hair-trigger temper had caused me to act just as foolishly. I remembered that when I wasn’t screaming, I was crying, wearing out the grooves on “Love Don’t Love Nobody” by the Spinners and “Kiss and SayGoodbye” by the Manhattans, two anthems for every love that had ever gone wrong.
I wanted to tell this girl that nothing has changed but that she will change, cool out in six months, and laugh at this. But right now she was moving down the street, cloaked in righteous anger. I waited another minute for the mouthpiece to cool off before I lifted it and dialed.
Tad came on before the ring was completed.
“Mali, where are you?”
“128th and Lenox.”
“Want me to pick you up?”
His apartment was at 140th Street and Fifth Avenue, really not that far away. I could get there blindfolded.
“No,” I said. “I need to walk. I can think better when I’m walking.”
“What’s on your mind?”
“Nothing much. I love you, Baby. See you in a few minutes.”
I hung up, slightly unnerved by the nagging feeling that he still had not gotten over his experience with Ellen, his ex-wife. Finding her in a compromising circumstance with another woman was bad enough, but when the shock had worn off, a wariness had set in that had remained to cast a shadow over our own relationship. In addition, his partner on the job, in whom he’d entrusted his life, had fallen for the big coke buck last summer and had betrayed Tad and the job.
The thing with Ellen had happened over two years earlier, yet when I was with Tad I trod softly,gauging his moods, listening to my words and his responses, and thankful for the moments of free-flowing feeling. Not only when we loved, but after, like when he would bury his head in the curve of my neck, and I would hear the slow, satisfied rhythm of his breathing.
I also tried not to mention Erskin Harding, the director of the Uptown Children’s Chorus, who was murdered last summer. Tad thought I’d been involved with Erskin. Now if he knew I was still nosing around trying to find out about Thea, still trying to help Kendrick …
I continued to walk, wondering how to handle this. I’d have to tell him eventually, but right now all I wanted to do was stretch out on his terrace and feel his hands smoothing away all the little aches and pains.
At the next corner I dialed Bertha, and on the fourth ring I heard her voice thick with sleep.
“Mali? Girl, I was tired. So much stuff runnin’ ’round in my brain, feel like it’s herbed out. I can hardly think straight. I had to lay down … get myself together.”
“How do you feel now?”
“A little better.”
I was not convinced. “Listen, Bert: Monday, I’m coming with you. Bring a change of clothing for Kendrick. Elizabeth’ll probably want to take the shirt and vest that he’s wearing …”
“Now they strippin’ ’im? What for?”
“To have the clothing tested, analyzed for traces of powder.”
“They can do that?” Her voice lifted hopefully.
“They can do a lot of things, Bert.”
She said nothing more but I heard the sigh of relief and decided to end on an upbeat note. I wondered if they had tested for powder burns before his fingerprinting. And he’d probably washed his hands a million times since then. I remembered a few cases—not many—when the arresting officer neglected to Mirandize and the perp eventually walked on a tech.
“Elizabeth’s a good lawyer. Everything will work out,” I said again, trying to reassure myself as well.
I hung up and continued uptown. The heat of the day had dissipated and now Lenox Avenue was crowded. At 135th Street the cluster of vendors hawking their wares in the reflected light of Pan-Pan’s restaurant was so busy it took me a minute to maneuver around the tables of scarves and socks and sunglasses.
City Hall had cleared them from 125th Street only to have some of the hardier souls regroup and resurface in the most unlikely places. Right now they were operating
Nancy Tesler
Paul Nurse
Jo Ann Ferguson
Lawrence Block
Stylo Fantome
Matt Christopher
Candace Smith
Michael G. Munz
Louisa Trent
Ana Vela