Mookie was a career criminal. He had never held a job that didn't lead to a crime. Most of his life had been spent eating off tin plates at long tables alongside of rough men.
Socrates issued a harsh syllable that stood for a laugh and then went back to sleep.
It was a sound sleep. No rolling around or dreams that had words or faces or names.
He went to work the next day without fear of being seen or sought out. He got a citrus delivery from Florida Inc. and a shipment of berries from the Central California Farmer's Union. Socrates handled much of the purchasing for his store even though the purchasing office for Bounty would have been glad to handle it for him. Socrates liked his job.
It wasn't until that afternoon that Mookie Kid came back into his thoughts.
Should he call Mookie and see what the ex-con wanted? He already knew what Mookie was up to. Why ask? It was some grocery store or five-and-dime that kept their receipts in a storage room over a poorly guarded basement. Maybe it was some upscale place that wasn't used to criminals with pickaxes and sledgehammers.
Whatever it was Mookie was up to, it had to do with getting caught. Mookie's lifetime of prison food attested to that. Socrates decided not to call. He wouldn't answer any calls from Mookie either.
But why should he hide from Mookie Kid, Moorland Kinear? He wasn't afraid. Nobody could tell him what to say or who to talk to. He could talk to Mookie on the phone if he wanted to. His parole had been up for four years. No one could tell him what to do.
Socrates decided that when he got home he'd call Mookie and say hey. But then, on the bus, on the way home he reconsidered. Why did Mookie Kid want to call him anyway? How did he even get his number? How did he know that Socrates was in L.A? The more he thought about it the more suspicious he became. Better to stay away from someone who was so sneaky as to come up on somebody when he wasn't expecting it. And why didn't he say anything when Socrates answered the phone the first time?
The phone was ringing when Socrates got to his door. He took his time again but the phone kept ringing. The green screen again read MOORLAND KINEAR. Socrates' heart was thumping, even his fingers were sweating. Here he was a man who could face death feeling little more than surprise, even at this late age, and a ringing phone terrorized his soul.
Fury replaced fear and Socrates grabbed the phone. He intended to throw it but then there it was in his hand. A tiny voice said, Hello?
Socrates put the phone to his ear.
Hello? the voice asked again.
Mookie, is that you?
You remember my voice after all these years? the first-floor man asked. And over the phone too?
Man, why you callin' me? Where'd you get my number?
I looked it up in the phone book, the voice said. Really, I called information an' they give it to me. Lionel Heath said that he saw you somewheres down Watts a few years ago
Lionel? Socrates said. He remembered seeing a man, an old man, who reminded him of someone. The man said something but Socrates was collecting bottles back then and had few words for anyone. It could have been Lionel Heath, or maybe his father.
Yeah. You know that drug life caught up with him somethin' bad. He said you didn't even recognize him.
I'idn't ask the phone company to list my name, Socrates said.
They do it automatic, Mookie said. You got to pay to be unlisted.
Shit.
The expletive led into a span of silence. Socrates for his part was trying to deal with all the new information he had just received. Lionel Heath's reconnaissance, the phone company's deceit.
When did you talk to Lionel? Socrates wanted to know.
I don't remember, man. He been dead three years. I didn't see him for a while before that. You know they had me in jail up north for eighteen months.
He died? Socrates felt a momentary sense of loss. Lionel Heath knew how to tell a joke. He would have been a comedian if it wasn't for heroin.
Yeah, Mookie said. It was Slim, you know, AIDS. He took it in with the drug an' it ate him alive.
Socrates pulled up a chair and sat down heavily.
Damn, Socrates said. So what you want, Mookie?
I don't want nuthin', Socco. I remembered the other day that Lionel seen you an' I thought I might try you on the phone. So I did. You know. You was straight up in the joint, man. I thought maybe we could grab a drink or sumpin'. You know.
I'm pretty busy, Socrates said. I been workin'.
Where you work at?
Post office.
Mail carrier?
Naw. I'm a sorter. Work all kinda hours.
That pay good?
Good enough.
How they hire you with a record like you got?
I cain't let up on all my secrets now, Mookie.
So, Mookie Kid the first-floor man hesitated, you wanna get together?
Lemme call ya back later this week, Socrates offered. I got a tight schedule but I'll see.
You want my number?
Yeah. Shoot.
Moorland recited his number and Socrates repeated it pretending he was writing it down.
I'll call the end'a this week, Mookie. You take care.
After that Socrates put Mookie Kid out of his mind. He worked the rest of the week managing the produce section at Bounty. The purchasing office sent him two double orders of highly perishable fruits and greens. The head dispatcher was a man named Wexler who would never admit to having made a mistake and so Socrates had to find three other stores that would be willing to share the order. That took most of his week.
On Saturday he painted the walls of his sleeping room white. It took the whole day and he was light-headed at the end because there was no cross ventilation in his house and the fumes were powerful.
He was still light-headed when he walked Iula home at midnight. While they were making love he passed out.
As with many of his dreams Socrates found himself in prison. This time his cell was a cave. He had a cellmate but the man died somehow and the guards had not yet removed the body. The corpse had been covered with a blanket but it was rotting and the odor was almost unbearable.
Socrates went to the bars at the entrance of his cell and looked out into a long dark tunnel that was lit by weak blue electric bulbs. There were no other cells that he could see and no one coming.
A fly buzzed in past his ear and Socrates knew that soon the corpse would be alive with maggots. No sooner had this thought entered his mind than a loud buzzing started behind him. Socrates turned and saw waves of small flies rise out of the blanket. It was like the mist in the morning rising off the pond near his aunt Bellandra's home.
He's free, escaped Socrates' lips in Iula's high feather bed.
What, baby? she asked.
Free, Socrates repeated and then, unaware, he turned away from his girlfriend to burrow deeper into the cell of his imagination.
The haze of flies washed over Socrates on their way toward freedom. He felt them as a cool breeze in early autum. He closed his eyes and there was a surge in his chest. The flies were gone when he opened his eyes again.
A million eyes came forth, a voice in the dream said. And now he's free to see everywhere.
Socrates did not remember the dream in the morning. He was still dizzy from the paint fumes and the failure of his passion.
You okay? Iula asked. She was already dressed and ready to leave for her diner.
What time is it? Socrates asked.
It's eight fifteen. I wanna get in early 'cause I'ma make a pork roast for the special this afternoon. But you sleep, baby. Come on down later if you want somethin' t'eat. Iula kissed Socrates on his forehead and patted his hand.