Lonely Crusade (49 page)

“Now what’s it all about?” Smitty asked bluntly.

Automatically Lee said: “I don’t know anything about it.”

“Listen, Lee, we’re on your side,” Smitty said patiently. “We must know. Eight of our best men have signed sworn affidavits to alibi you, and we must know what happened.”

Lee took a breath, and without looking at either of them, said: “Luther did it.”

“Then you were framed!” He turned triumphantly to Hannegan. “I knew Lee wasn’t involved in this.”

But Hannegan was not so easily satisfied. “How were you framed, Gordon?”

While his gaze sought furtively for a place to hide, Lee searched his mind for a lie. “The Forks woman accused me to cover for Luther. It was a Communist—”

“Stop lying,” Hannegan said, cutting him off. “No one was covering for McGregor. McGregor’s dead.”

“Dead!” His gaze touched Hannegan’s cold, fixed stare. “God!” As the breath ran out of him. So Luther’s white folks had not covered for him after all. “Was he shot?”

“Resisting arrest! Now let us have it. We can’t help you until we know what happened. And you were not framed.”

“Well—no, I wasn’t exactly framed.” Lee could not look upon the slow growth of bewilderment in Smitty’s face. “I—” hesitating as the guilt moved in—“I—I was with him.”

Smitty stared, his broad flabby face caught in startled disbelief.

But Hannegan coldly asked: “Had you gone with him to Dixon’s house?”

“Well—” there was no escaping—“Yes.”

“For money?”

“Well—yes. He came by the hotel and said Foster had some money for me—”

Smitty walked across the room and struck the wall a resounding blow with his open palm. When he looked about, his eyes were sick with disappointment in his mottled red face.

“Lee, goddamnit, why?”

“I don’t know, Smitty, I don’t know.” Lee could not meet his eyes. “I was pretty low, I guess.”

“You and the woman argued?”

“Well—it wasn’t just that. It was everything. I had gone so far I thought maybe I just may as well go all the way, I guess.”

The awful disappointment in Smitty’s eyes now echoed in his voice. “I didn’t think you would do that, Lee.”

“I didn’t either, Smitty,” Lee honestly replied.

“Let’s learn what happened first,” Hannegan said.

“Well—” Now as if he had gone dead of all emotion, Lee reported in detail everything that had happened from the time Luther had approached him in the hotel until his arrest at Jackie’s. All the workings of Smitty’s slow-thinking mind, the amazement and repugnance and incredulity and slow growth of aversion, showed in his changing expressions; but Hannegan’s face retained its cold composure.

“What happened before that?” he asked. “McGregor didn’t just walk in and state his proposition coldly. What had you done to lead up to it?”

“Well—that morning I asked Foster for a job. But I only wanted a job,” Lee added in defense. “I didn’t go to him to sell out the union. That was his idea.”

He looked up for Smitty to believe him and for a moment their gazes held. And when Smitty saw the pain of guilt in Lee’s dark face, he could not help but feel sorry for him again.

“Why didn’t you come to me, fellow? Why didn’t you tell me what was troubling you?”

“Well—I had been to you, Smitty.”

Smitty’s face took on a hurt expression. “I don’t understand you, fellow.”

“I don’t always understand myself,” Lee Gordon said.

Again Hannegan brought the conversation back to actuality. “Are you certain you didn’t leave fingerprints, Gordon?”

“I don’t think so. It seems as if we wiped everything thoroughly.” For an instance he was touched by the irony of Luther’s insistence on this. “What I didn’t do, Luther did.”

“And you’re certain there’s nothing to connect you with the crime?”

“I can’t be certain. I was pretty upset. I can’t remember very well what happened after Luther stabbed him.”

“I suppose I’d better talk to the Forks girl,” Smitty said.

Hannegan shook his head. “I don’t believe that will be necessary. I should think that by this time she will be far away.”

“Perhaps, but I can check.”

“You can, but her testimony is of no importance of itself. The only thing we worry about now is the discovery of evidence to place Gordon on the scene.” Now when he turned his gaze on Lee, a troubled curiosity leaked through the clinical aloofness of his manner, and he wondered at the good Smitty saw in him. “Let’s hope the postman doesn’t ring again, Gordon. You’ll hurt many good people worth far more than you.”

