MAMA WAS at the table almost before I sat down. She handed me a cheap white business envelope, the top neatly slit open. The note was typed:
Burke: Be by your phone at 11:00 tonight. Don't have anybody take a message. Be there yourself. Wesley
I drew a narrow breath through my nose. Let it out. Again. Feeling the fear-jolts dart around inside my chest, looking for a place to land. I lit a cigarette, holding the note against the match flame, watching it turn to ash. Wishing I'd never seen it.
"You see him?"
"A boy. Street boy. Around five o'clock this morning."
"He say anything?"
"Not see me. Push this under the front door, run away."
"You opened it?"
She bowed. It was okay. I knew why she told me to come in. She never met Wesley, but she knew the name. Every outlaw in the city did.
"Burke? What you do?"
"Answer the phone when it rings," I told her.