Back in my car I sat struggling with an image of Sean Kelly leafing through poetry after a long day robbing armored trucks and rubbing shit on shules. I also had trouble believing the redheaded snoop an Avenger groupie. I wondered how she hooked up with Kelly. Everything I was discovering about my man Sean chipped at the stereotypical image of an ignorant, racist Jew-baiter. Blue, I understood. Fang and the rest of the khakis, I understood. But Kelly was slinking further away, not closer. The facets of his life that fueled Blue’s resentment and jealousy continued to ignite my professional interest.

I was pleased with my morning’s haul, but the pleasure didn’t send me home blind and giddy. As I drove down the alley past the rear of my building I saw the door to my office slightly ajar. I always locked the door.

My pleasure plummeted through the gray gravel. Fear has a way of doing that. I kept driving until I came out the alley’s end all the while answering the Isley Brothers. I was gonna find out who was making love to my old lady. I parked the car and skulked into the building’s front entrance accompanied by the sound of a thumping heart. I knew whose. When I got downstairs I secured the gun in my left hand, quietly unlocked the door with my right, inhaled deeply, and dove onto the living room floor arms outstretched and ready to fire. My week-long body pain was dispatched and forgotten. Fear has a way of doing that too.

Washington Clifford showed a lot of clean white teeth across his broad, polished, ebony face. Sitting comfortably on my couch, feet on the coffee table, he didn’t stop eating from my familysize bag of Fritos. “For someone as sophisticated as yourself, you sure do keep a bimbo’s refrigerator,” he said holding up the bag. “Why don’t you put your little shooter back where it belongs and try your hind legs? You look like a whale out of water laying down there.”

“Maybe I like diving into empty pools,” I said without moving.

“Doesn’t surprise me,” he said stuffing his mouth. “But you ain’t gonna shoot me and it’s hard having a friendly conversation while you’re kissing floor.”

I slowly stood, shook my head to his generous offer of Fritos, stuck the gun away, and sat on the recliner. I didn’t put my feet up. “I’m not used to friendly conversations that begin before I’m here.”

“I tipped you to company,” Clifford said grinning over the crinkling of the bag. “Anyway, I’m not most people. Most people wouldn’t consider blowing you away for not being where you’re supposed to be.”

My fear hadn’t dissipated, but the hurt in my body was finding its way back. The pleasure, though, was nowhere to be found. Some feelings are just more fleeting than others. “Okay, Massa, sir! What do I owe for breathing?”

Clifford shook his big head. “Always running your mouth.” He pulled his legs off the table, grunted to his feet, and lumbered over to my chair. He wore a suit but you could tell he did serious time humping gym iron. He stood over me, one hand hanging onto the Fritos. Before I could ask him to save me a few, his other hand slapped me hard across the face. I felt a tiny warm wet trickle where his ring caught the corner of my mouth, but didn’t move a hair until Clifford was back across the room.

“I’m glad this is a ‘friendly’ conversation,” I said, daring to reach into my back pocket for a handkerchief.

“I mean to get your attention.”

I pressed the handkerchief up against my mouth. “Next time, all you got to do is ask.”

“What did you say? I can’t hear none too good when you have your mouth full of linen.”

I moved my hand. “I said you got my attention, Massa!”

Clifford shook his head. “You can’t help it, can you? I could turn your face into a rotten mango and you’d still spit some wise-ass.”

I put my palms up. “It’s a nervous reaction, that’s all. You know me, Wash, no self-control.”

Clifford frowned. “The Wash I don’t know about, the self-control I do.”

My gut froze as he reached behind the couch, lifted up my gym bag, and put it on the table between us. I tried to wipe the wooden smile from my bleeding face and sit quietly but I failed at both. “Not mine, got it on a case I was working.”

“Then you wouldn’t have any objection to me taking it, would you, Jacobs?”

“Of course not. Planned on turning it in myself the next time I was Downtown. It’s Jacob, without the ‘s’, Wash. We’ve been through that routine a couple of times.”

Clifford shook his head and stood. I knew what was coming. Maybe if he hit me enough he wouldn’t bust me. Or maybe I should just shut the fuck up. This time he grabbed me by the front of my shirt and pulled me out of the chair. He hesitated, and for a second I hoped he’d taken pity at the sight of my fucked-up face.

He had. This time he tried putting his fist out my back. Through my belly. He let go of my shirt and I tumbled back onto the chair, tears involuntarily dribbling from my eyes.

“It always comes to this with you,” he complained from the couch.

“I’m sorry,” I grunted while I wiped my eyes. Washington Clifford was not the type to respect a grown man who cries. “Next time I’ll have more food in the refrigerator.”

“I’m hoping there will be no next time.”

He was hoping? When the queasiness in my stomach became manageable I asked, “What are you doing here?”

