Ms. Etta's Fast House (25 page)

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Authors: Victor McGlothin

BOOK: Ms. Etta's Fast House
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Delbert got a good look at what Etta, and Baltimore for that matter, were facing. After he saw her snap back, unwavering, to a powerful white man there was only one thing he could do, back her play to the end. He smiled at Penny while deciding to get his hands dirty. “If we're gonna do this, it needs to happen now,” he asserted. “Call and see if that hairdresser has found out where he's locked up and meet me at the hospital in thirty minutes. If this is the way they want to play, I'm stacking the lineup and bringing in some home run hitters.”
26
S
ORROW'S
S
TONE
N
ight was fast approaching when the taxi dropped Etta and Penny in front of Homer G. Phillips. Before they entered the hospital, a long black Lincoln Continental wheeled around the corner like a bat out of hell. Tires screeched as it skidded to an abrupt stop just a few feet away from them. “Hey, y'all, glad you made it. Get in,” Delbert summoned hurriedly from the passenger side door. “We'll talk things over on the way.” The women gladly obliged. Etta was eager to get started. Penny marveled at the expensive car as it glided along the city streets like an ice cube on a marble floor. Even in times of peril these people sure know how to make the best of it, she thought, while looking down on the back of the driver's head. “Ladies, this is Dr. Hiram Knight. Dr. Knight, meet Penny and Miss Etta. These are two of M.K.'s friends and family of Baltimore's, the man who tried to save him.”
Once the introductions were concluded, Delbert filled them in on the strategy they hemmed up in the short time they had to work with and it sounded great to Etta. Although Penny couldn't understand why all of this had to take place in order to see Baltimore, she went along with it from top to bottom. In the fifteen minutes they traveled toward the county jail, her conscience gnawed at her. Penny couldn't help but wonder if the jam Baltimore landed in could have been avoided had she confided what she saw to Etta beforehand. Attempted aggravated rape of a white woman was a hanging offense in the state of Missouri. A colored man getting accused of it had it even worse. Baltimore faced the penalty of death and she blamed herself. Tears streamed down her cheeks when they pulled into the jailhouse parking lot.
“You stop that crying now,” Dr. Knight demanded. “Ain't no need for tears, young lady. We're going into the battlefield. It's no place for the faint of heart.”
“Yes, suh,” she replied. “I'm a do my best to push 'em back.”
“See that you do. These kinds of people prey on the weakness of colored folk, always have.” Penny sniffled and wiped at her face with a lace handkerchief as the shortest grown man she'd ever laid eyes on marched across the street with choppy determined strides.
As they approached the mammoth building, made of dark-red brick, Delbert continually surveyed their surroundings. He checked over his shoulder so frequently it made Etta jumpy. She had seen her share of jails because of past affiliations, and actually viewed one from the inside of a cell. Running with shady associates carried a heavy price tag. Possession of stolen goods carried a jail term. Despite the poor decisions she made in years past, she wouldn't trade any of them for a king's ransom. Etta reasoned that serious mistakes were priceless lessons in life, building character and wisdom one foolish blunder at a time. Hopefully, Baltimore's fortress of foolishness wouldn't get walled in by the Department of Corrections like thousands of other colored men's had. One thought traipsed through Etta's mind as they entered what loomed ominously like a wasteland for repentant souls. Baltimore was in a small fraternity of inmates locked away in perpetuity; he was an innocent man facing a guilty lie.
Just inside the metal doors of the St. Louis County Jail, an unnerving chill climbed up Delbert's spine and hung on with a death grip. He followed closely behind Dr. Knight, who didn't seem bothered in the least, while Etta prodded Penny along. She lagged behind, taking it all in like a baby duckling in strange water. There were uniformed desk officers pushing papers and others pushing around men is handcuffs. Numbers of colored women and an assortment of white ones too, all reciting their personal hard luck stories in efforts to get their husbands back, saddened Delbert. Flies on the off-white painted concrete walls had heard them all, some more than others. But one thing they had yet to see was a single teary-eyed sister leaving with what she'd come for, her man's freedom.
Several of the desk officers glanced up to take note of two colored men wearing white doctor getups strolling through the maze of misery. Since they had enough on their plates as it was, none of them broke a sweat inquiring whose business they'd come to intercede on. The officers who'd heard about the colored rapist they had sneaked in the back dock had a pretty good idea. His appearance was far too appalling and disfigured to send through the normal intake channels. All the desk jockeys needed was an assailant beaten to a pulp to stir the grieving gabbers they already had to deal with into a frightened frenzy.
“Y'all should go over there and have a seat,” Dr. Knight strongly suggested to the ladies, as their entourage neared the sergeant's desk situated at the rear of the first floor. The grumpy doctor didn't have to say it twice. Etta pulled Penny by the hand in the other direction. It was game time, a boys-only game where the rules changed by the minute.
“Maybe you ought to go and have a sit down with them,” said the middle-aged white man sitting behind the tall duty desk. He sucked on the wet end of a cheap cigar the way Dr. Knight was accustomed to doing, but neither of those men had anything else in common.
