Bad Boy Brawly Brown (15 page)

6

“It’s just instant,” I said. “That and Cremora.”

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“Perfect.”

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“So what do want from me?” I asked.

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Knorr’s green eyes settled on the lawn outside my back window.

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He was beaming that cold smile.

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“There’s blood boiling under the surface of Watts,” he said.

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The subtle hiss of the gas jets accented his words with a sinister 13

edge.

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“What’s that supposed to mean?”

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“The Negroes are getting anxious for some changes,” he said.

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“They want to end de facto segregation. They want better jobs. They 17

want to be treated like war heroes after coming home from World 18

War Two and Korea. Some even question going into the army and 19

fighting for their country.”

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I couldn’t tell if there was sarcasm or concern in his voice. Like 21

his smile, his tone was enigmatic.

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“That’s outside my field of expertise, Officer Knorr. I’m a janitor.

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I wax floors and empty trash bins. Boiling blood is some other de-24

partment. And I already did my stint in the army.”

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Knorr smiled.

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The kettle whistled. It began with a weak chirp that quickly be-27

came a scream, like the emergency that Knorr feared.

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I poured our coffees into powder blue mugs with red roses sten-29

ciled on them. Feather had picked them out at a small shop we vis-30 S

ited on a day trip to the little Swedish town of Solvang, just inland 31 R

from Santa Barbara.

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Knorr sat across from me, smiling through the rising steam. He 1

reached into his breast pocket and came out with a small stack of 2

photographs. He handed them to me.

3

They were grainy black-and-white shots, slightly blurred because 4

the subjects were unaware of the photographer and so moved unex-5

pectedly at times. There were many different people in the snap-6

shots, but the constant was me: me talking to Handsome Conrad 7

and skinny Xavier Bodan, me standing outside of the Urban Revolu-8

tionary Party’s front door, me running out the back, pulling Tina by 9

the arm and rushing toward a Cadillac that I knew was green.

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The fever I’d felt two days earlier returned as a chill. For a mo-11

ment a dark part of my mind wanted to strangle Officer Knorr and 12

then make a run for the state line.

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“I showed those pictures around and came up with your name, 14

Mr. Rawlins.”

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“Why you wanna single me out?”

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“I know everybody else’s name. Christina Montes, Jasper Xavier 17

Bodan, and Anton Breland, who also goes by the name Conrad. I 18

could lay a name and a few aliases on everybody at that meeting.

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Everybody but you.”

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I was memorizing the names I didn’t already know while trying 21

to keep my breath from driving me to violence.

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“What’s the problem, Officer? Is it against some law to go to a po-23

litical meeting?”

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“What were you doing there?”

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“Why?”

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“It could have some bearing on a case that I’ve been assigned to.”

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“What case?”

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“We have reason to believe that these political activists are plan-29

ning some kind of violent protest. Maybe even an armed attack of S 30

some kind. I mean to keep that from happening.”

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It was impossible to read behind that cool expression or Knorr’s 2

soft words. Did he believe what he was asking me? Or was this some 3

complex ploy to trip me up or to somehow vilify those children?

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“I went there looking for a young man named Brawly Brown,”

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I said.

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“Why?”

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“Because his mother was worried about him and wanted me to 8

make sure that he was healthy and safe.”

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Knorr winked at me. I didn’t know if it was a nervous tic or a sign 10

that he was happy with my answer.

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“Did you find him?”

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“I saw him at the opposite end of room. Then your armored 13

guard came through the windows and started breaking heads.”

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“That wasn’t me. That was Captain Lorne. He thinks you can 15

beat the Negroes by dispersing them. I know better.”

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Slowly a picture of the internal man was coming clear.

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“So you just take pictures while he abuses our rights?” I said.

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“Rights,” Knorr said. “Those people don’t respect what America 19

has given them. They don’t deserve rights.”

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“That’s not for you to decide, Officer. Rights are guaranteed by 21

the Constitution, not judged by some messenger boy from city hall.”

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If it was possible Knorr’s green eyes got even cooler.

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“This boy Brown,” he said, “is at the center of the trouble I’m 24

working on. He’s been in contact with the people who are planning 25

an insurrection.”

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I wondered if what Knorr was saying was true. On top of that, I 27

wondered if he believed what he said.

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“Why you gonna come in here and tell me all this, Officer? You 29

don’t know me. I might be Khrushchev’s man in L.A., for all you 30 S

know. I could be lookin’ for Brawly to sign up for the war.”

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“I’ve talked to a few people about you, Mr. Rawlins. Easy — that’s
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what they call you, isn’t it? You have a rap sheet but not for this kind 1

of stuff. You work one-on-one. Sometimes you’re on the wrong side, 2

but you’re a loyal American. I know your war record.”

3

“The war is over,” I said. “You won and I didn’t.”

4

“You don’t believe that shit,” Knorr said. “If you did, you 5

wouldn’t have Jesus and Feather. . . .”

6

When he mentioned my children’s names a chilly nausea in-7

vaded my intestines.