“What were you doing there?”

“Where? And who’s on first?”

“Buzz’s, a rumble, now Kelly’s. That’s where.” He smiled but the mean never left. “Who is on first,” he added softly.

The break-in hadn’t restored my professional pride, after all. I wallpapered my face with an ear-to-ear grin. “That’s good, Wash…Mr. Clifford.”

“That’s all right, Jacobs. Anybody as intimate with my fist as you can call me Wash.”

“Thanks. You can call me Jacobs. I’m working for Roth.” He must have known; he knew everything.

“What exactly are you doing for Roth? And I mean exactly.”

“My job is to investigate Kelly and the White Avengers. Exactly.”

“What have you discovered, Jacobs? Exactly.”

“Well the Avengers are now led by…”

“I don’t give a fuck about the Avengers. What have you got on Kelly?”

“Very little,” I said earnestly. “Seems like he started as a thief, graduated to armored cars, saw the light and formed the Avengers.”

Clifford folded his arms across his double-barreled chest. “What did you find in his apartment?”

“Nothing. I looked through his crap but came up empty. Unless you count the half dozen hate pamphlets and tapes I scored for Roth. I got so happy when I saw your hello in the alley, I left them in the car.” I waited for him to ask about the redheaded woman but he didn’t. Maybe he didn’t know about the note I’d found either. Maybe he wasn’t omnipotent.

“Why did you go back into his apartment a second time?”

In the excitement of discovering the note I’d returned to the car without the literature. “Look, Wash, if you know I went in a second time, you also know why. I walked out without the shit, that’s all.”

Clifford stared through me as if I wasn’t there. I could only hope. Finally he grunted and shifted position on the couch. “What are you holding back, shamus? You gave that up too easy.”

I touched my face. “Only easy for one of us, Wash. And I still don’t know why you’re here. You already know everything that I do. We’re not covering any new ground.” I paused for a psychotic break. “Your wife out of town?”

Clifford stood as I tried to guess which part of my body was going to hurt next. But to my great surprise and greater relief he only grabbed the gym bag. “Jacobs, as much as I think PIs are lower than dog shit, I figure you for smart. Not real bright, but smart. You know what I mean?”

“Yeah.” From here on in, as long as he stayed out of beating range, I was gonna agree with everything.

“Well, it’s not smart to lie to me.”

I considered telling him about the redhead. Even considered telling him about the note. But like the man said, I wasn’t too bright. “Why the fuck should I lie? All I’m doing is collecting information about a group of racist, Jew-hating punks. The job has less glamour than a divorce gig. Why the hell would I lie?”

He didn’t answer my question. “What are your plans?”

“I’m going to behave myself until you’re gone, then I’m going to roll a big fat joint and thank my Maker for letting me live.”

Clifford closed his eyes and spoke in a measured tone. “What are your goddamn work plans?”

“A balanced portfolio for retirement…”

His eyes remained closed but his jaw started to grind.

“I’m sorry, Wash. I’d like to interview the Jews who were present at the shootings. Then try to drum up a little information from the Irish side of the neighborhood. Nothing fancy.”

“You already been too fancy,” he said opening his eyes.

“I know and I apologize, really…”

“Shut up, Jacobs. I don’t want your voice ringing in my head the rest of the day. Go about your business, but stay away from the townies. You want to fuck with what’s left of the Avengers, be my guest. Even dog shit has to earn a living. But I don’t want you bothering no one except the Beards or the Avengers. And you don’t go telling anyone we talked. Not your mother, your father, or Roth. Especially not Roth. You understand?”

An insane voice protested. Hell, I understood less now than before, but a new-age respect for my body maintained control. “Nobody from the Irish side of the neighborhood will talk with me anyhow. Didn’t mean to get in your way.”

“I didn’t say anything about getting in my way, Jacobs.” As Clifford walked past me, he dropped the gym bag onto my lap. “Don’t forget to bring this Downtown.”

I held my breath until I heard the door shut then rifled my stash. I pulled out grass and a pipe and let the bag drop to the floor. I stuffed the pipe, lit the grass, and smoked until the first wave of calm eased my anxiety. But it wasn’t until after I’d had a cigarette that I trusted my legs to carry me to the bathroom. The lip cut wasn’t bad; a small Band-Aid would blend with the rest of my look.

I returned to the living room, gathered my supplies, and flopped on the couch. I reached out and pushed the bag of Fritos off the table. The sight of them brought on waves of nausea. For a while I just lay there numbly, giving my body a chance to shake the anticipation of another blow. The tea leaves read the rest of the day as a TKO between figure and forget. Between curiosity about Clifford’s appearance, and the memory of his fist. But before I could decide, the telephone rang and I answered the starting bell. I guess it was still too damn close to the past week for me to feel comfortable on the couch.