Read Fearless Jones for Free Online
Authors: Walter Mosley
Fearless out of jail, but there was no kindness to it. I needed
his protection and peculiar kind of smarts.
Fearless wasn’t a bright man, at least not in straightforward thinking. He only read at a sixth-grade level even though he
had finished high school. A child could beat him at checkers two times out of three. But Fearless could survive in the harshest
environments. He could tell you if a man was going to pull out a gun or cry. You could fool Fearless Jones sometimes, but
he always seemed to make the right choices when the chips were down. And he had eyes in the back of his head.
But the best thing about Fearless was the attribute he was named for; he didn’t fear anything, not death or pain or any kind
of passion. That’s why women loved him unconditionally. Because he wasn’t afraid of their fire.
MILO CAME IN at ten-thirty, but he didn’t even sit down.
“Messages?” he asked Loretta.
“Nothing to look at,” she said without looking up.
“Come on, Paris,” Milo said.
I followed him out the door into the strong smell of chickens.
Milo drove a green Ford Fairlane with bright chrome details. It was a fine car to ride in, but I missed my red Nash Rambler.
I thought about going to the cops over the car theft, but then I worried about what they’d find and what Elana would say if
she were caught.
We arrived at the county jail downtown half an hour later. Milo had set up the release by phone, so all we had to do was go
to an oak-framed window that was the only opening in a huge wall facing an empty chamber on the basement floor of the county
courthouse and jail building. A small white woman with gold-rimmed glasses sat on a high stool on the other side of the window
ledge.
“Dorothy,” Milo said in greeting.
“What is your business?” the woman asked, as if she’d never laid eyes on the ex-lawyer.
“Fine for 63J-819-PL48C.” Milo handed over my money, and Dorothy counted it.
Without jotting down a note or looking up a file she said, “Have a seat. Someone will be with you in a while.”
At the far left end of the huge plaster wall there was a small bench, just large enough for one big man or two smaller ones.
Milo and I sat side by side. I could still see the window from where I sat. Dorothy sat there placidly staring out on the
empty floor.
It was a surreal experience: the bench made to fit Milo and me, the empty room, the robot bureaucrat, and a big clock the
size ofa cargo plane’s tire above us on the wall. Eighteen minutes after we sat down a man appeared from across the hall. He must
have come out of a door, but I didn’t see it open or close.
He was a white man in an all-purpose suit made from a rugged material. He wore a white shirt but no tie and carried a worn
leather satchel. There was a large bunch of keys hanging from his belt.
“Mr. Sweet,” the man hailed when he came within five feet of us.
“Warden Kavenaugh.”
“Follow me.” Mr. Kavenaugh turned and marched across the empty space.
There was a door there. I hadn’t seen it because it was painted the same light green color as the wall. Even the door knob
was painted. We went into a hallway with a low ceiling and walls that felt like they were closing in. The hall went for quite
a long way. There were no more doors or decorations. These walls were a darker green. The floor was green too.
Finally we came to a dead end. There was a door there. This door opened onto another hallway. This underground lane had many
twists and turns, but it too was doorless and without marking. At some point the hallway widened and we found ourselves in
a largish room with a door on the opposite side. Warden Kavenaugh, a ruddy and unpleasant-looking man, knocked on this door.
When no one answered the knock, Kavenaugh muttered something sour and then began trying the hundred keys on the lock. After
about twenty, finally one fit.
We came into a hall that was all metal, like a chamber in a
his protection and peculiar kind of smarts.
Fearless wasn’t a bright man, at least not in straightforward thinking. He only read at a sixth-grade level even though he
had finished high school. A child could beat him at checkers two times out of three. But Fearless could survive in the harshest
environments. He could tell you if a man was going to pull out a gun or cry. You could fool Fearless Jones sometimes, but
he always seemed to make the right choices when the chips were down. And he had eyes in the back of his head.
But the best thing about Fearless was the attribute he was named for; he didn’t fear anything, not death or pain or any kind
of passion. That’s why women loved him unconditionally. Because he wasn’t afraid of their fire.
MILO CAME IN at ten-thirty, but he didn’t even sit down.
“Messages?” he asked Loretta.
“Nothing to look at,” she said without looking up.
“Come on, Paris,” Milo said.
I followed him out the door into the strong smell of chickens.
Milo drove a green Ford Fairlane with bright chrome details. It was a fine car to ride in, but I missed my red Nash Rambler.
I thought about going to the cops over the car theft, but then I worried about what they’d find and what Elana would say if
she were caught.
We arrived at the county jail downtown half an hour later. Milo had set up the release by phone, so all we had to do was go
to an oak-framed window that was the only opening in a huge wall facing an empty chamber on the basement floor of the county
courthouse and jail building. A small white woman with gold-rimmed glasses sat on a high stool on the other side of the window
ledge.
“Dorothy,” Milo said in greeting.
“What is your business?” the woman asked, as if she’d never laid eyes on the ex-lawyer.
“Fine for 63J-819-PL48C.” Milo handed over my money, and Dorothy counted it.
Without jotting down a note or looking up a file she said, “Have a seat. Someone will be with you in a while.”
At the far left end of the huge plaster wall there was a small bench, just large enough for one big man or two smaller ones.
Milo and I sat side by side. I could still see the window from where I sat. Dorothy sat there placidly staring out on the
empty floor.
It was a surreal experience: the bench made to fit Milo and me, the empty room, the robot bureaucrat, and a big clock the
size ofa cargo plane’s tire above us on the wall. Eighteen minutes after we sat down a man appeared from across the hall. He must
have come out of a door, but I didn’t see it open or close.
He was a white man in an all-purpose suit made from a rugged material. He wore a white shirt but no tie and carried a worn
leather satchel. There was a large bunch of keys hanging from his belt.
“Mr. Sweet,” the man hailed when he came within five feet of us.
“Warden Kavenaugh.”
“Follow me.” Mr. Kavenaugh turned and marched across the empty space.
There was a door there. I hadn’t seen it because it was painted the same light green color as the wall. Even the door knob
was painted. We went into a hallway with a low ceiling and walls that felt like they were closing in. The hall went for quite
a long way. There were no more doors or decorations. These walls were a darker green. The floor was green too.
Finally we came to a dead end. There was a door there. This door opened onto another hallway. This underground lane had many
twists and turns, but it too was doorless and without marking. At some point the hallway widened and we found ourselves in
a largish room with a door on the opposite side. Warden Kavenaugh, a ruddy and unpleasant-looking man, knocked on this door.
When no one answered the knock, Kavenaugh muttered something sour and then began trying the hundred keys on the lock. After
about twenty, finally one fit.
We came into a hall that was all metal, like a chamber in a
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