Ms. Etta's Fast House (24 page)

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Authors: Victor McGlothin

BOOK: Ms. Etta's Fast House
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Refusing to be thrown out like yesterday's trash, Dixie snatched herself away from Baltimore's grasp and sprinted toward the other side of the room. When he caught up to her, he locked his wrists around her waist. She gritted her teeth and held firm to the window frame just as the truck driver peered up. “Goddammit!” she yelped loudly. “Let me go! Let me go!”
The white man was familiar with the neighborhood. He knew the adjacent building to be colored only. After seeing Baltimore tear Dixie's fingers from the window, he became a lot more interested. He rambled to the end of the alley howling “Police!” to the high heavens.
Baltimore didn't believe in men putting their hands on women. However, for the first time in his life, he wished he did, as sweat poured from his face with trails of blood marking Dixie's claws. Her blouse tore as they wrestled violently. “Hell, girl, you's trying my patience, now. Don't make me get rough.”
“You can't treat me like this,” she ranted wildly, slapping at his face to work herself free. “Let me go!”
“Uh-uh,” Baltimore grunted. “It ain't no use. You might as well give up.” He was adamant. There was nothing left to argue when he heard the hammer of a pistol cock mere inches from his head. The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end.
“You heard her, nigger,” spat the police officer, with the rancid smell of stale chewing tobacco on his breath. That was the last thing Baltimore remembered before feeling a sharp pain shooting through the back of his head and the cold hard floor slamming against his face.
25
B
ETTER
O
FF
D
EAD
B
altimore's life had been strung together from a long list of fast times and jagged edges. Etta fully understood how a man was made from the things he'd done or had done to him. The minute she heard about a colored man having been beaten and dragged away in chains from the Ambrose Arms apartments, her heart sank. “Penny, call over to Madame Clarisse's,” she ordered, praying that her intuition had lied to her.
“What do you want me to say when I get her on the line?” she inquired innocently.
“Ask her if the man who the police beat ... if the one they took was Baltimore.” Etta stared into space with a blanket of uneasiness shrouding her face. It was difficult to think of anything else until she knew for sure.
Penny's mouth popped opened when she played Etta's words back in her head. “But, Ms. Etta,” Penny said worriedly.
“Call her, chile,” Etta demanded in a subtle manner. “Go 'head and get the pilot on.” Penny nodded slowly as she reached for the telephone sitting on the office desk. Etta would have made the call herself but her hands wouldn't stop trembling.
“Yes, ma'am, get me Bedford one-seventy-three, please. Yes, ma'am, the beauty parlor,” she affirmed for the phone operator. Penny pressed her lips together when Clarisse answered on the other end. “Uh, Madame Clarisse, this is Penny ... Huh, that's why Miss Etta had me to call you ... Naw, ma'am ... we's just relaxing mostly ... Naw, ma'am. Uh-uh ... Yes, ma'am, I'll tell her. 'Bye.” The way Penny's gaze drifted downward after hanging up caused Etta to place a hand over her mouth, afraid she might release the scream she held in the pit of her stomach.
“Well, Penny, what exactly did she say?”
“Said she'd be right over.”
It startled Etta when Clarisse barged into the building. “Girl, don't be busting in here like that,” she said, placing her left hand over her chest. “You're liable to fool around and stop my heart.”
“Sorry, Etta but I have to hurry,” she apologized, in abbreviated breaths. “The whole parlor is buzzing more than usual today.” In the five minutes Clarisse spent situating her customers with other stylists and then traveling from her salon seven blocks away, Penny had almost put two and two together from the snippets of information she'd overheard in the storeroom between the soda pop and ice house delivery men. For Baltimore's sake, she crossed her fingers on both hands and hoped she'd heard wrong.
Clarisse paced around the table where Etta and Penny had planted themselves by the office. Her face was plagued with hesitancy as she watched the two of them staring back at her. “What?” she asked, as if they hadn't been dying to get the news.
“Don't play that game, Clarisse. I know you didn't fly down the street like a Kansas cyclone to stand there holding it in,” Etta hooted, although she wasn't nearly prepared to deal with potential life-altering information head on. “You may as well take a load off and get to it.”
“Okay, but it won't be easy. I assumed y'all already heard from the grapevine, seeing as how things was between you and Baltimore,” she said, more in Etta's general direction.
