We heard the front door to the office slam open, followed by hard footsteps of more than one man. Fearless swiveled like a big cat while I took a step backward, looking for an exit.

"Police!" an adolescent voice yelled, and the room was invaded by half a dozen pairs of wide blue shoulders.

FEARLESS AND I WERE IN HANDCUFFS before Milo could convince the cops that we had saved his life. before Milo could convince the cops that we had saved his life.

"No sir, officer," Milo said for the thirteenth time at least. "Paris and Tristan here are freelance operatives. They were comin' over to see if I had any work. The thief shot at them, and then they came in to make sure that I was okay. We were just about to call the police when you busted in."

"Who was the man that attacked you?" a uniformed sergeant asked.

"I don't know, officer. Just a big white man. Said he wanted the bail I'd been collecting. I told him that I don't keep cash on the premises. But he said he didn't believe it and hit me a couple'a times."

"Did you know him?" the sergeant asked again.

"No sir, officer. I did not."

"What about you two men?" the sergeant asked.

"No, man," Fearless said. "We just come lookin' for work. That's all."

"What about you?" The sergeant with the boy's voice turned his attention to me.

"I was um, I came here, um, you know, to see Milo."

"Did you come here looking for work?"

"Man, right now all I'm thinkin' about is that man shootin' at me, Milo laid up behind his desk, and you comin' in here shoutin' at us with guns in your hands." When I get really alarmed like that all I can tell is truth. If that cop had pressed me on Timmerman I would have folded. So instead I just told him how I was feeling, hoping that he wouldn't push any harder.

It worked. Most of the policemen left and a bored detective came by. He questioned us for about half an hour, taking down details of the attack and attempted robbery.

"There's one thing that doesn't make sense in your story," the short and fat detective said to me.

"What's that?"

"If this armed robber was after Mr. Sweet's money, then why would he start taking potshots at you in the street?"

The policeman, I don't remember his name, had a porcine face marked by small ears and tiny, suspicious eyes. When he squinted at me, I got so nervous that my lie reflex froze up.

"I pointed at him, officer," Fearless said. "That must be why he shot at us. Because he knew that he just did somethin' wrong and there I was pointin' at him."

"Did you know him?" the detective asked.

"No sir."

"I don't get it. Why would you point out a stranger just walking down the street?"

"Because he was white," Fearless said. "I don't see too many white men takin' a stroll down by Milo's."

The detective was still suspicious, but he let it slide.

Loretta Kuroko came in at nine. She wore a light emerald green blouse and a darker skirt of the same color. She had been with Milo through all of his different professions and so knew how to keep quiet.

When the detective left, Milo sent Loretta home, telling her not to come back until he had worked out a few "details." Then Fearless and I followed his burgundy '48 Cadillac to his apartment on Grand. Cadillac to his apartment on Grand.

MILO'S PLACE WAS A STUDIO designed on the same principle as his office. It was dominated by a big oak desk, which was surrounded by oak filing cabinets. The sofa against a far wall might have opened out into a bed. Next to that was a small walnut cabinet that opened up into a bar. designed on the same principle as his office. It was dominated by a big oak desk, which was surrounded by oak filing cabinets. The sofa against a far wall might have opened out into a bed. Next to that was a small walnut cabinet that opened up into a bar.

"How do you cook?" Fearless asked.

"Cook? A man cain't cook. I go down on Century when I need a meal, Johnny's Restaurant Grill. I pay 'em twenty dollars a week and they always have something for me-breakfast, lunch, or dinner."

"What if you wake up in the middle'a the night and want a sandwich?"

"I close my eyes and go back to sleep."

"Milo," I said. "Why'd you hire that man Timmerman to look for Kit?"

"I already told you," he replied. "Because Miss Fine wanted to talk to him."

"That's a lie, man. You said you put Timmerman mostly on white cases."

Milo hesitated a moment before saying, "I usually do use him for whites, but he could find a black man too."

"Come on, Milo," Fearless said. "Don't be lyin' an' that man out there ready to kill you. How come you used him and not a colored man?"

"You're a tough man, Fearless. I know that. But I also know you ain't gonna do nuthin' if I don't wanna talk."

"That's true," Fearless said. "But you better believe that I won't show up if you call on me neither. If that man Timmerman is after you, he know where you live. He might already have found out you lied and be on his way here right now."

Milo's eyes moved to his front door.

He shifted in his chair and then clasped his hands together. He pressed his thumbs on the bones just above his eyes and muttered something that might have been a prayer.

"I said I wouldn't tell anybody," he said at last. "You know I like to keep my word."

"Dead man keep a secret like motherf.u.c.ker," I said.

Milo nodded.

"Miss Fine told me that BB and Kit were messed up in somethin' that could prove harmful to the family name. They stole something from her and she was very upset about it. I made a few calls around and found out that Kit had been seen in the company of a white man name of Lance Wexler. Once I knew that, I called Theodore, because he could cross the color line with no problem. If anybody could find them men it was him."

