Closing Time At Jesse's

Chapter One

          Lil' Charles had been looking at the man for nearly an hour. Ever since he'd walked in and taken a seat in front of the bar. In all that time he hadn't asked for a drink or spoken to anyone. He'd just sat there watching him. Watching as he poured drinks. Watching as he chatted up the customers. Watching as he cleared off the tables. Now, he was watching him wipe down the bar, the man not even trying to hide it or do it on the sly. If it had been his place Lil' Charles would've walked over and told him to order a drink or get his ass out. If he had been another colored man he would've already been in his face asking him what his problem was. But the man wasn't colored, he was white and this wasn't his place, it was his Uncle Jesse's. Even so, this man was starting to get on his nerves. A white man this far on the colored side of town, past one in the morning not drinking or looking to get fixed up with a girl made his scalp itch. They only sold shots of moonshine to people they knew and the large stake card games didn't take place until the weekend. Other than that, the only whites who frequented Jesse's were locals who did most of their drinking and carousing on the dark side of town. But not this one, Lil' Charles thought to himself, no way you'd catch him on this side unless he had to be here. Unless his uncle was doing something he didn't know about, none of their business had anything to do with this man.
          He started counting the night's take, keeping the bills below bar level and out of view of anyone looking to come up on some spare change at their expense. His uncle kept a baseball bat handy in case someone got too rowdy but didn't need killing along with a shotgun and a .38 for those that did. As for himself, Lil' Charles usually kept a pistol tucked in the small of his back just in case something jumped off but, truth be told, if it came to it he preferred handling trouble with his knife or his hands. No one here knew it yet outside of his uncle but he could wield a knife like it was a part of him. Left or right, right or left he could carve you up like a turkey on Thanksgiving.
          "Hey."
          The man was practically in his face, standing at the bar now with an expression Lil' Charles assumed was meant to convey the self-assured air of a man used to being someplace he wasn't supposed to and not be afraid and, that this 'fearless man' was talking to him.
          "What can I do for you?" Lil' Charles asked, after he'd taken a moment to finish his count, scrawl the total on a piece of yellow paper and snap a rubber band around it. The man was silent a moment, looking around and taking a mental note of the place for what Lil' Charles figured must have been the hundredth time. The red juke box resting against the wall to the right of the bar seemed to hold his attention, its newness a stark contrast to the rest of the place which, although not run down was far from stylish. The walls were bare for the most part, with exception of lights which hung at intervals throughout the room and lit the place fairly well. Memphis Slim was singing an old ditty from a few years back called Messing Around for the fifth straight time because Emerson Lake, one of the two remaining colored customers, was dealing with another self-induced heartbreak. But nobody minded because that guitar solo was so smooth and the song was talking about something they'd all been through at least once in their lives. Not that Lil' Charles figured this cracker would know anything about that. Shit, he probably didn't even know Slim played the piano.
         "You been working here long?" the man asked, his eyes resting on the large picture of Lena Horne that was encased in an ornate gleaming silver frame on the back wall behind the bar. Lena was wearing a shimmering silver gown that hugged her hour glass frame and appeared to almost glow while she looked down with those smoldering dark eyes of hers that some patrons swore would make your dick hard if you stared into them too long. Beneath the picture was an open door with a red mesh curtain hanging down from the door frame stopping an inch or two from the floor, shrouding the interior of the room which lay behind it from sight.
         Lil Charles said, "'Bout three months," surprised it had been that long.
         "But you're from around here, right?" the man asked.
         "Nope," Lil' Charles was sure he'd heard a hint of the north in the voice. He watched as the man pulled his eyes away from Lena and leaned against the bar right hip cocked, his right thumb tucked inside his belt. Lil' Charles scratched his left armpit then tossed the roll of bills into the metal cash box beneath the bar and flipped it shut. He'd left a five and five ones in the till, not that he figured he'd need them then he stood and waited, wishing this man would get to it already instead of standing there posing.
         The man must have read his face because he asked, "We gonna' have a problem here?"
         Lil' Charles said, "Come again?"
          "I said, are we gonna' have a problem?"
          "Nawl," Lil' Charles responded, shaking his head then jutting his chin forward, eyes cutting toward the man's holster, "Not unless you decide to pull out that popper."
         "What do you figure would happen if I did?" the man asked.
         Lil' Charles' brow wrinkled as he thought that one over. After a moment he said, "I 'spect I'd have to pull something out too. Not knowing yo' intentions and all." He hunched his shoulders, "Be a fool not to."
