Bad Boy Brawly Brown (4 page)

put his hand on her shoulder and she crumpled against his chest.

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“Is this your son we’re talkin’ about?” I asked.

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“Brawly,” she said, nodding.

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“He was workin’ for me out at the lots up till a couple’a weeks 9

ago,” John said.

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Alva shed silent tears that rolled down John’s dirty T-shirt as if it 11

were made of wax paper.

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The woman’s grief and her man sharing it moved me out of my-13

self for a moment. In that instant I saw myself, fevered and mindless, 14

reveling in these good people’s pain. But the vision passed and for a 15

long time I forgot that I’d even had it.

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“Where’d he go?”

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Alva’s hard glare was daunting but I didn’t look away.

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“That’s why we need your help, Easy,” John said. “He moved out 19

and she’s afraid —
we’re
afraid — that he might be in trouble.”

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“How old is Brawly?” I asked.

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“Twenty-three, but he’s young for his age.” The tenderness in her 22

voice was rare.

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“Twenty-three! How old are you?”

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“I had him when I was sixteen. Aldridge was the age Brawly is 25

now.”

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“Excuse me for askin’, honey, but you don’t look nowhere near 27

thirty-nine.”

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Even through that rock-hard perfection a little vanity found a 29

chink. A smile flickered on her lips and then died.

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“Why you think he’s in trouble?” I asked. “I mean at twenty-31 R

three he could just be out havin’ a good time.”

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“No, Easy. Not this boy,” John said. “He broods. He did good in 1

high school but then he got in trouble and dropped out. Now he’s in 2

wit’ a bad crowd and Alva’s worried.”

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“So you want me to find him?”

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Alva sat up. The pain in her face almost made me turn away.

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“Yes,” she said. “And maybe, somehow, help us to get him back 6

home.”

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“I’ll do what I can. Sure.”

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“Oh,” she uttered, and I did look away.

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“What kinda crowd you talkin’ about?” I asked John.

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“They call themselves urban revolutionaries or somethin’.”

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“Say what?”

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“The Urban Revolutionary Party,” Alva said. She was sitting 13

erect. Any show of weakness had been wiped away. “They also call 14

themselves the First Men.”

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“Who are they?”

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“They say that they’re freedom fighters but all they want is trou-17

ble,” she said. “Talkin’ about the church and civil rights, but when it 18

comes down to it they only want violence and revenge.”

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“Prob’ly communists,” John added.

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“He left some pamphlets they made,” Alva said. “I’ll get them for 21

you.”

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She went through a door opposite the one John and I had en-23

tered.

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“You got to do this right, Easy,” he told me when she was gone.

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“How you mean that?”

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“Brawly got to come outta this safe.”

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“How I’m supposed to promise you that if he’s runnin’ around 28

with thugs? You know yourself it’s better not even to look for ’im. Ei-29

ther he’s gonna outgrow it or it’s gonna row him under. That’s the S 30

way it is for all young black men.”

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He knew I was right.

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Alva came in with four or five cheaply printed pamphlets clutched 3

to her breast.

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“Here they are.” She made no attempt to hand them over.

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“Can I take them?” I asked.

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She swayed backward slightly. Finally John took them from her.

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“Here,” he said, handing the crumpled leaflets to me.

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“What do you want from me, Alva?” I said loud and clear.

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“I want you to find Brawly.”

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“That’s all? If he’s with these people here, you or John could go 11

do that for yourselves.”

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“I want you to talk to him, Easy,” she said. “If he saw us, he’d be 13

even angrier. I want to know that he’s okay and maybe, if he would 14

listen to you, maybe . . .”

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“Where he is is easy,” I said. “But what he’s doin’ an’ how he’s 16

doin’ takes a closer look. I’ll look him up, then come back here and 17

tell you what I think. If he’s willing to listen to reason, maybe I’ll 18

even bring him home.”

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“We gonna pay you now, Easy.” John held up his hand as if he 20

were defending himself from attack.

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“Invite me an’ the kids and Bonnie over for dinner and I’ll be 22

paid in full.”

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John laughed. “Still the same, huh, Easy?”

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“If it work, don’t fix it.” It felt good trading words with my friend.

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“Alva,” I said then. “I need two more things from you.”

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“What?”

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“First I’ma need a picture of Brawly. And next I wanna know 28

what your husband got to do with this.”

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“Nuthin’,” she said. “Aldridge don’t have nuthin’ to do with this.

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Why?”

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“I don’t know. You’re the one that brought him up. You and 1

John.”

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“He said it.” She sounded like a guilty student answering to a 3

strict teacher. “I only meant about Brawly.”

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“You think he mighta gone to his father’s house?”

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“Never.”

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“I thought you said he was a good father? That he raised 7

Brawly?”

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“Brawly ran away from Aldridge when he was fourteen. He went 9

to stay with my cousin; she was livin’ up in Riverside then. Some-10

thing happened between him and his father and he ran away. I don’t 11

think that they’ve seen each other since then.”

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“Brawly lived with his cousin? Why didn’t he come to you?”

