“That means I have to stake out people an’ places in order to make the plans. Used to be I could sit in a chair on the porch hours on end an’ not do nuthin’. But since I got older I get, you know, impatient. I told Jackson Blue about it and he gave me these two books here. He said readin’d calm my mind. And damn if it don’t. I had to buy me some glasses but then things started to make sense.”

“Like what?”

“I really had no idea that anybody was thinkin’ like this except for me in my secret mind.”

His secret mind.

“Your mouth hangin’ open again, Easy.”

“Ray.”

“Yeah?”

“I wanna talk to you about this but first there’s business to take care of.”

Mouse still had his thumb holding his place in The Souls of Black Folk.

“Shoot,” he offered.

“Do you know anything about a man named Oldstein, Brock?”

Mouse put his book down on the ledge of the pond.

“Big B,” he said. “He’s just about the ripest pile’a bad attitude you’re ever likely to step in.”

“I think he came over to kill me the other day.”

“I doubt that.”

“Why?”

“Because if Brock want you dead. You dead.”

“It was a special circumstance.”

“Must’a been.”

“He a heist man?” I asked.

“Naw.”

“So he’s not connected to Alonzo?”

“Not that I know. Tell me about it.”

I explained about Kilian and the girl he was after, how Alonzo fit in and then Donata Delphine. I gave him every pertinent detail.

“So,” I ended. “What do you think I should do?”

“You should stop thinkin’ an’ start killin’.”

I never thought I’d be happy to hear Raymond suggesting murder. But at least some part of my friend was still in there somewhere with the uncharacteristic reading glasses, classic Afro-American literature, and new love.

“That might be the only option,” I said. “But I want to try something else first.”

That afternoon found me sitting alone in the coffee shop across from the Stephanopoulos Talent Agency. I had a cup of black coffee and chose that time to have my one cigarette of the day. I lit the Lucky, not because I craved it, but the way things were going it might have been my last.

Somewhere around 3:30 I saw Oldstein/Brock walking toward the door across the street.

I ran outside and yelled, “Big B!”

The man-boulder turned his head and beheld me. He considered a minute, then nodded. He waded out into Sunset traffic as if he were the only thing on the boulevard. Cars stopped for him and not one horn sounded.

That gangster might have been many things, but all of them came from not being a coward.

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