         The man didn't miss that Lil' Charles had added that last part as if he were apologizing in advance. "What's your name?" he asked his hand still on his belt, the handle of that .38 just an inch or so away.
         "Bartender is what I go by up in here," Lil' Charles said, arms still folded telling the man, without saying, that if he did decide to pull his weapon that he was confident he could get what he needed even faster. He wondered if the man doubted him.
         "What about when you ain't up in here?" the man asked. If he were aware of Lil' Charles' taunt he was choosing to ignore it. "What do your people call you?"
         "Charles," Lil' Charles answered. Quickly adding, "Named after my granddaddy...or my daddy, depending on who telling the story." He added, "My people call me 'Lil' Charles' though."
         This declaration made the man smile because Lil' Charles, standing well over six feet, was anything but little. He was also amused at the way the colored man said little, pronouncing it 'luh'. They both heard what sounded like a soft hiss then the mesh curtain behind Lil' Charles parted and his uncle emerged. The man maneuvered his head slightly to peer past him to look at his uncle who'd been in the back room counting stock but Lil' Charles never shifted his gaze, keeping the man squarely in his sights. As soon as Jesse laid eyes on the man he frowned. He was twenty years Lil' Charles senior, half a head shorter and two shades darker but the family resemblance was plain as day in the hairline, the prominent cheekbones and the almond shape of their eyes. But Jesse's hair was cropped low on the sides, military style with just a smattering of gray in it whereas Lil' Charles's was covered in a transparent coating of pomade with waves gleaming under the lights.
         "What's going on in here?" Jesse asked, peering around his nephew. He pointed a yellow nailed finger the stranger's way, "Who dis'?"
         "That's just what I was getting ready to ask Uncle Jesse," Lil' Charles said, his eyes still never leaving the man. He said, "See, now you knows who we is, be rude of you not to introduce yo'self." He and Jesse watched the man glance over his right shoulder at big Emerson Lake and Jack Wyatt who were nursing their drinks and playing whist in the far corner. The man lifted his left hand from the bar opening his coat. Lil' Charles saw a badge, the likes of which he'd never seen pinned to the inside lapel. He had already figured him for John Law, but he'd known he wasn't local. The man was more stylish than the hick cops around here. Black fedora cocked slightly to the side, the blue band clean and still crisp looking, matching his shirt and pocket square and even though he couldn't see them, Lil' Charles would bet the man's shoes were stylish too, not those clod hoppers the sheriffs and deputies in these parts wore. Plus, he had an air about him that gave the impression that, law or not, he did things his own way.
         "Hinton," the man said, "Agent Randolph Hinton." He kept his voice low enough not to travel.
         "Agent?" Jesse said, moving up to stand to Lil' Charles' left. "What kinda' agent?" He looked up at his nephew, his frown deepening, "Shit, is we gon' hafta' pay him too? "
         Hinton said, "What?"
         "You heard me," Jesse said. "Is we gon' hafta' pay you too?"
         "Don't think so," Lil's Charles tilted his head, unable to hide his curiosity. "He was here for money, he wouldn'ta waited this long to get it."
         Hinton said, "You don't think so, huh?"
         "Sho' don't." Lil' Charles was genuinely interested now. "So, whatchu want?"
          Hinton glanced down at a bar stool and slid onto it leaning forward to rest his elbows on the bar then asking, "What do you fellas know about unions?"
         Lil' Charles glanced at his uncle then said, "You talkin' 'bout them fools be telling them paper mill workers to picket instead of work so they can get better pay?"
         Hinton nodded, "That's them."
         Lil' Charles sucked his teeth, shaking his head, "They fools if they think that shit gon' fly down here.
Ain't no white man gonna let colored make what he do for the same job if he can help it."
         "Nobody I know pay'em no mind no how," Jesse added. They keep comin' round though."
         "What about you?" Hinton asked, retrieving a couple of peanuts from a bowl. He cracked one open, popped the contents into his mouth and discarded the shell and the hulls on the floor, asking while he chewed, "You ever talk to any of them?"
         Jesse said, "I know white folks 'round here say they's communists. Say they just trying to get folks to join up with them." He added, "Not too smart if you ask me."
         "I asked if you ever talked to them?" Hinton asked. "Have you?"
         Jesse said, "I just know what I hear. "
         "But you know who they are, right?" Hinton said.
         "Maaan, I can tell you 'bout plenty of fools I hear 'bout in the street. That don't mean I know'em."
