DANCING WITH THE ICE LADY. Ken Salter

back home with her people when she pass.”

      “Ain’t nothin’ simplier, Little Brother. When da’ time come, we gonna take care a’ all yo’ Auntie’s business juss like she want. Everything the same wid’ the basic plan ‘cept the graveside service an’ burial be done down home in Louisiana. She gonna have her memorial service here wid’ all her friends an’ family, then we gonna ship your Auntie back home first class. Gonna come ta ’bout the same money she buried here. You juss gonna need to order her a fine casket to make shore yo’ Auntie and her people back home be proud a’ the way you send her off. Where you say yo’ Auntie stayin’ now?”

      I hadn’t said anything about where my Auntie was because I didn’t have one. Brother Thomas was trying to close a sale and probably had a big, fat commission to make at my expense. I needed to think of an escape without arousing suspicion I was playing him for a fool. I also needed to figure a way to access the mortuary’s business records and meet the Chinese bookkeeper.

      “Shore is a relief to know y’all can take care of my Auntie when she pass. Uncle Paul shore gonna be relieved, too. He ain’t moving too good; he got a real bad problem with stiff joints, a bad ticker an’ all. That’s why he send me ‘round to do some checking. He ain’t got a lot of money and he mighty worried about what it all gonna cost. So, could you put down some numbers so maybe he can get some help with financing?”

      “No problem, Little Brother. Juss take me minute to do yo’ figures. What name you want on yo’ papers?”

      He caught me by surprise. “Uh, might as well put ‘em down in my name; I’m probably gonna have to help Uncle Paul with a credit card. They call me Reggie Jones.” I lied hoping the dude wasn’t going demand to verify my credit on the spot.

      “Then Brother Jones it is.” He dropped his jiving when his fingers hit the calculator keys. It was frightening to see how fast he could add up a bunch of figures that would set me back just under $7,000.00 and put me on a fast track to the poor house.

      “Say, uh, you think it would be OK if I could bring Uncle Paul down here to one of your chapel services? He be too sickly to go back home when Auntie do pass. Would ease his mind a plenty to know he gonna have a memorial service right here for all they friends.”

      “No problem, Brother Jones. We havin’ special ’morial services Friday an’ Saturday evenings. The one on Friday gonna have a full gospel choir from the Ebenezer Church of God. You bring yo’ Uncle Paul on down on Friday and he gonna be real happy he doin’ business wid’ Simmons Family Mortuary.”

      “Sounds like a winner! See you on Friday.”

      Brother Thomas gave me a big gold-toothy smile and pumped my hand vigorously. He shoved a sample contract he’d filled out and a credit application in my hand for me to return on Friday. I could almost hear the click, click, click as he mentally rang up his commission from another sucker.

      It was just after four thirty in the afternoon as I crossed the parking lot to my car. I decided to pick up an order of barbecued ribs and a six-pack of Bud Light before doubling back to observe the mortuary staff leave for the day. I jotted down the makes and license numbers of all the cars in the lot. I wanted to match faces with each vehicle. I especially wanted to get a good look at the new bookkeeper, Jennifer Wong.

      Chapter 6

      I MADE IT BACK TO THE MORTUARY WITH ONLY TEN minutes to spare before the first employees started to leave. I watched the door to the parking lot from my car parked across the street. Two middle-aged black men came out together. They were dressed casually and probably worked in embalming or maintenance. They chatted amiably for a bit and then headed for their modest cars and departed.

      The next group took its time to appear. It gave me time to wolf down most of my order of barbecued ribs and guzzle a can of Bud Light. I smudged my note book with greasy fingers as I didn’t have time to wipe them when three employees burst out in quick order – two black men and a middle-aged black woman in a white blouse and tan slacks. She got into a Honda Civic while the two nattily-dressed men headed for two late model Cadillac El Dorados. By the looks of their highly waxed cars, manner of dress and the ease with which they handled their expensive cars, I pegged them as chauffeurs or detail men in charge of the mortuary’s rolling stock.

      I had to wait a good twenty minutes for Brother Thomas and his clone to appear. I scrunched down in my seat and hoped Brother Thomas wouldn’t recognize my car or me peering over the steering wheel. The two salesmen were dressed alike right down to their designer shades and patent leather shoes. While Brother Thomas’s hair was jelled and slicked back in Fifties style, the other Brother wore his short, kinky hair with a part down the center.

      They laughed and jived with each other. I could imagine them programming the office CD player with lamenting blues songs sung by Bessie Smith, Muddy Waters and gospel songs by Marianne Anderson; renditions to move the spirit with tearful remembrances of loved ones lost. I marveled at such a cynical business: “Juss sign the contract, Little Brother, an’ we gonna take care of everything.”

      There wasn’t much action after Brother Thomas and his buddy left in identical, metallic-black BMW’s. I was bored waiting and debated popping the top of another Bud. If I did, I’d have to keep my legs crossed and hope the two remaining lights would be turned off real soon. I have a bladder with a ten-minute timer. What goes in starts pressing for relief ten minutes later. I had no business drinking beer or anything else on a stakeout. The longer I had to wait, the more urgent the need to pee.

      Trying to take a leak while parked on a street in Oakland is good way to get noticed fast. Local loungers and the eyes behind the second-storey tattered blinds don’t miss much going down on the street. Even if you weren’t spotted, you can be sure the moment you ducked behind a tall bush, the mark you’ve been tailing will choose that moment to slip by you. So, there’s really no choice if you’re foolish enough to drink on a stakeout; you’ve got to bake it.

      I was about to give in to temptation when a slim, attractive, modestly-dressed Asian woman rushed out the door, looked carefully around the parking lot and made her way quickly to a snazzy, black Toyota Celica at the far end of the lot. I assumed she was Jennifer Wong.

      As she quick-stepped to her car in medium heels, one of the two remaining lights upstairs turned off. Ms. Wong slid into the driver’s seat of her car just as a handsome black man appeared at the door of the mortuary, scanned the lot and street furtively in all directions before moving hastily to the woman’s Celica.

      I managed only a fleeting look at the man who had his back to me except for a brief instant when he glanced in my direction where I had ducked. He looked in his mid-thirties, was dressed in an expensive Italian-tailored suit, and had hands the color of the chocolate on a Mars bar that glinted with gold rings. The flash of heavy gold chains dangling from his neck together with the finger rings distracted my view. The man was a walking gold mine. It gave me the macabre thought that perhaps all that gold was custom-crafted from the teeth of his clients.

      He slid in beside Ms. Wong and I watched with binoculars as their heads bobbed together for a couple of minutes. As the man exited the car, it looked like he passed a small envelope to Ms. Wong but I couldn’t be sure. The man ran his forefinger down the woman’s face and her figure as she leaned to pull the door shut.

      It was a strange scene. What was an attractive Asian woman in her mid-twenties doing working in a black-owned mortuary? What was one of the mortuary’s kingpins doing with the woman in the parking lot? It didn’t make sense. Members of Oakland’s rival Chinese and Black communities don’t socialize or mingle. Was this an office romance – another taboo interracial meeting on the sly like the one responsible for bringing me into the world?

      I didn’t have long to contemplate the unexpected scene. The Celica’s motor revved and it raced out of the lot. I ducked my head as it came directly at me. By the time I bobbed back up, the Celica had roared around the corner of the lot and was gone in a flash.