Dont Be a Hero

Tyrone

Across the crowded club a door opened and a woman stepped out, gazing in the two detectives’ direction with a questioning look on her face. She was a beauty with chestnut brown hair cut in a long bob that framed her heart-shaped face perfectly. She wore tan slacks, a black blouse, and black boots. She made her way across the crowded club with ease, nodding and greeting certain patrons along the way. She seemed to be well known.

When she arrived at the booth she nodded at them and smiled. "Hello. I was told you'd like to have a word with me? I'm Dana Lancer, the manager of this establishment." She held a dainty hand out to Jackson and then to Macy.

Jackson nodded and gestured for her to have a seat, which she did while looking around as though she had things to do but was trying not to appear rude or in a hurry.

"Well, ma'am... err... Miz Lancer," he began, leaning toward her. "We've got a rather... delicate matter we need to discuss. With the right person, of course."

She looked at him with a puzzled look before asking, "What sort of... delicate matter are we talking about?" She spoke evenly and carefully. "This club doesn't involve itself in illegal matters, Mister...?"

"Oh, I apologize, ma'am." Jackson tipped his hat as he spoke. "J.C. Marlen. You can just call me Jace. Most folks do. This is my girl, Carly. We'd sure appreciate just a little bit of your time and perhaps a little nudge in the right direction."

"Well you'll be needing to look elsewhere, then, Mr. Marlen", she replied, standing up and straightening her blouse. "As I said, we..."

"I was told by a friend of mine that this here'd be the place to make inquiries, Miz Lancer." Jackson stood and looked down at her while blocking her escape route. He knew this was the right place. He knew the moment this woman had introduced herself. This was what made him such a great detective. He was able to read people. To sense when he'd found what he was looking for before any information had been exchanged. "I'd like to talk to someone about a car. A special car that could be used and disposed of quickly and easily."

The nervous woman narrowed her eyes at him and stood her ground. "I am very sorry, Mr. Marlen. Miss... Carly is it?" She glanced down at Macy before raising her eyes back up to meet Jackson's intense ones. "I have no idea what you are referring to and I can't help..."

"I was told I should ask for Tyrone." Jackson cut her off again. She stared at him, her mouth still open as though to continue talking. Finally she snapped it shut. She looked from Jackson to Macy, seeming to be struggling with whether to trust them. Jackson took his wallet out of his back pocket and opened it so that she was able to see that it was loaded with cash. Big bills. She realized that if the boss found out she had turned away a possible customer who had cash like that on hand... she probably would be out of a job. She just didn't trust these people. It wasn't often anyone came into the club to inquire about Harley's less legitimate dealings. They knew of Tyrone however, so they were probably alright.

"Tyrone will be in around closing time," Ms. Lancer finally said with a sigh. "You can wait for him or come back then. Whatever you wish. You'll have to discuss anything further with him."

Jackson nodded and gave her a wink. "Thank ya, ma'am. I'm much obliged. We'll sit back and enjoy the scenery if it's all the same."

......

Tyrone stared at the road, his hands on the wheel but his mind miles away. Not just miles, but years, too. He saw a girl, smaller than he was, with skin a more milky chocolate than his black-as-coal hide (sometimes he wondered... was his soul as black as it was because of the blackness of his skin? Where did the idea come from, that the darker the color, the less significant the soul? He did not grasp racism at all. Tyrone was well aware of his superiority, both in intelligence and in physical capacity, to every man of every color that he had ever encountered. The slavery of his ancestors puzzled him. There was one thing he was convinced of. Even if everything else he believed in became a lie. He would have never, ever accepted slavery as his fate. He would have died first. And he would have taken every slave-thirsty tyrant with him that he could have. There would have been no such thing as slavery had he lived in those times. Somehow he was sure of it.).