Bad Boy Brawly Brown (16 page)

polite, but I’ll tell you that I wasn’t looking for you. I asked around 5

about Brawly and heard that he had a girlfriend lived in this build-6

ing. Once I saw your name, I knew it had to be you because Isolda 7

told me that you were Brawly’s friend in high school. Now can you 8

help me find the younger Mr. Brown?”

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BobbiAnne had big, upstanding breasts and broad shoulders, 10

crystal blue eyes and a stomach that protruded just slightly. All of this 11

worked to make her more attractive as the moments went by. She 12

was the kind of girl who would turn beautiful on you overnight.

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Her face was worried, but still she didn’t seem fragile or vulnera-14

ble. I liked that.

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“I don’t know where Brawly is,” she said. “But he’s not in any 16

trouble that I know of. Nothing except that his mother doesn’t un-17

derstand him.”

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“Have you talked to him in the last day or so?”

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“He called. He said that he was going to come by but first he had 20

to see a . . . a friend.”

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“Anton Breland?” I said, remembering the alias Conrad some-22

times used.

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“How do you know him?” For the first time Miss Terrell’s face 24

showed real concern.

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“Met him. He pulled out a pistol on me and left me stranded 26

three miles away from my car.”

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“Oh. I didn’t like him when I first met him,” she said. “But him 28

and Brawly have gotten pretty close. For the past six months he’s really 29

been getting into the black thing. He said that he realized that black S 30

people had to get the white man off their backs.”

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“Is that when he left you?” I asked.

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“What do you mean?”

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“Well,” I said, “I didn’t see his name downstairs.”

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“We never lived together.”

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“So Brawly isn’t in any kind of trouble?” I asked.

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“No,” she said in an uncertain tone.

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“I can’t help him if you don’t tell me.”

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“I don’t even know you.”

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“The question is,” I said, “do you know Brawly?”

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“What’s that supposed to mean?”

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“It means that if the police come in here and find those guns up 12

under your bed, they’re gonna drag you off to jail. Especially when 13

they find those army-issue M-ones.”

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“You searched my house?”

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“Listen to me, girl,” I said. “I don’t care about you or those guns.

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I ain’t a cop and I don’t concern myself with politics. All I want is to 17

figure out how Brawly is doing and get him outta trouble if I can. If 18

you want to sleep with a thirty-year jail sentence up under your bed, 19

it’s okay with me. But if you know what’s good for you, you’ll tell me 20

how I can get to Brawly and talk some sense to him.”

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“I don’t know anything, Mr. Rawlins,” she said.

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“Are those his guns under your bed?”

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She didn’t answer that question.

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“What are they for?” I tried again

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“Just . . . just for self-defense, just in case.”

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“Have you touched them?” I asked.

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“Touched what?”

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“Those guns.”

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“No.”

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“Don’t,” I said, and then stood up.

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BobbiAnne’s whole body jerked at my sudden movement. It was 1

the first real evidence I had that she was afraid of me.

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“Brawly’s in trouble,” I said. “And if you aren’t careful, he’ll drag 3

you down with him.”

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“I haven’t done anything wrong,” she said.

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“If you can get a judge to believe that, you might only get fifteen 6

years.”

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17
/ ANTON BRELAND
was in the directory. I looked him up in a phone booth at the back of a Thrifty’s 3

Drug Store. It was about two in the afternoon on a Monday. There 4

could be no better evidence that I was losing my grip on the straight 5

and narrow. As I sat there looking at the name in the white pages, I 6

tried to convince myself that I had done my duty by John and it was 7

time to go back to work. There was no reason for me to follow revo-8

lutionaries and murderers. Bonnie would be home in thirty-six 9

hours. My life could be sweet once again.

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But then I realized that in the past few days my waking hours had 11

not been tinged with remorse about the death of my friend. Only my 12

dreams revealed these feelings. As long as I moved forward trying 13

to unravel the trail of Brawly Brown, I was in a kind of safety zone 14 S

where guilt couldn’t touch me.

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I lit up a cigarette and tore out the page.

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A
NTON LIVED ON SHENANDOAH,
a small tributary off of Slau-3

son, in a house that looked like a brick bunker. The lawn was 4

neat but dead. The four-inch-high grass was straw colored. I imag-5

ined that Anton first lost interest in the lawn about fourteen or fifteen 6

months before, but it continued to grow because it was the middle of 7

the rainy season. With the coming of summer, the lawn died, leaving 8

what looked like a pygmy wheat field.

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The driveway was empty and there was no green Caddy to be 10

seen anywhere, so I decided to wait in my car awhile.

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The house in that field of dead grass looked to me like many 12

abandoned structures I had come across on the outskirts of Berlin at 13

the end of the war. Not important enough to bomb or burn but too 14

dangerous to live in.

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I lit up another cigarette and waited.