“Was, what you mean by was?” Etta inquired suspiciously. “You sound like somebody done died ...” she spat before catching herself. There was an old wives' tale that warned of speaking things into being, so Etta closed her mouth abruptly.
“Madame Clarisse, I know how Miss Etta feels about Baltimore and I'd 'preciate it if you just jump right into what you know about the police beating.”
After the woman lowered her head momentarily, to summon the appropriate words, her eyes floated up to rest on Etta and then on Penny. “From what I hear, everybody in town is talking about Baltimore and the policeman's wife.” She was surprised to see that Penny appeared unmoved in a time when colored men typically went out of their way to avoid being in the same room with white women.
“Yeah, like I was saying, a man was sent to move a car from an alley not too far from here. The white man operating the wrecker truck heard a woman yelling that somebody had mugged her and was still at it, so the fella went for help. He found two cops down at the corner and told them what he heard. It wasn't until the truck driver mentioned the woman was white that they paid him any mind.” Etta was afraid to make a sound while Clarisse divulged the rest. “The story goes all over the place from there depending on who you want to believe. Some say Baltimore dragged her up to his place, slapped her around some and was smack dab in the middle of forcing himself on her when those white boys broke the door in.” Etta pleaded with her eyes for information she dared not ask with words. “No, they didn't kill him,” was Clarisse's response to her friend's unspoken concerns. “But they leaned on him so bad, he probably wished they had.”
For Clarisse to go spouting off something like that, she couldn't have possibly ever known a man like Baltimore,
Etta thought. With her lips tightly pursed, Etta released a bittersweet chuckle on the inside of her mouth. That chuckle eventually erupted into full blown unbridled laughter. Penny was confused until she caught on to what Etta found amusing, then she joined in and shared in the merriment.
“Is both of y'all drunk?” Clarisse queried, with painstaking honesty.
“You tell her, Penny,” Etta laughed, “It feels too good to waste.”
“Tell me what?” Clarisse prodded.
“See, the worst thing that could happen to Baltimore is being mistaken for something he ain't, like a man who forces things on women or even like being dead. As long as he ain't dead, he can take care of the other.” Penny glanced at Etta to see how the explanation measured up to expectations. “Good, Penny, I couldn't have said it better myself. Whew! Thank God he's still alive.” Etta sighed evenly. “Is anybody saying where they got him now?”
Clarisse wasn't quite sure of anything anymore. Penny had shown more rational intuition than a woman twice her age and Etta was behaving like a giggling idiot, as far as she was concerned. She presumed that the news would have demolished the ladies' love for Baltimore beyond repair, even if the story were only partially correct. Having invited a white woman up to his room alone should have sufficiently accomplished that. “Uh, I suppose I could do some checking about Baltimore,” Clarisse offered, still oddly puzzled by their unyielding devotion to a man neither of them shared a bed with. “Give me a half hour at the parlor,” she added, feeling suddenly more confident herself. “You can bet somebody there knows something about where they got him.”
Penny wanted to share how she'd seen Baltimore with a white woman on several occasions through his window, but she wasn't sure if that would do more harm than good, for him and her, so she tucked it away in the same place it originated, in her heart. “Thank you, Madame Clarisse,” she said finally. “We's going up to see about him as soon as you nose around and get word to us.” The hairstylist couldn't do a thing but admire her adoration of Baltimore and agree to do some mighty powerful nosing around, all in the name of fidelity.
Clarisse passed Delbert on his way in through the door. She smiled politely as he held it open for her. Just as he approached the table where Etta and Penny chatted, Etta explained they'd be closed for business until further notice. “That's fine with me, Miss Etta. Hi ya, Penny,” Delbert said, hunching his shoulders. “I worked all night and didn't have the chance to thank Baltimore personally and on behalf of the medical staff for putting up the money to send M.K.'s body home to his folks. It ain't every day a colored man's remains ride on a sky taxi.”
Penny's forehead wrinkled when she didn't understand a single thing he just said. “What's a sky taxi, Dr. Delbert? And why do they let dead men ride in it?”
“That's just what they call an airplane, Penny. Some states have laws about non-breathing colored cargo. Missouri is one of them, but Baltimore fixed it with a white fella at the air strip. I'd bet the only color he saw was green when a wad of bills was flashed in his face.”
“Yeah, that sounds like Baltimore alright,” Etta reasoned.
