Moses Winston showed up for his last performance at the Palace a couple of hours early, wanting to be sure that everything was okay between himself and Floyd Christian, who had been nothing but straight-up with him over the past few days. He’d agreed to do shows for two weeks, but things were getting hot, and when things got hot, it was time to move on.
The Palace wasn’t really a dinner joint, but people did show up before the music started to have a light meal, and the house was maybe a quarter full. House lights up, smoke-free air; it was demystifying, Winston thought, a different place from when the show was on.
He asked a waiter where he could find Christian and was pointed to the back office. The door was closed—this was unusual—and Winston knocked tentatively. From inside, he heard Christian ask who was knocking.
“Moses Winston, Mr. Christian.”
He waited for a moment and the door was opened by an ofay that Winston thought he’d maybe seen before.
Christian beckoned him in and he sat down next to the white cat, across the desk from Christian. Christian’s office was smoky; smelled of reefer. Christian introduced the white guy—name of Frings—and they shook hands, the white guy telling him how much he liked his guitar playing. Winston wasn’t quite sure how to respond, so he smiled and didn’t meet the man’s eyes.
Christian cleared his throat. “Moses, you live down in the Uhuru Community, right?”
“Sometimes, Mr. Christian. I’ve got a friend who’s been letting me stay there. Sometimes I have other places to stay …” Winston let that go, not wanting to get into his many lady friends with Frings there.
“You there the last few nights?”
Winston nodded.
“I’m trying to figure out what’s going on down there, Moses. I’m hearing things—from Frank, here, and from others—that the Community may be closing down. People are preparing to leave. Is that accurate?”
Winston scowled in thought. “I think so, Mr. Christian. There’s a lot of rumors going around the shanties. Folks talking about moving on while they can.”
“And you?”
“Me? It’s time for me to move on anyway, but I don’t like what’s happening down there. Crackers driving by, chucking bottle grenades at the shanties. White thugs. I’ve seen it before. Nothing good comes of it. I’m staying around tomorrow night because those crazy islanders are having a ritual in the Square and I said I’d be around for it, maybe beat on a drum. I’ve been helping out a little with some of those boys, trying to keep the Community safe; paying them back for their kindness.”
Frings asked, “Samedi’s people?”
This startled Winston, and he looked from Frings to Christian, who nodded that it was okay.
“Yeah, Samedi. I’m not one of them, but I help them out. They’re crazy but they’re all right.”
Frings said, “Where are you moving on to?”
Winston shrugged. “Heading north. See where the road takes me.”
“I’ll miss seeing you play. I really mean that. I’ve seen a lot of people play. You’re as good as any of them.”
Winston thanked Frings, looking him in the eye, then looking away again. Something about Frings bothered him; made him think maybe Frings was a threat.