“The call of nature,” he replied. “You know, when you ask nicely, they usually let you use the facilities.”
“You see ’em?”
“Yeah. You could too, if we go down to the far end of the windah.”
“Time to go,” I said to Niska’s client.
She went.
Fearless and I positioned ourselves in front of Clooney’s, a step away from the plate-glass window that stood as its front wall. We faced each other and pretended to be talking about something intense. That way, Fearless could peer over my shoulder and keep an eye on the target and the girls.
Clooney’s called itself a diner, but really it was an upscale restaurant with tablecloths and everything. The waiters wore dark two-piece suits and white shirts and paid close attention to the diners in their sections.
Ten minutes after Doreen went in, I asked Fearless, “What they doin’?”
“Still talkin’.”
“Maybe he’s turning over a new leaf,” I suggested.
“He looks scared. Wait, he’s gettin’ up, looks like he walkin’ back to the toilet.”
“Let’s go, then.”
We hurried down the utility alley at the side of the office building that housed the restaurant. This is because when Fearless had pretended to go to the toilet, he checked for a back door that Delroy might use.