Chapter 49
“What are you doing here, Matthews?”
Johnnie dropped Lucas off at Napoleon’s Bayou, a supper club in the French Quarter, where jazz and blues groups played nightly. He didn’t tell Johnnie that Napoleon, who had mob connections in Chicago, ran the local policy racket and had asked him to become a runner. As far as Lucas was concerned, he had to do something to get her away from Earl. Since money was what it was going to take, Lucas was determined to do whatever he could to make as much as he could, as quickly as he could.
Napoleon Bentley was a third-generation Spaniard whose familial roots traced back to a noble family from Madrid. He loved jazz and the blues and got along with Negroes so well that he was dubbed the blackest white man that ever lived in New Orleans. He also had a penchant for Negro women, but nobody minded since he treated colored folk so well. Devilishly handsome and wealthy, Negro women found him extremely attractive. He was six-three, well built, with a granite chin and a reputation with women that rivaled Don Juan. To look at him, one would never suspect that he’d killed over a dozen men for reasons ranging from petty theft to contract hits for the syndicate. Still there was a ruthlessness about him that gave him an aura of power
Napoleon spotted Lucas the moment he entered the scantly lit supper club and signaled him to come over to the bar. He smelled Lucas’ stench of sweat covered by perfume, but ignored it. Napoleon asked Lucas to be a numbers runner when he was a freshman, but even then, he looked like a man. At that time, judging by his football player physique, Napoleon thought he was at least twenty-four, and was stunned when the youngster told him he was just a fourteen-year-old high school freshman. In Lucas, Napoleon saw an opportunity to train a leg breaker who could collect debts, and eventually, an apprentice to perhaps run operations while he visited Chicago and Harlem.
“Lucas, my man, did you get any of those football scholarships you were looking for?”
“No. Not even from Grambling,” he said, sounding frustrated.
“What’s wrong? You seem agitated about something.”
“I’m having trouble with my girl, Mr. Bentley.”
“Woman trouble. Yeah, I know what you mean. You can’t live with them and you can’t live without them. What’s the problem?”
“Money, Mr. Bentley. I don’t have any. I need a job. Do you still have the numbers running job?”
“Yeah, I got it, Lucas,” Napoleon said, putting his arm around him. “But from now on, I want you to call me Napoleon.”
Just then, Sheriff Tate walked into the Bayou and signaled Napoleon to come over to where he was standing.
Napoleon turned Lucas toward the mirror so that he could see himself. “Look, for the last time, at poverty,” Napoleon said. “Come . . . let me show you the secret to success in any endeavor.”
They walked over to Sheriff Tate. Napoleon pulled a yellow envelope from his breast pocket and handed it to the sheriff. Tate took the envelope and opened it. He pulled out the money and Lucas’ eyes lit up.
Lucas had never seen that much money at one time. The envelope contained one hundred dollars; chicken feed to Napoleon, but a fortune to Lucas, enough to take to Johnnie so she wouldn’t have to stay with Earl, he thought.
“What are you doing here, Matthews?” Tate asked gruffly.
“He works here now, Tate,” Napoleon said. “I’ve got big plans for him. In a few months, you’ll be getting your payoffs from him.”
“Fine. I don’t care who pays me, as long as I get paid. You understand me, boy?”
“Sheriff Tate, his name is Lucas Matthews, and I would consider it a personal favor if you called him by his name. Do you understand?”
“You just make sure he delivers on time,” Tate said then turned to Lucas. “And don’t even try to cheat me.”
“He won’t. Will you, Lucas?”
“No, Mr. Bentley.”
“Napoleon, Lucas, Napoleon.”