         Hinton leaned back on the stool shaking his head, "Now I'm confused...Jesse is it? Didn't you let them hold meetings in here?" It wasn't really a question and Jesse and Lil' Charles knew it. Hinton dropped the other peanut back in the bowl untouched
         Jesse said, "Man say he wanta' have a meetin' in my place and willin' to pay to use it, who am I to turn down the money? Shit."
         Hinton asked, "What was his name?"
         "What was who name?" Jesse's voice croaked sounding like he needed a drink of water or a good
stiff shot of whiskey.
         "The man's name paid you to hold meetings here?" Hinton said. "What did he call himself?"
         Jesse looked at Lil' Charles who looked back and shrugged.
         "Yankee man name of Roff-a-witch," Jesse said, careful to sound out the name. "Paul Roff-a-witch."
         "Close enough," Hinton said. The way he was smiling, you could tell he'd gotten what he wanted. "How many meetings did he hold here?"
         "I'on't know." Jesse hunched his shoulders, " Fo' or five?"
         "When was the last one?" Hinton asked, flicking something from the sleeve of his coat.
         "'Bout a week ago, "Lil' Charles answered before his uncle could answer. "Why?"
         "Because he hasn't been seen or heard from in about...a week," Hinton said, "And, as far as we can tell, you boys are the last ones anyone saw him with."
         "Shit," Jesse wasn't sure if he's said it out loud until he saw the smile split Hinton's face. The man sat there still leaning on his elbows looking up at Lil' Charles who looked back, his face not giving up a thing. He'd known this man was going to be trouble.
         "Who say we the last ones he was with?" Jesse said, uncomfortable with the silence. "Plenty of folks was at them meetings. How you know he didn't have business later on that night with one of them?" Then he added, "You wouldn't even be in here bothering us about it if we was white."
         "Probably not," Hinton said, "But since you fellas aren't white we don't have to worry about that, do we?"
         "Who tole you Rolfovitch was holdings meetings here?" Lil Charles hadn't attempted to mask the resentment in his voice. He didn't like threats, veiled or not.
         Hinton said, "What difference does it make?"
         Lil Charles shrugged and said, "I just need to know who I need to see to."
         Hinton chuckled, "You don't like folks getting into your affairs, huh?"
         "Nawl," Jesse said. "We just don't like them talking 'bout us to crackas."
          "What the hell?" Hinton said. "It's not like you're gonna kill the guy, right?"
         When neither man responded, Hinton repeated, "Right?"
         "Nawl," Jesse said. We ain't killing nobody.
         Hinton pointed at Lil Charles, "Let's hear him say it."
         Lil Charles said, "Man, if I was gon' kill'im I'd do it no matter what I told you. But nawl, this ain't nuthin worth killin' nobody over."
         "Alright then," Hinton said. "Fella you need to talk to calls himself Duke."
         "Shit."
         Lil Charles glanced over at his uncle. He said, "You know who he talking 'bout?"
         "Mmm hmm," Jesse nodded. "You do too."
         Hinton rapped on the counter and slid off the stool, "I'll leave you fellas to it then." He said, "Be back in a couple of days and you had better have something for me. Understand?" Neither man responded, they just watched Hinton walk out the door and into the night. A second later they heard a car engine start and headlights shone through the window and disappeared as the car backed up, turned and drove away.
         Lil Charles said, "I don't know no Duke."
         "Yeah you do," Jesse said. "You just don't know it."
         Lil Charles said, "Only Duke I know of is the club 'Duke's over in The Bottoms. But, far as I know, Mister Bob Jackson the owner, not somebody named Duke."
         Jesse said, "You know what Bob used to do before he bought that place?"
         Lil Charles shook his head.
         "He was a pitcher in the Negro Leagues," Jesse said. "Now, whatchu think his name was back then?"
         "Uncle Jesse..." Lil Charles was in no mood to play this game.
         "Diamond Duke," Jesse said. "Diamond Duke Jackson."
         All Lil Charles could think to say was, "Shit." Then he said, "But why would Mr. Bob put us out there like that? I ain't ever hear you say you and him ever had any trouble. Besides, the people who come here ain't the kind that'd go to Duke's anyway."
          "Watchu trying to say?" Jesse's face had a scowl on. "What, all the ne'er do wells and hoes come to my place and all the high class folk go to his?"
         Lil Charles was amused by the abrupt change in the older man's mood. "Why you gettin' mad?" he asked. "You the one always say you like laying low and keeping things small so's white folks ain't in your bidness."
                   "'Cept they is in my bidness," Jesse said, waving his arms animatedly, "They all up in it!"