“Well—yes sir. I don’t suppose there’s any use in saying I’m sorry.”

For a moment longer Hannegan studied him. And then he said: “No.”

Into the growing silence Smitty asked: “Then what can we do?”

“We can pray,” Hannegan answered softly. Closing his brief case, he nodded and left the room.

“Thank you, sir,” Lee called, but Hannegan did not turn.

A troubled expression touched Smitty’s flaccid face as he searched his thoughts for understanding—because no one man could be as contradictory as Lee Gordon seemed. Sometimes on the surface he seemed just another rat, yet always deep from inside of him came the sense of something else, disturbing every judgment he might pass. Was this what being a Negro did to a normal man? he wondered. And what was there to do about it that he had not already done?

But even now, on top of all this, he was unwilling to give up on Lee. And he knew that however he might help, he would have to do it now. So now he resorted to harshness since all else had failed.

“Lee, I’m going to tell you to your face. You are one of the rottenest bastards I ever knew.” Of all the times he had become so furious with white men who cursed Negroes, now he was doing it, and finding it unpleasant. But it was the last resort. “If it weren’t for the fact I might get a lot of good guys into trouble I’d let you go up there and die, because you have proven to me that you are worthless.”

Lee had never felt so much like a dirty dog—not like a nigger, not black and abused, just a common cur of any color. “I know,” he said.

“But I’m going to give you one more chance,” Smitty said. “And it’s better than you deserve.”

“Well—” There was nothing else to say.

“The organizing is not going along as well as we expected, and you are partly to blame for this,” Smitty said. “Since both you and McKinley left, the Negro workers have lost interest. I’ll be frank with you, fellow. We’ve put a lot of time and effort into this job—and spent a lot of money. Every union—every national and every local—in this country is watching us. We can’t afford to fail. If we don’t get the Negro vote in the election next week, we are going to fail.

“Now this is the proposition, and I mean this. If you can get the Negro vote and we win the election, we will back you to the limit when the trouble comes. And make no mistake, fellow, Foster will be after you until he dies. But if we win the election, we will have a little money we can use for you. But if we lose the Negro vote, we fail. And if we fail, we’re dropping you, fellow.”

When Lee did not immediately reply, Smitty asked: “Do you want the proposition, or do you want us to drop you now?”

“Oh, I want it,” Lee replied. “I’ll try—I’ll do my best, I promise you. But suppose I get the Negro vote and we still don’t win the election?”

“Lee, I’ll tell you,” Smitty said. “That will be just too bad for you. When you went with Luther, you went to sell us out. And the only way I’ll ever forget that will be for us to win.”

“Well—thank you, anyway,” Lee Gordon said.

“You’ve got six days. Report here tomorrow morning at nine o’clock and we’ll see if we can give you a start.”

Lee waited a moment longer, then started to offer his hand, but thought better of it. He went out and walked down the stairs. For a long depressing moment he stood in the hallway struggling to co-ordinate his thoughts. Then suddenly he became afraid again. He knew he couldn’t do it. He should have told Smitty that it couldn’t be done—not in six days, not all those suspicious Negroes.

He should tell him now, he thought. But Smitty would take away the union’s protection. And the police would have him in jail again before the night was done. His eyes went furtive and he began to bite his lips. By tomorrow he could be on his way, he thought. Lee Gordon could be finished and somebody by another name suddenly in the world. He’d be a fool to stay and let them execute him, because Smitty meant what he had said. And no matter how one looked at it, Lee Gordon could not get the Negro vote out in six days. No one could. And Smitty knew it, he thought accusingly as he hastened through the doorway.

Outside Hannegan stood in the darkness, patiently waiting. “Gordon.”

Lee jumped. “Oh! Mr. Hannegan!”

“Gordon, I waited especially to tell you that you have a friend in Smitty.”

“A friend? Well—yes,” he said, feeling forced to agree. “I guess you’re right.”

“I know that I am right, Gordon. I wouldn’t let him down if I were you,” Hannegan said, and stood waiting for Lee to go his way.

Smitty his friend? Lee could not see it. It was more as if he were Smitty’s pawn, and Smitty some sadistic chessman. Six days to build him up to knock him down again! Confusion clouded his thoughts—suspicion, resentment! And that fourth apocalyptic horseman of the Negro mind, fear, trampled down the remnants of his gratitude. A friend? Smitty had never been his friend! But yet the small, still voice of reason whispered that somebody must have been his friend.