"And what was that something Miss Fine was talking about?" I asked.

"She didn't say. All she let on was that it was very important to her and that she would be very grateful if I put her in contact with either Kit or BB or both."

"And what about Wexler?" I asked.

"She didn't say anything about him," Milo said. "I just saw him as some kinda background information."

"Did you ever find out who he was?"

"No. I told Miss Fine about him, but she didn't seem to care. But the way I figured it was, if he did turn out to be important Timmerman was my man."

"And just what was it that you were supposed to do, Mr. Sweet?" I used the proper address because I knew that was the way that Fearless liked to comport himself, with respect.

"She wanted me to find them and give her the information I gathered."

"What information?"

"Where they lived, their phone numbers if I could get 'em, and their situation. You know, did they live with anybody, if they had a house or an apartment, like that."

"Sound like a setup," Fearless speculated.

"No, man," Milo said. "This is Miss Winifred L. Fine, the richest Negro lady in the forty-eight states. She's not no thug or gangster. There ain't even no way that you could tell what she's thinkin' about. You know people like that different than you and me."

"I don't know, Milo," Fearless said. "I once had a girlfriend was a millionaire. White girl name of Bell, Solla Bell. She told me that her father had had two men killed that she knew of. She said it so that I would keep my head down when we were around where he had eyes lookin' out. You don't have to be a poor man to wanna kill somebody."

"I don't know about no rich white girls or their fathers, Fearless. All I know is that Miss Fine has pedigree and social standing," Milo said, holding up his right hand as if he were swearing under oath. "She ain't got nuthin' to do with no lowlife element like we used to bein' around."

"Like Teddy," I suggested.

"We got to move you, Mr. Sweet," Fearless said. "Put you someplace that that white man cain't kill you."

"Yeah," the bail bondsman agreed. "I'm beginning to think that Theodore Timmerman is a very dangerous man indeed. Where you think I could go?"

"My mama got a house I bought with the money we made last year. She wouldn't mind you campin' out a few days or so."

19.

FEARLESS CALLED HIS MOTHER and we dropped Milo off in front of the house. and we dropped Milo off in front of the house.

From there I had a plan to gather information while keeping me out of harm's way.

"What did you throw at that gunman?" I asked Fearless.

"Brick."

"A brick?"

"Not a whole brick, but just a chunk, like a half like."

"Where'd that come from?"

"I don't know. It was there in the gutter, so I grabbed it. You know I used to like to play ball. I could'a played on the Pumas, but they spend half their lives in a dusty bus and I'd rather stay in one place."

"But how did you know that brick was there?" I asked. "I mean, you reached down and grabbed that stone like it was put there just in case somebody started shootin' at us."

"It's my army trainin', Paris. That's all. Wherever I am I look around me. I see things. I don't think about 'em or nuthin'. I just see 'em, and then they're there for me when I need 'em."

"So when you got out the car you saw that little chunk'a brick on the ground?"

"I didn't know I saw it but I did, and when that man started firin' I knew it was there and I grabbed it. That's all."

"And what's all this s.h.i.t about a millionaire white girlfriend?"

"What about her?"

"You ain't never said nuthin' 'bout that to me before."

"I don't tell you everything, Paris. You know I'm a gentleman anyway."

"No, baby," I said. "There's more to it than that."

"Yeah, maybe. But I don't wanna talk about it. Where we goin' anyway?" he asked, trying to change the subject.

"I wanna go over to that rooming house that Kit had been stayin' at," I said. "Where was it?"

"Over on Denker."

"Let's go there."

Fearless made a right turn and then another one.

After five or six blocks I worked my way back to the question about the millionaire white girlfriend.

"I never told you because it's the kinda thing you always said that you didn't wanna hear," Fearless said.

I knew what that meant. I had always told Fearless that I didn't need to hear about anything illegal because I never wanted to be in the position of being blamed for letting the cat out of the bag to the authorities or, worse, to some gangster who wanted revenge. Had that been a regular day with me at my bookshop and Fearless dropping by to shoot the breeze, I would have held up my hand and said, All right, let's just skip it. All right, let's just skip it. But I had already found one dead body, figured out that another corpse was connected to my friend's problems, and on top of that I had been shot at. It didn't seem that some simple story could be any worse. But I had already found one dead body, figured out that another corpse was connected to my friend's problems, and on top of that I had been shot at. It didn't seem that some simple story could be any worse.

"How long ago did you and this girl break up?" I asked.

"More'n six years."

"Let's hear it, then."

"Okay. You heard of a man named Thetford Bell?"

"The aeronautics guy?"

"Yeah. He got a house up there in Beverly Hills. Wife, three kids. One'a them is Illyana. Cute girl. Black hair, dark eyes. She climb up on you just like a cat . . ."