The Right Mistake Read Online Free PDF

to be a woman whisperin’ in his ear.”
Socrates barked out a laugh.
“Women get fooled by you men,” Cassie countered, maybe not as certain as she had been before.
“But it’s men that’s the biggest fools,” Socrates told her. “You not gonna deny that are you, Miss Wheaton?”
“Women want to bring things together,” Cassie argued. “Men take that goodness and drag it in the dirt.”
“Baby, please,” Billy said, holding his hands as if in prayer. “You know women out there right now fluffin’ up their nest with their girlfriends’ feathers. You know it’s true.”
“I got to go with the gambler on that one,” Leanne said. Her voice was high and sharp. She wore a mid-calf checkered skirt and a navy sweater for a blouse. You could see the outline of her ribs in the dark fabric.
“You see that, Socco?” Billy said. “We ain’t even had our meetin’ and you done already solved the problem of men and women.”
Upon hearing this Cassie sucked on her tooth and walked off toward the big sitting room.
“Who else is comin’, Mr. Fortlow?” Leanne asked.
“Mustafa Ali from the soup kitchen. Marianne Lodz . . .”
“The singer?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“How you get her to come here?”
“I met her once and she gimme her numbah.”
Leanne knew that there was probably more to the story. But she also knew that Socrates would never tell. She’d met the big ex-con in her office. He was always bringing dope addicts and winos to avail themselves of the private and government services she represented. He was in her place just about every week until she retired the year before. Socrates never divulged a secret, bragged, or gossiped in her presence.
“You already met Antonio and there’s a young man named Zeal . . .”
“Ronald Zeal?”
Socrates nodded.
“Why you wanna have somebody like that in your house? He’s a killer.”
“I’m a killer, Miss Northford,” Socrates said. “If I was to tell a man he couldn’t come in my presence because he was a criminal I’d have to put my own self out.”
“He shot two innocent boys right down the block from me,” Leanne said, dismissing Socrates’ claim with her intensity. “Shot ’em down in the street. You know I watched them boys grow inta young men.”
“I’ll understand if you don’t wanna stay, Lee,” Socrates said. “Billy?”
“Yeah?”
“How long?”
“It’s just sittin’ now. I’ll put the cornbread in the oven twenty minutes before we eat.”
Socrates nodded and walked past Leanne, leaving her standing in the middle of the kitchen while Billy chopped raw onion on the butcher’s block cutting board.
2.
    Antonio Peron was a carpenter. He had a limp and fifty-five years in Southern California. He was standing next to the dining table when Socrates came in.
    The Mexican-American was short and well proportioned, for his age. He had dark amber skin and salt and pepper stubble on his jaw. He wore white carpenter’s pants and a dark blue, long sleeved work shirt. As Socrates approached he smiled.
    “This is some table you got here,” Peron said. “One solid piece of wood. That tree must have been a mother. Thirteen and a half feet?”
    “Fourteen seven,” Socrates said proudly. “I got it from the basement of House of God Church when they knocked it down. Had to trim some’a the rot and damage.”
    “I like that it’s irregular. Like it was a man who had some living behind him.”
“Or a woman,” Cassie Wheaton put in.
“Or a woman,” Peron parroted. When he smiled the gold rims of his teeth glittered.
Cassie was sitting close to the head of the long and asymmetrical table. She smiled at the carpenter and he ducked his head.
There was a knock at the front door. Before Socrates could make it Darryl, the lanky teenager, ran from the den, where he’d been playing Grand Theft Auto on a portable screen.
He flung open the front door on Marianne Lodz and another woman. Even from the back Socrates could make out how excited the boy was