A Visible Darkness - By Jonathon King Page 0,70

got out of the booth and took a fold of money out of my pocket, looking at the denominations.

“Max. If you guys are right on this McCane guy, and I’m not so sure you are, then it’s a race for Baines.”

I was still looking at my money.

“And if you’re wrong and this guy is legit, then…”

“Then it’s still a race,” I interrupted.

30

I drove back into the off-limits zone. My posse had been good to me once. They knew the streets. Their chances of digging out the junk man were better than anyone’s. I was looking for them when I pulled onto Ms. Thompson’s street. Their shady spot on the corner was empty. But when I passed the Thompson house, a rental car was parked in the swale instead of up in the empty driveway. I realized that in my earlier meetings with McCane I had never seen the kind of car he was driving and wondered if it had been intentional. The easier to tail you with, bud.

I pulled up in front of the rental, nose to nose, and got out. I was shifting into cop mode, tasting a bubble of adrenaline in my throat. Thrill of the chase, a thrill I once wanted to believe I could leave in the past.

Ms. Thompson’s house had a southern exposure and the sun was bright on the front windows. As I walked up I couldn’t see any movement behind them. The front door was closed tight and I stood there for a second, listening. I instinctively reached down to my hip but my 9mm had long been retired. After the ranger shootings the gun had been retrieved from the river and bagged as evidence. I had never asked for its return.

I knocked. It was quiet. I knocked a second time and this time I heard a shrill but composed answer come from around the corner.

“Round back here. On the patio,” came the old woman’s voice.

I passed through the open carport and found them there, McCane and Ms. Thompson, sitting at a wrought-iron table, cups of coffee before each of them. An old photo album was opened between them.

Ms. Thompson looked at me and I could tell from her eyes that she was searching to recognize where she had seen me before. McCane saw it, too.

“Well, Mr. Freeman. What a pleasant surprise,” he said, pushing his chair back. “Ms. Thompson, this is Mr. Max Freeman, an associate of mine. I believe you two may have met the day of your very unfortunate situation.”

He smiled up at me, showing his big, blocked teeth. I could imagine it had been a false smile seen by many clients and inmates in the past.

“Why yes, I do believe I recall now,” said Ms. Thompson, who had lost some of her rough exterior in McCane’s presence. “Would you care to join us, Mr. Freeman? Mr. McCane has stopped by to discuss an insurance policy I have with ya’ll’s company, but we have been a bit sidetracked on this lovely day.”

“No doubt,” I said, looking from one to the other.

“May I get you some coffee, Mr. Freeman?” she said, starting to get up.

“No, please, don’t bother yourself,” I said, but she was already motioning me to sit.

“It is never a bother to be a gracious hostess, sir,” she said, moving slowly toward her back door.”

“Thank you, ma’am.”

I continued to stand, putting my back to the house and facing McCane. He crossed his thick ankles and did not look up.

“Y’all didn’t do much of a job interviewing Ms. Thompson here,” he started, slipping back into his good ol’ boy cant. “You and your detective girlfriend ought to learn how to lay on a little sugar when you’re trying to get something out of these folk.”

“Do tell,” I said.

“Specially the old ones. Trick is to get them using their memories to kind of loosen their stopped-up brains a little. Oh yes, we been reminiscin’ ’bout old times, all her pickaninnies and her poor deadbeat husband.

“Hell, she even pulled out the old pictures here,” he said, touching the photo album with the blunt tips of his fingers. “Showed me the one of her mother sittin’ at a nightclub in Overtown with Cassius Clay long before he become the droolin’ and shakin’ poster boy for the Olympics.”

The adrenaline had soured in my mouth and been replaced by a warm anger that was spreading into my neck. Still he did not look up.

“So the old lady didn’t see a damn thing the night her