13

Pace had not forgotten about the letter he received from his cousin, Early Ripley. However, the business with the little girl and then Perfume James had occupied most of his thoughts, to say nothing of the belligerent behavior on the part of his unintended adversary, the wolf ticket terrorist, Mr. Bee Sting. At this stage in his life, after the recent series of calamitous events, Pace was in no mood to make new friends. He did not want to appear impolite; nevertheless, Pace filed Early’s letter in a bottom drawer of his desk. For some reason, Pace remembered being in the food line with Sailor at Rocky and Carlo’s restaurant in Chalmette when he was about thirteen, and a refinery worker in his fifties, wearing his oil-stained uniform, standing in line behind them, said to his co-worker son, who was griping about something, “Eddie, I hate to admit it, but the best part of you ran down my leg.”

It had been a long time since he’d been in New York, though, and Pace was curious to see how the city had changed since he and Rhoda had lived there. Given how unlikely it was that he could kindle a flame with the pastor, plus this stupid vendetta with his Bug Town stalker, Pace began to think about taking a break to revisit the big apple. A few days after he’d almost thrown away Early’s letter, he retrieved it and dropped his cousin a note, saying he was pleased to hear from him, that he was planning a trip to New York, and suggesting that they get together. Early wrote back by return post: “Terrific! You can stay with me if you like. Tell me when you’re coming.” He included his phone number and e-mail address.

The morning Pace was packing a bag, preparing to drive to the Raleigh-Durham airport, Perfume James called him.

“Mr. Ripley, this is Pastor James. I hope I’m not disturbing you.”

“No, of course not.”

“I wanted to inform you that Gagool Angola shot and killed Bee Sting Goldberg last night. She’s being held in detention at the Child Services facility in Charlotte. I’m going there today to see her and I thought perhaps you’d like to accompany me.”

Pace hesitated before answering, trying to process this shocking development.

“Mr. Ripley? Are you still there?”

“Yes, yes. Certainly, I’ll go with you. When do you want to leave?”

“Can you come now? I’d appreciate it if you could drive. Otherwise, I’ll have to borrow a car or find someone else to take me.”

“I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

“Pick me up at the church.”

Pace hung up. Goldberg? Bee Sting’s last name was Goldberg? He e-mailed Early Ripley that his trip had been delayed and that he would be in touch soon; then he cancelled his flight reservation. Before leaving the cottage, Pace put his revolver into the top drawer of his desk and locked it.

“Mama,” he said, “you most probably won’t be surprised to know that the world is still plenty weird on top, just as you left it.”

The moment Pace’s Pathfinder slid to a stop in front of Beyond God and the Devil Disciples of Lazarus, Perfume James came out, wearing a long, beaver coat with a hood, which she wore up over her head. A wet snow was blowing in.

“I saw you out the window,” Perfume said, as she closed the passenger side door. “It’s very kind of you to carry me over to Charlotte.”

“I’m glad you called me. Can you tell me what happened?”

“All I know is that Bee Sting forced his way into the house and Oswaldina tried to get him to leave, which he wouldn’t do. Apparently, he started beating on her and Gagool got hold of her mama’s pistol and shot him in the back. Twice. Oswaldina called the police and told them that she had shot Bee Sting, but Gagool kept shouting, ‘I done it! I done it!’ Her prints were on the gun and they took the child away.”

“He showed up at my place a week ago.”

“Bee Sting did?”

“Got out of his Mercury with a shotgun and pointed it at my front door.”

“Did he shoot?”

“No, just stood there, holding it. To warn me, I guess. I didn’t go out, but he could see me staring at him through my window. After a bit, he drove away. I’ve been carrying a revolver ever since.”

“You can’t take it inside Child Services.”

“I left it at home. I don’t figure on needing a gun now that Bee Sting is gone. You said on the phone that his last name was Goldberg. How is that?”

“Mamie June Rivers, one of my parishioners, woman who gave me this fur coat, told me his father was a merchant seaman from Israel, met his mama in Baltimore, where Bee Sting grew up. According to Mamie June, his mama was on the game and his daddy disappeared. She took the man’s last name, though, for Bee Sting, whose real first name was Abraham.”

“Abe Goldberg.”

“Uh huh. He made his livin’ dealin’ drugs over in Chapel Hill and Durham, sellin’ to college kids. He got sweet on Oswaldina when she was workin’ as an aide in a hospital somewhere there. They got together after he was in the emergency room bein’ treated for a knife wound. Ever since, Bee Sting been Oswaldina’s main man.”

It was a two hour drive to Charlotte, but it went quickly for Pace, listening to Perfume James talk about her duties as pastor, how her former life of degradation and despair now seemed like somebody else’s bad dream. She didn’t ask Pace any questions about his own history, which he did not realize until after Perfume had been admitted to the visitors’ room at Child Services. Having not received visiting permission in advance, Pace was made to wait in the lobby of the facility. Fortunately, he had anticipated this, and had put in his coat pocket a paperback copy of D.H. Lawrence’s Mornings in Mexico that had been on his desk at the cottage. He was up to page thirty-nine, a passage that ends, “One wonders where he was, and what he was, in his sleep, he starts up so strange and wild and lost,” when Perfume, whom he had not noticed re-enter the lobby, interrupted him.

“Thank you for your patience, Mr. Ripley.”

Pace stood up and replaced Mornings in Mexico in his pocket.

“No problem, I had a book to read. How’s the girl?”

“Come, I’ll tell you in the car.”

They walked out together. Once they were in the Pathfinder, Perfume James looked closely at Pace’s face.

“You seem to have had a real effect on Gagool,” she said.

“Me?”

“Yes. She told me that she wants to stay with you until her father gets out of prison. She says you made her good grilled cheese sandwiches.”

Pace smiled. “I did. Twice.”

“I told her that probably would not be possible, at least not for a while.”

“What are they going to do with her?”

“Send her to a juvenile detention center for six months, maybe a year. After that, she’ll go into foster care. I doubt that Oswaldina will ever be allowed to have custody of her daughter again. You could apply to be a foster parent.”

Pace shook his head. “I’m too old. She’ll need a good family, a father and a mother, other kids, to take care of her.”

“I remember what you said to me at the church, about how you believed I was the first woman you could love completely and without reservation. Did you really mean it?”

“Yes, pastor, but I realized afterward how inappropriate it was, that I had doubtless offended you.”

“You didn’t offend me, quite the opposite. I was surprised, of course. That’s a dangerous thing to tell a woman, any woman, but especially a whore who has found redemption.”

Pace suddenly felt the cold. He started the engine and turned on the heater.

“Do you regret having said it?”

“No, I was sincere. I surprised myself.”

“I can see I’ve embarrassed you, Mr. Ripley. I’m sorry.”

“Can you call me Pace?”

She reached over and took both of his hands in hers.

“Yes, and when we’re alone together, you call me Perfume.”

Little pieces of ice were bouncing off of the windshield. Perfume tightened her grip on his hands.

“Pace,” she said, “have you ever in your three score and ten had a woman with seven gold teeth?”