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It was winter in Los Angeles, the only time of year that the smog 17

let up. Winds came in from the desert and cleared the skies. That 18

same wind made the clouds a panorama of ever changing sculptures 19

suspended in a brilliant blue background. One moment there’d be a 20

one-eyed lion, prowling out toward the mountains, then it would 21

transform into a multi-armed anteater rearing up on its hind legs to 22

display clawed limbs.

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Those drifting giants made me smile. I was too small for them to 24

notice, just a black dot beneath their domain. It gave me the illusion 25

of safety.

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When I saw Anton/Conrad’s green Cadillac drive up and him 27

get out so nonchalantly, I realized that all safety is an illusion.

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Conrad walked into the yard as if he were minor royalty living as 29

well as could be expected among the poor. While he strolled toward S 30

his front door I considered my next move. Conrad had a gun and was R 31

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reckless with it. He made decisions without regard for the security of 2

his friends, bystanders, or even himself. I couldn’t just ring the bell; 3

he might shoot me through the door. On the other hand, walking up 4

to him also caused problems. He was fool enough to pull out a gun 5

in broad daylight. I might have been able to disarm him, but then his 6

neighbors might see our struggle and intervene.

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While I was wondering what my next move should be, a white 8

man emerged from a brand-new Ford parked halfway up the block. I 9

had noted the car but not the man in it. He was obviously waiting for 10

Conrad, too. The man wore a comic-book green suit and moved 11

stealthily at first and then very quickly.

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Conrad had just opened his door when he sensed or maybe 13

heard the white man moving behind him. Before he could turn 14

around fully, the white man hit Conrad in the temple and the arro-15

gant young man fell into his house. The door closed quickly behind 16

them, and I was left to consider the new situation.

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My first thought was to drive down to the corner, call the police 18

from some phone booth, and drive away. Even in the days when I 19

was a fixture of the shadier side of Watts, I knew better than to get in-20

volved with the business of the streets.

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And this was definitely street business. The white man in the 22

green suit wasn’t a cop or a revolutionary, nor was he a member of 23

the Klan or a jealous husband. He was there to perform a sort of 24

criminal bookkeeping that used rope instead of ledger paper and 25

brass knuckles instead of an adding machine.

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I should have left but I had another kind of business at hand.

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There was my friend John and his need. There was the fever burning 28

like a funeral pyre over Mouse’s death in my mind.

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I waited for fifteen seconds or so and then went to the house next 30 S

door to Anton’s. I pushed the buzzer but no one answered. I knocked 31 R

loudly, just in case.

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This house was a ranch-style wooden building. Freshly painted 1

with a beautiful and delicate lawn surrounding it. The backyard had 2

a large vegetable plot but most of the plants were dead. Only one 3

hardy tomato bush still held about half of its green leaves — one 4

medium-sized deep red fruit hanging heavily from an upper branch.

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There was a nervous hunger gnawing at my gut, so I plucked the 6

tomato. California supermarkets never had tomatoes that tasted so 7

sweet. They were all grown in hothouses without the benefit of nature.

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While still swallowing the sweet flesh, I picked up a terra-cotta 9

pot from the back porch of the ranch house and leapt over the waist-10

high wire fence that separated Conrad’s lot. I went silently to his 11

back door and pressed my ear against it.

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“Please!” a man shouted. “I’ma have it by Sunday. By Sunday 13

mornin’, I swear.”

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There was a thud of a blow being delivered, then a groan, and 15

then the heavier thud of a body falling to the floor.

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“Mr. London don’t wanna hear your nigger jive, Anton,” another 17

voice said.

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Conrad groaned again, making me suspect that he’d received a 19

kick in the ribs.

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“Sunday, man. Sunday, I swear,” Conrad whined. “It’s all set up.”

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Another thud. Another groan.

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“I know you gonna pay, nigger,” the white man said. “I know be-23

cause after I burn your ass, you won’t ever forget to pay anybody ever 24

again.”

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Maybe, if the thug stuck to his regular job, that is, a sound beat-26

ing for a late payment, I might have stood by until he was through.

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My best bet was to wait for him to soften Anton up. And then, when 28

he’d gone, I could come in and ask a few questions about Brawly.

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But anything having to do with ropes or fire when it comes to blackS 30

white relations was bound to set my teeth on edge.

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Conrad’s back porch was just a door and two concrete steps. I 2

smashed the pot on the stairs and then plastered my back against the 3

bricks. The first effect was complete silence, then fast steps coming 4

toward the door. When he rushed out I caught him on the side of the 5

jaw with a short right that had all of the evil intentions of Archie 6

Moore. I followed with a left and then two more right hooks. The fi-7

nal punch missed because the white man in the ridiculous suit was 8

already on the ground. His eyes were open but I doubt if they saw 9

very much.

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I lifted him by his garish lapels and let go long enough to con-11

nect with a powerful right hand. I kicked him twice when he was 12

down and out. I didn’t kick him out of revenge or rage, at least mostly 13

those weren’t the reasons. This was a dangerous man who knew how 14

to inflict pain and, probably, death. The impact of those body blows 15

would slow him up even if he regained consciousness.