Parishioner by Walter Mosley

you goin’, man?”
    Winter was somewhere in his thirties and more yellow than brown. He was slight and wiry, friendly to a fault. He had been attacked by a man on Flower Street just a few blocks from Xavier’s apartment. The man was easily twice Winter’s size and had assaulted Johnson because he took exception to the way the chauffeur had glanced at his girl. The young woman in question had a siren’s figure and wore a close-fitting red dress that was shorter than it was tight.
    Winter hadn’t said anything to the woman, only swiveled his head as she sashayed by.
    All Xavier had to do was pull the blustery boyfriend off of Winter and shove him a few feet into a brick wall. That ended the fight and began the first true friendship in the Harlemite’s new life.
    “Hey, Win,” Xavier said as he dropped into the seat next to the driver. “Thanks for getting me.”
    “I had another pickup but I told the dispatcher that my brother was in the hospital.”
    “You don’t have to lie for me, man.”
    “That was no lie.”

    “How’s it goin’, Win?” Xavier asked his friend on the ride from the midtown hospital back to Culver City.
    “Met a girl named Cindy on Monday last,” the young man said with a smile. “Took her to dinner, a movie, and then a dance from Tuesday through Thursday. She works in a department store and is taking fashion classes at Santa Monica College. She came over Friday night. I made her pancakes the next morning.”
    He stopped talking as they entered the on-ramp to the freeway.
    “And?” Xavier asked after a few minutes of silence.
    “And what?”
    “What happened with Cindy?”
    “Oh. That was a real nice week. Her kisses tasted like bottled water and she had this wiggle when I hugged her that made me go wild. But don’t get me wrong; it wasn’t only sex. One night there, before we even got to the bed, we talked until the sun came up. I don’t even remember what we said. It was just … just … perfect.”
    Winter was an able driver. He weaved through the six lanes of heavy traffic as if his Pontiac were the only car on the road. He was smiling again, remembering.
    “How’d it go with Cindy on Saturday afternoon?” the hard man from back east asked softly.
    “She got a call on her cell phone. You know I hate them damn things. Makes it like you can’t evah get away from nuthin’. I got one but I turn it off when I’m with company. Anyway … she went out on the porch and talked about fifteen minutes or so. When she came back she asked could she plug it in. Talk so hot and heavy that she ran outta juice, I guess. She didn’t smile no more after that. When I asked her if she wanted to get some dinner she said that she had to go home. I thought maybe we could try some day next week and she said, ‘We’ll see.’ ”
    “Who was on the phone with her?”
    “The week before we met her boyfriend of two years said that he needed some space. Space’s name was Laurel Timmons. Cindy met me and I made her forget Braxton. But then Laurel flitted off and Braxton wanted Cindy back. She said that time with me was great but when she heard his voice she knew she couldn’t stay away. I drove her home and that was that.”
    “So why you still smiling, Win?”
    “Me?” he said, seemingly unaware of his own happiness. “I guess it’s because I had the best week that girl could give. I had her wiggle and peck, her dreams about a future. That was enough for me and more than Braxton could ever have. And just when I was beginnin’ to feel kinda desolate you called me up and said you needed some help. Man, I figure that if the almighty Ecks needs help then I ain’t got nuthin’ to complain about.”
    Ecks sat back in his seat and they remained quiet for the rest of the ride.
    Twenty minutes later Winter pulled his classic car up behind the Edsel and parked.
    Snorting, Xavier glanced over at the house where he almost died.
    Winter said nothing.
    “I’m going to make a call,”