Angel Heart Page #6

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poking his snitch in everything.

I don't want to sound nosy, but...

- He's dead, Mr. Angel.

And if he isn't, he is to me.

He must've hurt you pretty bad!

We all have our scars.

I don't know too much about the guy, but

he must've been stupid to let you go.

Lies and cruelty

come very easily to some people.

Pity, I really would've liked

to have gotten my palm read.

Then I could have held

your hand just a little longer.

I don't think you'd like what I see.

Very pretty necklace!

You got any High John

the Conquerer root?

- Powdered or hanging?

I'm not really sure.

Caught in the rain, eh?

Two roots, $1.20.

I have a question.

I had an acquaintance in Harlem

who used to deal in the root.

Name was Evangeline. Heard of her?

Practically everyone around here is

called Evangeline. After the poem.

Do you know it?

Yeah, I know it.

This acquaintance had a store in Harlem

and it was the same name:

"Carter."

- Everybody uses the name, mister.

Like "Howard Johnson,"

but this is the real place.

Her name was Proudfoot.

Evangeline Proudfoot?

I knew her. She used to come back all

the time when she lived in New York.

Do you know where she is now?

- She got sick and died.

She went back to the Holy Shelter

swamp and was buried in Armandville.

She was waiting on some fellah.

- Just like in the poem? - Yep.

$1.20.

Who was the guy?

- She never told.

Okay, thanks.

A week, you say?

- At the most.

What is it?

Why are you crying?

We're going to Grandma. What's there?

Grandma.

Grandma.

Let's go.

Give me your hand.

I'm sorry!

I got these off a guy in Coney Island.

Some crazy guy.

I'm sorry.

Stop crying.

I was hoping

I could talk with your mother.

You're a little late.

Did you know her?

No, I never met her but I was hoping

she could answer some questions for me.

Are you a cop?

No, my name is Harry Angel.

I'm a private detective.

So what's...?

- Epiphany.

Your mama left you

with a very beautiful name.

And not much else.

Actually, I'm looking for

a friend of your mother's,

a guy called Johnny Favorite.

I met all her friends

but never anyone called Favorite.

Sh*t!

I got a thing about chickens.

This Favorite was friends with your

mother in New York city before the war.

Well, she never told me.

Mama had a lot of guys. She liked men.

How about a guy called Toots Sweet?

He was a friend of Favorite. Know him?

- No. - He was a good guitar player.

I was going to catch his act tonight.

I'm going to be

staying in town, in a hotel.

If you remember anything

that might help me,

give me a call.

You're a very pretty girl, Epiphany,

your name suits you.

These crazy chickens!

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