“So is he around or should I leave word with y'all?” Delbert asked, after he didn't get an actual answer to his question the first time. “What he did, meant a lot to a whole bunch of folks, myself included. M.K. was an ace as friends go.”
“Delbert, maybe I should pour you a settling drink to sip on,” Etta said, sorrowfully. “There's something I need you to do.” She explained what the skinny on the street was and how nothing shy of a miracle aided Baltimore in surviving his arrest. To secure his safety behind bars, serious decisions had to be made and a plan of action instituted. Most importantly, time was of the essence. “So you understand why I couldn't possibly make this happen by myself?” she asked him afterwards.
Penny cleared her throat. “Uh-huh,
we
can't do it without your help, Dr. Delbert.”
“Well, that's a serious proposition,” he said apprehensively. The look on his face showed how scared he was to involve himself in it. “I'm just a country doctor trying to find my own way.”
Etta's eyes softened as signs of distress revealed themselves but Penny's expression hardened. “Look here, doc, they's some things a man is forced to do because it's right,” she said, holding his gaze with hers. “Baltimore is that kind of man. I'd like to think you is, too.” Before Delbert had the opportunity to mull over Penny's challenging declaration, someone kicked the front door open. The loud crash sent chills through Delbert and Penny. Etta squinted spitefully when she saw him, the one who'd put his foot against her door and had shaken her down more times than she cared to remember.
“Jo Etta Adams,” Barker announced soberly, trouncing in with two uniformed officers she hadn't seen before. “I'm not interrupting anything, am I? Because I sure would hate that.”
“Detective Sinclair, it's always interesting to see you,” Etta replied. “As you can see, we're not open for business now so you should come back later on and have a few on me.” She wasn't in the least bit intimidated. Predators like Barker sensed fear in others, and too much was on the line to snivel in the shadow of a desperate cop.
“Ms. Etta. That is what they call you, huh? I like that, the way it evokes respect. Respect is a good thing too, it separates the haves from the have-nots. You, Ms. Etta, are definitely one of the haves.” Neither Penny nor Delbert had experienced the war of wits common between night club owners and white officers who wanted to share in their good fortune and hard work. Etta had seen and stood up against tougher white men than Barker, smarter ones too. She knew how to stay pat without overplaying her hand. That's the only kind of respect Barker understood, unrelenting nerve.
“Listen, detective, why don't you tell me what you want and I'll see about accommodating you? What, are you here for a police protection fund donation?” That's the term Barker used for his extortion racket.
“No, I'm afraid I'll need a lot more than a donation,” he answered, circling the table where she and the others sat. “This time, I came for something that belongs to me.” Barker studied her face for any tell-tale signs of incrimination. “See, somebody stole from me and I want it back. All of it.” Etta glanced down at the table, thinking about what he said and the words he used as clues without giving up more than he was willing to. “A hired gun came in town asking about a man, a slick pool hustler, who liked to run with Henry Taylor and a pretty matron who we both know is you. I didn't bring any heat to your door after his trail ended here the first night he flashed the gold caps on his teeth. That's respect,” he added as an exclamation point. “Now, that slick hustler has seen fit to put his hands in my business.”
Etta knew then, without question, Barker's visit had nothing to do with extorting money from her to feed his own illegal enterprises; his Gestapo tactics had everything to do with Baltimore. She also suspected that the bundle of cash Baltimore placed in her floor safe was tied to it somehow. What she didn't get right away was Barker's wife sneaking around with colored men when he clearly detested them so vehemently. Suddenly, it became clearer. The white woman wanted to hurt Barker for something he'd done, she wanted him to suffer in a manner that suited her. Baltimore and Dixie weren't merely heating up the sheets for kicks, they were also business partners, only she had her hands in his pockets before letting him in on it. Mrs. Sinclair manufactured a devious ploy to stick it to her husband but good. Baltimore was her well-played pawn.
“Well, as you can see, Baltimore ain't here,” Etta answered smugly. “And we both know why that is. When I see him, I'll be sure and let him know exactly how you feel about things.”
Barker closed his mouth to hold in the anger erupting inside. Then, he let out a bitter laugh. “If you know what's good for you, you'll see that I get what's rightfully mine. It'd be a damned shame for someone else to lose what they've worked so hard for.” Without any clever farewells, Barker gestured for his men to move on and then he followed after them.

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