Bad Boy Brawly Brown (22 page)

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I was thinking that white America also had an army of young 8

fools like Brawly, that all the young men in all the history of the 9

world were like him. Young men fighting and dying for ideas they 10

barely understood, for rights they never possessed, for beliefs based 11

on lies.

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“I was in the army,” I said. “I know what it’s like to fight a war. So 13

believe me when I tell you that I know what you’re talking about.”

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A buzzer went off and Lakeland picked up his phone. It flashed 15

through my mind that the colonel was just talking to fill up the time, 16

that he was having his people do some kind of check on me and now 17

I was about to be arrested. I resisted the sudden urge to jump across 18

the table and strangle the patriot.

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“Yes? What?” he said. “No.” Then he looked up at me and asked, 20

“What do you know about Henry Strong?”

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The room turned cold, which meant that I had begun to sweat.

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“Only what I heard that night at the meeting,” I answered hon-23

estly. “Never even heard of him before that night.”

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“Did you know him?”

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I thought of the pictures that Knorr had of me at the First Men’s 26

storefront. Were there pictures of Strong and me at the late-night 27

diner?

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“Not really.”

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“What does that mean?”

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“It means that I don’t know anything about Strong.”

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Lakeland was suspicious of me. But he was suspicious of 2

everybody right then.

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“I have an emergency meeting to attend, Rawlins. Mona will 4

give you the addresses you need.”

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I stood up, a little surprised that I had managed to maintain my 6

freedom.

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“But don’t fuck with me,” Lakeland said.

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That was a long time ago, 1964, when most white men in suits 9

didn’t use the ghetto’s slang.

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“Don’t fuck with me,” he repeated. “Or I will burn your ass 11

down.”

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/ MERCURY HALL LIVED
on Caliburn Drive. It was 1

an ideal street for L.A. living, a road that went 2

nowhere — a short street that ran in a kind of zigzag semicircle that 3

both entered and exited on Eighty-eighth Place. All you ever saw 4

were your neighbors and the occasional motorist who’d lost his way.

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Any suspicious character caused a flurry of phone calls because 6

everyone was on their guard for trouble.

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Blesta Ridgeway-Hall and Mercury had made a beautiful home.

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Lemon trees on either side of the front door and rosebushes at the 9

curb. The grass was shaggy and just watered. It was a small house 10

with a green roof and white walls. The front door was oak with a dou-11

ble wall. The outer surface had a tree and a crescent moon cut out 12

of it.

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A curtain on a window to my left fluttered.

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“Mommy, it’s a man,” a child yelled from somewhere behind the 2

closed door.

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I had knocked on the door, just above the moon. The sound was 4

a resonant tenor drumbeat.

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I waited, counting the seconds of hesitation until the door opened.

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Blesta was about five-five with light brown curly hair, light brown 7

skin, and dark brown eyes. She was the beauty and the brains of the 8

sisters that Mercury and Chapman married.

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“Mr. Rawlins,” she said. “Mercury ain’t here.”

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“No? When’s he comin’ home?”

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“Um, I don’t know.”

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“Listen, B, I got to talk to him. But I understand if you don’t 13

want a man waitin’ in the house alone with you. I could sit out in the 14

car, no problem.”

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“I really don’t know when he gonna be home, Mr. Rawlins. You 16

know, two or three times a week him and Kenny go out for a drink and 17

a game’a snooker after work.” Blesta was almost pleading with me.

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“I’ll wait out in the car,” I said.

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“No. No, come on in. If you sit out there, all the neighbors 20

gonna be yackin’ back an’ forth till one of ’em call the police and 21

then Mercury get mad at me for gettin’ you arrested.” Blesta backed 22

away from the door and I entered the small and perfectly ordered 23

home.

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The Halls’ front door led right into the living room. Blesta had two 25

yellow chairs with a matching sofa. The plush chairs had turquoise 26

hassocks with walnut legs. The carpet was formed out of concentric 27

ovals of dark blue and light green. A six-foot avocado sapling filled 28

one corner and a big console TV sat in front of the couch.

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The picture window beside the door looked out upon my green 30 S

Pontiac. The room managed to be both peaceful and festive.

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“Boo!” little Artemus Hall shouted at me.

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The four-year-old jumped out from a doorway, yelled his scary 2

word, and then fell down laughing.

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I laughed, too. It was the funniest thing I’d seen in the past few 4

days, days that seemed like months. I caught myself before the 5

laughter turned hysterical.

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“Go get your coloring book, Arty,” Blesta said.

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“No,” he told her. And then to me, “Will you gimme a piggyback 8

ride?”

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“My back is a little sore today, partner,” I said. “But why don’t 10

you come over here and make a picture for me?”

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“Okay,” Arty chirped, and then he ran full speed out of the room.

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I sat on the couch.

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“Can I get you something, Mr. Rawlins?”

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“Could you see your way to callin’ me Easy?”

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“Yeah, I guess.”

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“You guess what?”

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“Easy.” Blesta’s smile was the axe that brought Mercury low. Her 18

whole face seemed to ignite behind that grin.