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“That don’t have nuthin’ to do wit’ nuthin’, Easy,” John said.

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He’d come up next to Alva and put his arms around her. “That’s an-15

cient history.”

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“Uh-huh. I see. Well, if Brawly didn’t go to his father, how about 17

this cousin?”

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“No,” Alva said.

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“No what?”

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“He’s not with her.”

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“Excuse me, Miss Torres, but you don’t know where Brawly is.

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That’s why you called me.”

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“Back off, Easy,” John warned. “You got them pamphlets. We 24

told you where he’s been hangin’ out.”

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“Suppose he ain’t there? Suppose I cain’t get in there? Suppose 26

he stayin’ wit’ this cousin an’ sumpin’s wrong? You cain’t ask me to 27

do this an’ not tell me nuthin’.”

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Alva walked out again. She might have been angry but I didn’t 29

care.

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“Easy, you don’t know everything,” John said. “Alva’s had a hard 2

time, and this thing with Brawly really hurts her. It’s only been the 3

last few years that they been close again.”

4

“I can’t help if you wanna tie me up from the git-go, man.”

5

“Maybe I shouldn’ta called you then.” It was a dismissal.

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Alva had returned, again.

7

“John,” she said. “He’s right. If I want his help, I have to give him 8

what he needs.”

9

Saying that, she handed me a scrap of torn paper and an old pho-10

tograph of a six- or seven-year-old child. The boy’s hair was cut close 11

to the scalp. He was burly and had heavy features, which made him 12

seem pensive in spite of his smile.

13

“What’s this?”

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“It’s a picture of Brawly and Isolda Moore’s phone number and 15

address.”

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“This Isolda’s your cousin?”

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The thought was so distasteful to Alva that she could only nod.

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“I thought you said that she lived in Riverside?”

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“She moved to L.A. a few years ago. She sent Brawly a card with 20

her number, but he never called it.”

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“Now what about this picture?”

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“What about it?” she asked.

23

“You said that Brawly’s twenty-three.”

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“That’s the only picture I have. But it’s him. You’ll see.”

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“She’s right about that, Easy,” John said. “Brawly looks exactly 26

the same today. Only he’s bigger.”

27

“You know any place that he might hang out just for fun?” I 28

asked.

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“Brawly like to eat,” John said. “All you got to do is look for the 30 S

biggest feed bag. He likes Hambones quite a bit. That’s right down 31 R

the block from them thugs he’s wit’.”

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“Find him for me, Mr. Rawlins,” Alva said. “I know I haven’t 1

been kind to you and that you don’t have any reason to want to help 2

me. I’m sorry that I didn’t treat you right before, but from now on my 3

door will always be open to you.”

4

That open door meant more than any money John could offer 5

me. In country terms it was worth the host’s weight in gold. If she was 6

willing to pay such a high price, I wondered what the cost might be.

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5
/ NOT TEN WORDS PASSED
between John and me on the ride back to the site. He was naturally a quiet man, 3

but this silence was sullen and heavy. There was something else on 4

his mind. But whatever it was, he wasn’t sharing it with me.

5

When I was driving off I could hear him shouting orders at the 6

ex-burglars.

7

The fever was still burning in me. For the first time I thought 8

that I might have had some kind of flu. I went down three blocks of 9

dirt road to the first paved street. There I pulled over to the curb to 10

catch my breath. The February air was chilly and the sky was still 11

blue. I was like a child, so excited that it was hard to concentrate on 12

anything but sensations.

13

I knew that I had to calm down. I had to think. John called on 14 S

me because he knew that I had been among desperate men my 15 R

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whole life. I could see when the blow was coming. But I couldn’t see 1

anything if I didn’t relax.

2

I lit up a cigarette and took a deep draw. The smoke coiling 3

around my dashboard brought on the cool resolve of the snake it re-4

sembled.

5

The pamphlet was mimeographed on newsprint, folded and sta-6

pled by hand. The Urban Revolutionary Party was a cultural group, 7

it said, that sought the restitution and recognition of the builders of 8

our world — African men and women. They didn’t believe in
slave
9

laws,
that is to say, any laws imposed on black men by whites, just as 10

they didn’t accept forced military service or white political leader-11

ship. They rejected the white man’s notion of history, even the his-12

tory of Europe. But mostly they seemed perturbed about taxes as 13

they applied to social needs and services;
the distribution of wealth,
14

the blurred purple words explained,
as it applies to our labor, and the
15

dreams that we hardly dare to imagine, is woefully inadequate.

16

I’d read similar ideas before. I had read a lot in my time. Most 17

of it white man’s fictions and his histories, too. I was a sucker for 18

history.

19

A car drove up and parked while I was remembering what I’d 20

read about the plebes of ancient Rome. Two car doors slammed one 21

after the other, but I was busy wondering whether that ancient op-22

pressed people had some kind of pamphlets, or was it all word of 23

mouth?

24

But when I heard “Step out of the car,” I was dragged back to the 25

present.

26

The policemen had flanked my Pontiac. One of them had his 27

hand on his holster and the other actually had his pistol drawn. My 28