Vengeance(84)

As they reached the exit, Earl turned to the driver, keeping his gaze off and distantly focused. He pushed his dark glasses higher on his nose, giving the man his best Ray Charles sway-and-grin. “Thank you so much for the ride,” he said.

The driver studied him with a puzzled look on his face. “You don’t mind my asking . . . if you’re blind, how do you use the camera to take pictures?”

“I let the dog take ’em,” Earl said in a polite tone. Then he turned, leaving the driver to ponder that image, and stepped down off the bus. “Jump!” he said. And Melon made his leap of faith to the ground.

See, it was the dog that was blind, not Earl.

Earl led the way through the wash of hot diesel exhaust, across the bus paddock, to the street, where a row of taxicabs sat parked at the curb. The first two cars in the queue were manned by Middle Eastern drivers. They stood outside the vehicles, chatting near the sign that read TAXIS ONLY. They seemed wholly indifferent to his approach, indifferent to the possibility of a fare. At a third taxi, a black woman had already prepared the passenger door for arrival.

Now she was calling to Earl’s dog, “Here, boy! Bring your daddy right on in. Let Loretta give you fine gentlemen a ride.”

Earl crossed past the two Middle Easterners, who found need to voice objection now. Loretta flipped them off and waved Earl and his dog on over.

The idea that Earl was blind and that Melon was his service dog was a ruse they played routinely. It got them onto public transportation together and into the bars along Vermont Street back in LA. And so far, it had won them a few courtesies here in the South. Few seemed to question it. The dark glasses also served to shade Earl’s aging eyes from the light. They were both getting old, he and Melon. They depended on each other for their respective advantages.

Earl folded himself into the backseat, saying, “Up,” for Melon to join him. The dog found his place on the seat, and they both settled in for the ride.

“You know where Cabbagetown is?” he said as his lady driver slid in behind the wheel.

“Sho’ do,” Loretta said, cranking the engine. “I know where e’thing is. North to Buckhead, east to Conyers. You ain’t really blind, is you?”

“How could you tell?”

She was looking at Earl in the mirror. “I seen blind folks; they’s always hesitant. You seem to know where you goin’. Dog’s somethin’ else, though. Playing along like a regular little con man.”

“He’s the one that’s blind,” Earl said.

“You say! I saw the way he come jumpin’ off the bus. Must trust his master somethin’ fierce.”

“We’ve been together for a while,” Earl said.

They had come off Forsythe Street onto Memorial Drive heading east. It had been forty years since Earl had last been in Atlanta, the place of his birth. The city didn’t seem much different really from what he remembered. Maybe a few more glass-and-chrome buildings was all. It still had the same shady streets, the same sleepy feel to it. LA, by comparison, never seemed to stop.

“What’s your name, big man?” Loretta asked, nosing the cab through traffic.

“Earl . . . Earl Lilly . . . but most people call me Little Earl.”

“Cause you so tiny and all,” Loretta said, metering out the sarcasm.

“Yeah, ’cause of that,” Earl said.

“So, what brings you two good-looking dudes to Hotlanta? Come to howl at the moon?”

“I think we’re both a little too old to be howling at anything, except in pain. Actually, I’m here to find someone,” Earl said. He fished a photograph from inside his jacket and passed it across the seat to her. “You ever seen this young lady?”

Loretta looked briefly at the photo, keeping an eye on the traffic ahead. “She a beautiful young woman. One of yours?”

“She’s my granddaughter,” Earl said. “I’m sure you get around;you ever run across her, by chance?”

“She look a little familiar. But then, I see a lot these young girls on the streets. They’s all just faces after a time. Know what I mean?”

“I guess I do,” Earl said.

“Still, I should remember this one. Pretty an’ all.” Loretta took a last look at the photo and passed it back. “What she do?”

Earl had little to go on, just the name of a gentlemen’s club where his granddaughter worked and a return address on her letters, presumably where she lived. “She tells me she’s going to school during the day. Wanting to become a physical therapist. And dancin’ nights to pay her way. A place called Bo Peep’s Corral. You ever hear of it?”