both disembarked, and I opened the trunk and handed Money half the records I had left.
“After last night, we need to record ‘Bomb Johnson.’ People are going to want that one. I could sell one to everybody in Harlem,” he said, looking at my paltry offering.
“Yeah. I know. That’s next.”
“I always get the feeling you’re going to skip town. Why is that?” he asked me. Alvin and Lee Otis had joined us at the curb to marvel over the vinyl.
“Because all of you scare the shit outta me,” I said. I was being totally, completely honest, but it sounded like a joke.
Alvin laughed, Lee Otis too, but Money was glaring at me, his eyes narrowed.
“We scare you. Oh, that’s rich,” Money mocked, but Esther wasn’t babbling anymore. She was watching me like she too was just waiting for me to bolt. Her back was stiff and her eyes were wary, and she desperately needed a new coat. I put it on my mental list. I could buy her a coat and some gloves after I figured out how to tell her about Maude Alexander and Sal and Pop and all the rest of it. If I told her. I had to tell her. It wasn’t right not to tell her. It was too big to keep it hidden. Damn it all to hell.
“When you gonna commit, Benny Lament? We’ve been dating long enough,” Alvin said, still laughing.
“I’m here, aren’t I?” I said, repeating what I’d said the night at La Vita. I slammed the trunk and rounded the car.
“You’re here . . . but you’re also leaving,” Lee Otis noted.
“I’ll call.”
“You better,” Money said, pointing at me. “This thing is gonna blow. We need to be ready. You’re in this now, Lament. You’re in this.”
I waited for her words—Don’t let me down, Benny Lament—but they didn’t come. Esther walked with her brothers into the apartment that her father had bought Gloria Mine, and I drove away, wondering for the umpteenth time since I’d met her how I was going to prevent the blast that was all but inevitable.
I put my key in the door, but the knob spun in my hand and the door opened without it.
“Pop?” I called. The light was on and his suitcase stood near the table. It wasn’t like him to forget the locks, but he was obviously home. I shrugged out of my jacket, loosened my tie, and pulled my shirt from my slacks. I could smell her. I could smell Esther on my shirt, and for a moment I just stood, my eyes closed, enjoying the scent. Lemons. She smelled like lemons and starch and something warmer. Vanilla? Or maybe maple.
The curtains were open again. The window too. A sudden gust swept Esther’s scent away, and I swore. “Damn it, Pop. It’s December.” I strode toward the billowing white swells, impatient. Pop was missing Mom again. He always opened the window when he missed her.
His hat was on the floor in front of the window, and I stooped to pick it up, puzzled. I heard shouting coming from the street below, and I ducked my head out the window to see Pop sitting on the small landing, still in his suit and tie, his legs spilling down the steps, his left hand clinging to the rail, a gun in his right.
“Pop?”
“There was someone out here when I got home, Benny,” he said, his voice strained. “Waiting for me.”
“What? Where?”
He used his gun to point weakly down at the street that ran perpendicular to the entrance. I tried to see the street, but the fire escape blocked my view from the window.
“I shot him, and he fell. The police are going to be coming. Someone musta tripped over him. Took long enough.”
“Come inside, Pop,” I urged.
“I don’t think I can climb back in.”
“Why?” I begged. I knew better than to ask. Pop had always told me I shouldn’t ask questions that I didn’t want to know the answers to.
“He shot me too, Benny. I can’t feel my legs no more.”
“Come on, Pop. I’ll help you,” I said. My voice sounded like it came from someone else. I leaned out and wrapped my arms around him, but he begged me to leave him be.
“This is a good place to die. I couldna picked better if I’d tried. I’ve just been sitting out here, hoping you’d get home in time. If I close my eyes, I can hear Giuliana singing.”
“Please, Pop. You gotta let me get you