TWEHTY-FlVE

The phone rang as Karen, in bed, was staring at luminous numbers in the dark: 3:45. She was sure it was Foley. In the moment it took to get up on her elbow and reach for the phone, no other name was in her mind. She said hello and felt a letdown as the woman's voice said, "I'm sorry if I woke you up."

"It's okay," Karen said, "you didn't."

"Reason I'm calling, I need to ask a question."

It was Moselle.

"Go ahead."

"If I know something's gonna happen-like a job is gonna be pulled and I don't tell the police I know about it? Am I, you know, could I be charged for knowing?"

"When is it supposed to happen?"

"See, I knew something this other time when a man was killed and I didn't say nothing?"

"You told me about it. You said a man was blown up."

"That's the one. They said if I told anybody I'd be dead, too.

So I didn't. See, this time I been told the same thing. Only there's a reason I could get mixed up in it, too, and I don't want it to happen."

"Who threatened you, Maurice?" There was a silence.

"If you're withholding information about a crime, yeah, you're comp licit participating in a wrongful act by association. You don't have to actually be there. When is this taking place, tomorrow?"

"Before that. Okay, I've told you and you know I'm not mixed up in it."

"But when is it going to happen?" Karen said, and waited.

"Is Maurice there?"

"He left."

"You're alone?"

"I don't want to say no more than I have."

"Moselle, I'll be there as soon as I can. Will you wait for me, not go anywhere?"

She had hung up.

Karen called Raymond Cruz at his home, woke him up and stared at the clock while they spoke for a minute and a little more. He told her a car with a man from Robbery would be at the hotel by the time she was dressed.

Kenneth walked up to the redheaded maid in the bathroom saying, "What's your name, mama?" She wouldn't tell him, wouldn't say a word till he hooked a finger in the waist of her panties, pulled on the elastic as he looked in there and said, "Hey, shit."

The redheaded maid said, "Get out of there, you creep," and slapped his hand.

Kenneth, grinning at her, said, "Maurice got to see this," and took her by the arm out of the bathroom, past Foley and Buddy like they weren't even there.

"He's gonna jump her," Buddy said.

Foley kept quiet. They followed behind, along the hall to the master bedroom, Kenneth glancing around at them once; they didn't seem to bother him. He took the maid into Ripley's bedroom: the front part like a sitting room, full of fat, cushy chairs and a sofa, all white, everything white or black, a wet bar, a big TV, CD player, the man's king-size bed in there through an archway where Maurice, out of his coveralls, was taking suits and sport coats from the walk-in closet to look them over, drop some on the floor, lay some over a chair.

Alexander was in the sitting room part with White Boy. As Kenneth came in with the maid, Alexander yelled out her name, "Midge!" and started for Kenneth, telling him to leave her alone. Foley got to the doorway in time to see White Boy take Alexander around the neck, rub the kid's scalp with his knuckles until he screamed and throw him on the sofa.

Kenneth had a finger hooked in her panties again, Midge holding on to his wrists, Kenneth saying, like he was making an announcement, "The bitch has a red puss on her. Y'all ever see a red one?"

Foley saw the maid let go of Kenneth's wrist and slap him across the face. Kenneth half turned from her, came back with his fist cocked and threw a left at her, a hook that jarred against the side of her face.

She landed on the sofa, head bouncing against the cushion. Right away, as Foley watched, Alexander edged over to brush her hair from her cheek and take her hand, the woman looking up at Kenneth, stunned.

"I've seen 'em dyed blond on sisters," Maurice said from the other part of the room, "but I don't believe I ever seen a natural red one."

"This boy," Kenneth said, "been squirrelin' the maid, getting himself some house-sitting pussy."

Maurice said to Alexander, "How is she, boy, pretty good?"

Kenneth said, "I think she like to tussle with a man for a change. Get boned a way she gonna remember."

"Not till you done looking," Maurice said.

"Will somebody please find the fucking safe?"

Out in the hall again Buddy said to Foley, "They're gonna gang-bang her. What're we supposed to do, watch?"

Moselle was on the sofa, cigarette in one hand, holding her robe closed with the other. Her gaze moved from the detective waiting in the foyer with his phone to Karen Sisco standing over her. More white people in the house these days than when white people lived in the house.

"I tell him it's none of my business. See, but he likes to brag on what he's doing. He knows I ain't gonna tell on him. But now this time he wants me to tell something. And if I do, I know it will mess me up good. See, there's two white men with him…"

"Tonight?" Karen said.

Moselle nodded and drew on her cigarette, wanting to tell it right, but not tell too much.

"Right now, this minute. They left with Maurice." Moselle paused, her gaze going to the foyer, then raising to Karen Sisco again.

"But they not coming back with him." She watched Karen ease down to sit on the edge of the sofa, close to her.

"He's leaving them there."

She understood.

"You could say that."

"You know their names?"

Moselle shook her head.

"Never was introduced."

This Karen said, "Are you playing with me?" Sounding irritated, not the nice person anymore.

"What's your game?

What're you telling me?" Getting a fierce look in her eyes.

Moselle leaned away from her.

"I don't know the man's name till Maurice tells me. See, then I'm suppose to tell the police who this person is and where to find him, out at this rich man's house. Okay, if I do, it's gonna mess up my life good and I'll prob'ly go to jail. But if I don't, then I'm gonna be gone from this world, honey. That's what I'm telling you."

Karen seemed to ease back saying, "But why give up this particular guy?"

"

"Cause Maurice wants the reward you get for turning him in. Hoping, you understand, they pay off if the man's dead."

Moselle stubbed out her cigarette in an ashtray she held on the arm of the sofa, feeling Karen Sisco staring at her.

"See, the man's an escaped convict from Florida."

Feeling her staring and then feeling her get up and when Moselle looked, Karen in her long coat was across the room already, leaving.

They had their masks off and had torn up Ripley's bedroom: drawers pulled out and dumped, pictures off the walls, bed covers stripped, the mattress slashed.

Foley and Buddy, back from checking rooms, stood in the hall looking in. Foley said, "Would you hide walking-around money in a mattress?"

"I leave mine on the dresser," Buddy said.

"This is a bunch of shit. These assholes are gonna end up with TV sets."

"You want to leave?"

"I'm ready anytime," Buddy said, "but what about the maid, and the kid?"

"I don't know," Foley said, looking at them now, on the sofa in the sitting room area. He did know, but didn't want to say.

They seemed rigid, holding each other's hands, afraid to move.

Kenneth, near them, was taking bottles of wine and booze from a cabinet and lining them up on the wet bar.

Buddy said, "I can see you don't have your heart in this."

"I never did."

"Before we go," Buddy said, "I think we're gonna have to settle with these assholes."

Foley nodded.

"Yeah, I guess." He turned to Buddy then.

"Listen, why don't you leave and I'll clean up."

"What're you talking about?" Buddy frowning.