I hit him in the back of the head. Not hard. I didn’t want him to wreck the car. "Don’t insult my intelligence, Ben. The picture of you and Mrs. Childers. You’re gonna give me that picture, now. You’re gonna give me any copies you have, and if there is a negative, I want that too. And if I hear of you ever tryin’ to contact Mrs. Childers again, I’ll kill you. Slow. You feelin’ me, Ben?"
"Yeah, man, I feel you."
"But to show you what a nice guy I am, Ben, I’m gonna let you keep the money you blackmailed outta her. All I want is that picture."
"I don’t have it with me."
"Well, where is it?"
"At my house. I can get it for you and bring it to you tonight."
"I don’t think so, Ben. Let’s just go get it now."
"I can’t go now. I don’t get off work until six. I’ll get fired if I leave now. Give me a break man."
"Give you a break." I looked at my watch. It was almost four. "I guess we’ll be test driving cars for the next couple of hours, huh, Ben."
For the next two hours, Ben chauffeured me around Brooklyn and we got better acquainted. He wasn’t a bad guy, for a blackmailer. He was ex-army, so we had something to talk about. We even knew some of the same people. If it wasn’t for the fact that he was blackmailing Mrs. Childers, we could have hung out.
Mrs. Childers. I couldn’t get her out of my mind. I wanted to see her, talk to her, get to know her. Here you are again, fallin’ hard for another man’s woman. I imagined, but still couldn’t imagine her being with him.
Once six o’clock rolled around we got in Ben’s Acura and he drove to his house. He lived in a nice house in the East New York section of Brooklyn. "Wait here, I’ll be right back," Ben said, and started to get out of the car.
"Yeah, right." I got out too.
"Wait a minute, man. My wife and kids are in there."
"What’s your point?"
"I don’t want her involved in this business."
"Good, then you’ll be a good boy and get that picture. I’d hate to have to kill your wife and kids, but I will. Now let’s go."
Ben unlocked the door to the house and we went in. The house was immaculate and smelled of dinnertime. "Your wife a good cook, Ben?"
"Yeah, good down home cook. Met her when I was stationed at Fort Mac in Georgia."
"Ben!" His wife yelled from the kitchen. "That you?"
"Yes, Renée."
"You’re home on time for a change. You must not be feelin’ well." She came out of the kitchen; she was a pretty woman. Naturally pretty, not done up, you know what I’m sayin’. No make up, no fake hair or nails. None of that. "I’m sorry, I didn’t know you had company." She came toward me with her hand out. "I’m, Renée, Ben’s wife."
"Patrick Mitchell. It’s a pleasure to meet you."
"We were just about to have dinner. Have some?"
"No, I just came to get something from Ben and then I have to go, but everything smells delicious."
"We’re having fried pork chops, baked macaroni and cheese, candied yams, collard greens, corn bread and freshly squeezed lemonade."
"Mmm, sounds good, but I really can’t. But maybe you’ll give me a rain check?"
"That’s right, honey, Mr. Mitchell has to go."
"Nonsense. You know you want to. I can see it in your eyes. You look like a man who appreciates a good meal. You married, Mr. Mitchell?"
"Please call me, Patrick. And no, I’m not married."