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Artemus came thundering back from his trove of toys with at 20

least six coloring books under his arm. There was one of circus per-21

formers and animals and one filled with cowboys and Indians. He 22

even had a coloring book of different kinds of houses throughout 23

history.

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I asked for a sad clown and he looked until he found one.

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Blesta had to do work elsewhere in the house, so I sat with Arty 26

while he carefully rubbed the Crayolas onto the newsprint outlines.

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“Look at this, Mr. Raw-wins,” he’d say, showing me the tangle of 28

yellow lines he’d used to fill in the clown’s upturned hands.

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And . . . “Look at this” for the red eyes or the green mouth.

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I sat there as peacefully as I had been at work earlier that morning.

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I needed peace. There were two dead men on my mind: Al-3

dridge Brown and Henry Strong.

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I tried to think of what the two men might have in common other 5

than Brawly — but nothing came to mind. Then I tried to figure 6

why the boy would want to kill either man. Again I came up blank.

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“Mr. Raw-wins, you like blue?”

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“Yes, sirree,” I said. “Blue is the color of music.”

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“Music don’t hab no color,” Arty said.

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“Not when you’re a boy,” I replied. “But when you grow up it 11

will be blue that you see when the music makes you cry.”

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Artemus gazed up at me with wondering, amazed eyes. Somehow 13

my words made him think something that stopped everything else.

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A car door slammed outside and Arty screamed, “Daddy!”

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He jumped up and ran for the door. Blesta came in from the 16

kitchen. I stood up. A few moments later the front door opened.

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“Blesta, baby, somebody’s car parked out f —” he said before 18

catching sight of me.

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Artemus grabbed onto his leg chanting, “Daddy, Daddy, 20

Daddy . . .”

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Blesta turned on that smile.

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“Hey, Merc,” I hailed, stretching out my hand.

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He shook with me but there was suspicion in his eye.

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Mercury was a shade darker and six inches shorter than I. He was 25

truly big-boned, not fat or even chubby. He had the kind of build 26

that professional boxers are trained to stay away from — powerful 27

and low to the ground.

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“Mr. Rawlins,” he said.

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“I just finished gettin’ your wife to call me Easy, Merc. Don’t 30 S

mess it up now.”

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“He said he had to talk with you, honey,” Blesta said, kissing him
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on the cheek. “I told him to wait in here ’cause old Mrs. Horner 1

would sure call the cops if he stayed out in his car.”

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“Sit in the car?” Mercury said. “Easy Rawlins don’t have to sit in 3

no car in front’a my house. You want somethin’ to drink?”

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“No thanks, Merc.”

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“What you come by for?” he asked, all smiles and openness.

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“I need to ask you a few questions,” I said.

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“Come on, Arty,” Blesta said. “Come help Mama make dinner.”

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“I wanna stay wit’ Daddy.”

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“I’m makin’ frostin’.”

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Without another word Arty picked up his coloring book and ran 11

from the room, his mother right behind him.

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I returned to the yellow sofa while Mercury perched on a tur-13

quoise hassock.

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“What you need, Easy?” he asked. “More about Brawly?”

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“In a roundabout way,” I said. “What you know about the 16

houses they buildin’ down a couple of blocks from where John’s 17

lots are?”

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“Down where they got the pink flags hangin’ from the eaves?”

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“Yeah,” I said. “How’d you know?”

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“A man got shot down there last night.”

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“Who?” I asked.

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Mercury shook his head. “All I know is that the cops come down 23

and closed up any construction on that block. They didn’t say who 24

it was.”

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“Who’s buildin’ those houses?”

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“I don’t know exactly. It’s another black investment group, 27

though. I’m pretty sure it’s one’a Jewelle’s.”

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“She got them, too, huh?”

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“Yes, sir. But I don’t know their names. We all keep pretty sepa-S 30

rate out around there.”

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“So you never been over to that site?” I asked.

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“No.”

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“How about Brawly?”

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“Maybe, yeah. If John wasn’t around, Brawly’d take him some 5

long walks, if you know what I mean. He’d ramble around lookin’ for 6

someone to talk to. You know I don’t have much patience for talkin’

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on the job. Brawly got along better with Chapman than he did 8

with me.”

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“Chapman ever tell you what Brawly was talkin’ ’bout?”

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“Just shit, man. Brawly got an opinion on everything under the 11

sun. Boy’d talk a blue streak and not say one goddamned thing.”

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“So you didn’t like workin’ with ’im too much then?”

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“Man, I don’t like workin’ construction — period,” Mercury said.

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“Matter of fact, I’m thinkin’ that I’m gonna leave this whole thing.”

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“You quittin’?”

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“Quittin’, pullin’ up stakes, an’ headin’ back down to where 17

people talk like I talk.”

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“Back to Arkansas?”

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“Maybe Texas,” Mercury said. “There’s gettin’ to be some jobs 20

down there. They havin’ what you call a oil boom.”

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“Chapman leavin’, too?”

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“What am I?” he asked. “Chapman’s keeper? Niggah can take 23

care of his own business.”

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“You ever hear about a man named Henry Strong?” I asked in 25

ambush.

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