Black Orchid Blues by Persia Walker

Author:Persia Walker [Walker, Persia]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: crime, detective, Harlem, historical, mystery
Publisher: Akashic Books
Published: 2011-12-01T07:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 25

The Mercer was one step away from being a flophouse—one very short step. The place was a magnet for every hoodlum, hooker, dealer, and otherwise shady character within a one-mile radius. There had been a couple of murders at the Mercer, but I hadn’t caught the stories when I was covering crime. A converted three-story brownstone, it sat on the northwest corner of Lenox Avenue and 147th Street. That was just two blocks north of the gracious Hotel Theresa and less than ten blocks north of genteel Strivers’ Row. Not far in physical distance, but worlds away in atmosphere.

In short, it was the perfect setting for a shakedown.

I drove my car and met Sheila in front of the hotel promptly at six. She was outwardly calm, but her troubled eyes revealed the same scared kid I’d seen before.

“It’s going to be all right,” I said.

She took in the Mercer’s shabby, downright evil appearance, grabbed a deep breath, and set her thin shoulders. I put a gentle hand on her elbow and we walked in together.

Given what we’d seen outside, the lobby was no surprise: uneven walls covered in grimy green wallpaper, a tattered red carpet underneath, a battered wooden elevator to one side, and a scarred wooden reception desk set straight ahead, with a mean-looking sister behind it. I knew her by reputation.

Ida Mercer, the widowed wife of a saxophone player, ran the show. She’d had very little experience with the finer things in life, but she knew how to manage a flophouse. She was a large woman with narrow black eyes in a wide, fleshy face. She wore her thick hair parted down the center and braided into two pigtails. It was a child’s hairdo, but there was nothing childish about Mercer. She was in her mid-to-late fifties and, from the weariness in her eyes, her soul must’ve been a hundred.

Mercer smirked knowingly when we asked to register. “One room or two?” She had a low, husky voice.

“One,” Sheila said.

“Two,” I said.

We’d spoken together.

Mercer talked to me, but glanced sideways at Sheila. “Sounds like girl-friend here is the type to get cold at night.”

Sheila gave me a panicked look. “Please, I don’t want to stay alone here.”

Mercer smiled as though Sheila had just proved her point.

“All right,” I said.

“How many nights?” Mercer asked.

“Just one.”

If we were lucky, we would make the drop and be out by midnight. We wouldn’t even have to sleep here. We might even be on our way to pick up Queenie if everything went smoothly. Realistically, I didn’t think so, but a girl can dream, can’t she?

We signed in and paid up-front, using the names Anne and Alice Martin, just as we’d been instructed.

“Here’s the house rules,” Mercer said. “This is a righteous, God-fearing Christian establishment. I don’t put up with no drinking or whoring. You two look like nice ladies, but you can never tell. So I repeat: No drinking or men in the room. And no stealing neither. Iffin’ you steal something, I’ll find you and make you pay for it.

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