Chapter 30

T
HE MURDER
was gone into another night. Smitty was gone, and the union; and the hard, merciless days that did not give a damn if a Negro lived or died were gone for this moment. Now in the world were only Ruth and himself, held motionless in the soft cone of light from the floor lamp as figures of expectancy. But what they expected, neither knew.

He sat on the edge of the davenport, bent forward, tense, eager. Etched in his thin drawn face were the ravages of guilt, but the contrition in his eyes petitioned her.

She sat across from him, limp in the big armchair, with eyes like candles of compassion in her tired, haggard face. Her hands, extending from the loose sleeves of an old cotton robe, were brown wax in the yellow light, and he thought with sudden anxiety, God, she looks frail—almost like a ghost in that big chair.

“You got on enough clothes?” he asked gruffly.

“Oh yes.”

“You warm enough?” Out of all the things that he had done to hurt her, he was now concerned about her comfort.

“Yes, I’m plenty warm.”

“It’s cool tonight.” Because even now, having come here for the purpose, he could not muster up the courage to face it.

“I hadn’t noticed.”

But it was there, so huge, so real that it was unavoidable.

“I’ve been with Smitty and Hannegan. At the union hall.”

“Did they—Will they—What did they decide?”

“There won’t be any trouble.”

“You won’t have to stand trial?”

“I don’t think so. Hannegan thinks we got it beat unless they get some concrete evidence.”

“They are wonderful people, Lee. You should be grateful to them all the days of your life.”

“Well—yes. But Smitty said if I didn’t get the Negro workers to vote for the union in the election, they’d take away their support.”

“Oh, they’re letting you keep your job.”

“Well—” He had never told her that he had quit. “If you want to call it that. But the election is just six days away. And I can’t get the Negro vote. Smitty knows it.”

“Don’t say you can’t, Lee. I’ll help you.”

He looked quickly up at her, the question in his eyes before he asked it. “What about your job?”

“I’ve quit my job.”

“Oh!” And then: “Ruth.”

“Yes, Lee?”

“I was never in love with Jackie.”

All motion went out of her body and for a moment her breathing stopped. But she did not reply.

“I was just sorry for her. I know it sounds foolish, but I think it’s the truth.”

“Then why did you tell me you were, Lee?”

“I think it was because I wanted to hurt you,” he said with painful honesty. “I resented your job and your independence. I thought it took something away from me, and at times I used to hate you for it.”

“But couldn’t you have told me that? I would have quit then, Lee. The job was never of any importance.” Nor did she realize how much this contradicted all her actions of the past.

“I thought it was. I believe it really was, Ruth. I don’t think you realize now just how important it really was to you.”

“But you were crying, Lee. That was the first time I ever saw you cry.”

“I wasn’t crying about that, honestly. I don’t know why I was crying. About you, I think now. About you and I. Honestly, Ruth, I didn’t love Jackie. I thought she needed me and you didn’t, and I got all mixed up. I suppose I thought I was acting noble, and then the rest of it just happened. I thought you were going to hurt her, and I was just trying to keep her from being hurt again.”

“I wasn’t going to hurt her, Lee. I just wanted to look at her to see whether she loved you. I would have known then—a woman can tell such things.”

“I thought you might cause a scene and the police would come,” he replied with the stupid candor possible only in a man confessing infidelity.

Although now his every word tore at her heart, she had to hear each bitter detail, because she was a woman. “Did she tell you I would cause a scene?”

“No, she wanted me to go back and make up with you.”

“Really? She told you that?” As she looked steadily away, for now to look at him would be to see him naked in this white woman’s arms.

“Honestly, Ruth, it never was anything—well—real. I don’t know what happened to me.”

“Did she have anything to do with your trouble?”

“No, I had left her when that happened. I’d gone to the hotel.”

“Did she put you out?”

“Well—we had argued.”

“She was frightened, was she?”

“I—well—I guess she thought you were going to cause trouble.”

“Then she didn’t know what you were going to do?”

“Oh, no. I didn’t know myself. I don’t even think Luther knew he was going to kill the man when we went there. It all happened on the spur of the moment. But I went to her afterward to get an alibi. That’s when she turned me in.”