The Right Mistake by Walter Mosley Read Free Book Online Page B

Wan Tai asked. “What about Mr. Zetel? Is what he’s doing better than you, Mr. Zeal?”
“I ain’t talkin’ to no Chinaman,” Ron said, his eyes glued to the white bowl between his fists.
“Then let me ask you,” Socrates said. “Who’s doin’ better for our people—you or Chaim?”
“That don’t count, man. He a rich Jew. I’m a poor man been pushed down by him and his kind from the gitgo.”
“I’m a po’ niggah too, brothah,” Socrates said. “Me an’ Billy an’ Darryl an’ Tony here. Po’ don’t mean helpless. Po’ don’t mean stupid. You could be down in Mustafa’s soup kitchen tomorrow helpin’ feed people got even less than you. Naw, man, Chaim’s money ain’t what makes his work good.”
“Niggah,” Leanne Northford said again.
“Bitch, you bettah shet yo’ mouth,” Ron told her. “You could get hurt.”
“She just sayin’ what she sees, Ron,” Billy Psalms said. “You call yo’self a niggah.”
“Ain’t the same word,” Zeal said.
“Maybe it is, man. Maybe she mean exactly what you do.” Billy Psalms smiled and shook his head the way he did when he was about to slap down the winning bone in dominoes.
“You can kill who you wanna kill, Ron,” Socrates said. “Shoot ’em in the back if you want. I cain’t stop you and I wouldn’t try. I won’t condemn you neither ’cause for every bad thing you done I done five. But I just want two things from you.”
“What’s that?”
“For you to see the hate you stir up for what it is and for you to answer the question of why you can insult my Jewish friend here when he’s tryin’ to do right.”
The rigidity in Ron Zeal’s arms released. He sat back and Darryl handed him a Dixie Cup filled with Blue Angel red wine.
“I ain’t sayin’ I’m bettah than him. I’m just sayin’ he got it easier. An’ I don’t care who hates me. That’s their business.”
Socrates, who was still standing, looked at the angry youth and then at Leanne, whose eyes were alive with rage—then Socrates smiled. “Billy,” he said, “I think it’s time to bring out that cherry cobbler you made.”
While the gambler moved away Cassie said, “You still haven’t answered the question, Socrates.”
“What’s that, Cassie?”
“Why are we here?”
“We here to say what we just said.”
“That’s no answer,” she observed, gesturing around the table with an upturned hand. “Nothing we said here tonight is going to save the world from crumbling.”
“I don’t know about that. I think you seen things tonight don’t happen every day. Just the people at this table and the things they said make this night special. Next Thursday Billy said he’s gonna put together some Texas chili make you cry. I expect to see all’a you back here again.”
5.
    Billy carried out a large Pyrex pan of cooked cherry filling with a dozen short biscuits floating in the red. Darryl followed him, bringing out a stack of smaller bowls while Luna collected the dishes and silverware used for the gumbo. Socrates served this time, passing the dessert around to his left.
    Cassie and Antonio made coffee together.
Zeal did not partake of the desert—but he didn’t leave either. When the food and drinks were all served the talk became
light again. Billy told more jokes. Mustafa conversed across the table with Wan Tai.
    “Me an’ Darryl take care of the dishes,” Socrates was saying to Billy when the front door blew off its hinges and a dozen cops in riot gear rushed into the room.
“Nobody move!” a muffled order came.
    The host turned toward the advancing army, watching the short-barreled rifles pointed at them.
Some police flanked the table in a military formation while others of them rushed into the building, moving through the kitchen. Socrates could hear them stomping on the floor above.
Amid the drumbeats and the strained faces came a tall man dressed for battle but not bearing a weapon. He was tall and slender, fair-skinned and in charge. He wore