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“You wouldn’t have that job at Sojourner Truth Junior High 9

School. I heard that you even intervened when there was gang vio-10

lence at your school; you called in the cops and gave them the in-11

formation they needed to keep a gang war from happening.”

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“What do you want from me, Officer?”

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Knorr took a dirty white card from his pocket and placed it on 14

the table.

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“That’s my number,” he said. “Call me when you got something.

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As an informant we can come up with probably a thousand dollars’

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reward. And as an American you’ll be helping your people and mine.”

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I didn’t touch the card, nor did I look at it directly.

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“Is that it?”

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“Yes.”

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“Then why don’t you leave?”

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He gave me a one-eighth nod and frigid grin, then got to his feet 23

and moved toward the door. As I watched him go, my mind went 24

back to Mouse.

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“Kill him,” my friend whispered from the grave.

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/ THAT AFTERNOON FOUND ME
on Grand Avenue, just north of Sunset. The address that Jack-3

son had given me was a big brick edifice that looked more like a 4

factory than an apartment building. The entrance was small, but the 5

bell board had more than three dozen tenants listed. I went up and 6

down the list until settling on the name b. terrell. I thought about 7

the letters for a minute and then remembered Brawly’s high school 8

girlfriend.

9

B. Terrell’s apartment was on the sixth floor. I was breathing hard 10

by the time I was through the third flight of stairs. By the time I 11

reached her door, I had to stop and catch my breath.

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I knocked four times. The hall was empty and the lock was sus-13

ceptible to the three playing cards that I carried in my wallet.

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B. Terrell’s apartment was of a monotonous, almost penal de-15 R

sign. It was made up of four rooms that were all of equal size. Living
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room, kitchen, toilet, and bedroom. Each chamber was cube-shaped, 1

and together they formed a bigger square. Each room had two doors 2

that led to two other rooms. The living room was too small and the 3

bathroom too large. The kitchen would have been hard to move 4

around in. Only the bedroom really worked as it was supposed to.

5

The front door led into the living room. On a small coffee table 6

was a framed photograph of a younger Brawly arm-in-arm with a 7

blond-haired white girl. She had the healthy look of a Scandinavian, 8

not pretty but handsome enough. They were smiling and obviously 9

in love, at least at that moment. There was mail on the kitchen table 10

addressed to BobbiAnne Terrell. In the bathroom medicine cabinet 11

there were four boxes of Trojan condoms and a jar of petroleum 12

jelly.

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Under the bed there was a heavy metal box painted drab green.

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In it I found three carbines, six .45-caliber pistols, and two M-1 rifles.

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The top shelf of the closet had stacks of ammunition for those guns 16

and some others.

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I took one of the pistols, loaded it, and put it in my windbreaker 18

pocket. I was halfway through the living room, on my way to the 19

door, when the lock jiggled and the front door opened.

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She was surprised to see a big black man in the middle of the 21

room, but not enough to scream or run. I was surprised, too.

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“Hello,” she said, sounding more curious than afraid.

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She looked just as she did in the photograph. The dress was even 24

the same, a coral-colored one-piece that buttoned down the front.

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She had a nice figure, if you liked your women on the beefy side.

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Her face was wide and freckled in the center.

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“Hi,” I said.

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“Who are you?”

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“Easy,” I said. “Easy Rawlins.”

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“What are you doing in my apartment?”

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“Looking for Brawly Brown. The door was unlocked and I didn’t 2

have anywhere else to be, so I walked in and called his name. I was 3

just about to leave when you came in.”

4

“Why are you looking for Brawly?”

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“Lotta people looking for him,” I said. “But I’m representing 6

Alva, his mother.”

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BobbiAnne checked the doorknob but there was no way to tell if 8

it had been unlocked when I got there.

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“I’ve looked everywhere,” I said, intending to calm her with con-10

versation. “The First Men, at his cousin Isolda’s —”

11

“You here for her?” BobbiAnne said with a flash of anger.

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“No. I just looked in at her. She’s the one who gave me your 13

name.”

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“That bitch,” BobbiAnne said.

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“Why you say that?” I asked.

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“Not a bitch but just sick,” the Nordic girl amended. She moved 17

into the room, put at ease, I guess, because I stayed stationary.

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“Sick how?”

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“She used Brawly.”

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“Yeah?”

21

“What are you going to do when you find Brawly?” she asked, 22

changing the flow of the conversation.

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I moved to a straight-backed wooden chair, indicating that I 24

wanted to extend our conversation.

25

“The boy’s in trouble,” I said. “The police think he’s going to go 26

ballistic with politics, Isolda thinks he might have killed his father, 27

and Alva just thinks that he’s runnin’ with the wrong crowd. For all I 28

know, they might all be right.”

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Something I said got to the girl. A worried look invaded her op-30 S

timistic features, and she took to the small sofa opposite me.

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“Are you here to turn him over to the police?”

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“I told you already that I’m here for his mother,” I said. “Moth-1

ers don’t turn their babies over to the cops.”

2

“How did you find me?”

3

“That’s the second time you changed the subject,” I said. “Not 4