“Wouldn't it make more sense for you to find out who we are and why we're standing here?” the older doctor said rhetorically. Delbert glanced around feverishly, to see if any of the officers overheard his mentor's blatant disregard to their white commander.
“I don't need to ask a damned thing,” the thick-headed sergeant replied belligerently. He peered down at them crossly to display his displeasure. “From where I sit, I see one-and-a-half nigger doctors wasting my time. One sawed-off wise ass and the other who's about to crap his clean white pants.”
“Perhaps I'd better get to it then. I'm Dr. Hiram Knight and I have in my company an associate, Dr. Gales. We know for a fact that a man, a colored man, was arrested and brought here, through the back. Furthermore, he has not received medical attention after being worked over by the men who detained him.”
The cop smashed the limp cigar in his right hand and slammed his meaty left paw against his desktop. “A nigger named Night, that's one for the books,” he teased. “Listen to me, boy. I don't care what you think you know. We don't have that Floyd fella here and if we did, I wouldn't give a rat's ass about helping him.”
“How did you know I was referring to Baltimore Floyd if they didn't bring him here?” asked Knight. “I never said who we were here to see after.”
When the sergeant's top lip quivered, he was exposed as a liar. “Looks like we have a problem, officer,” said a white man approaching the duty desk. The cop raised his eyes eventually only to rest them on two other men, by the looks of it, two wealthy men.
“Naw, sirs, we're just about to end it right here and now. Ain't no problems at all,” said the sergeant.
“I beg to differ,” argued the younger of the white fellows, who was in his mid-forties, dark-haired and handsome. His spiffy tailored suit said what he didn't have to, money was on his side. Unfortunately for the sergeant, the law was on his side too. “I'm Albert Hummel, legal counsel for this Floyd fella you claimed not to have in your possession.”
“I should have known, a slick mouthpiece to muddy up the waters,” the cop fired back sternly, as if not impressed.
“And I'm the stick in the mud,” answered the older of the white men. “I'm Dr. Fredrick Stanton, from Washington University. If you're not quaking in your boots yet, this might speed things up a pinch. See, it's worthless human waste like you that gives decent white men a bad name. That probably doesn't mean much to a lazy self-righteous dunce but it does to me and I can guaran-damn-tee you it won't sit right with the mayor. And if he's too busy to take my call, sergeant, the governor will be happy to. We make it a point to golf together at least once a month.” The doctor, who had introduced Delbert to the premature birth protocol when delivering the teenaged girl's baby, was just as matter-of-fact when rendering the gruff officer's attitude ill-effective.
When the cop picked up the telephone, Delbert grinned on the inside from head to toe. His team was in the game and slapping the ball over the fence. After having been asked politely, he signed his name quickly, nodded to Etta and then smiled affectionately at Penny. Although he had no earthly idea what to expect on the other side of the long corridor leading to the containment cells, he was certain to emerge from the point of no return. “Thanks for showing up when you did, Dr. Stanton,” said Delbert. “Are you and the governor really that chummy?”
“Of course not,” he answered slyly. “I'm a die-hard Democrat. But the governor doesn't know that.”
Delbert felt good about asking the famous doctor to accompany them. He didn't have to get mixed up in a colored man's struggle of survival, and he didn't have to lie about being pals with the head of state, but Delbert was so glad he did on both counts. The three-hundred-pound jailer, who opened the huge steel door leading to the immense rows of cells, looked as if he'd never experienced a good day or a meal he didn't like. With a military crew cut, rotted teeth, and a four inch scar carved into his right cheek, he seemed quite comfortable frowning at the strangers he was ordered to assist.
“Two things 'fore we get on the block,” the jailer announced. “Walk the middle path and don't wander too close to the cells. Most of these boys are animals, so don't get careless.” None of the doctors blinked, having administered life-saving medical procedures to gunshot and stab victims, some of which they didn't feel needed it. Physicians had the propensity to be a surly bunch when the need arose. The lawyer, who hadn't been that close to hardened criminals, did as instructed, walking farthest from the line of small cells sectioned off by concrete dividers. He hadn't been subjected to traumatic episodes of blood and guts either, nor had he designs on starting then.
When that steel door slammed shut behind them, Delbert's mouth went dry. The stench of soiled clothing, dried sweat and urine almost caused him to gag. The lawyer did, three times. He pulled a handkerchief from the breast pocket of his suit coat and pressed it against his nose. “Fellas, let's get in and get out. Jailer, take us to him and be quick about it,” he demanded, trying to sound as if he weren't about to lose his lunch.
Near the end of the cell block on the first floor, the jailer stopped and turned to face the door. His hesitation caused Dr. Stanton to force the issue. “Get to it, man!” he yelled, after looking inside the tiny den.
Dr. Knight grabbed the bars with both hands, trying to pry them apart. “Open it!” he demanded, his voice trembling with rage. It was hard to imagine that the man with his head cracked opened, thrown across the iron bunk in his blood-stained clothing was still among the living. “If that man's dead, he won't be the last one.”
Delbert was shocked at Dr. Knight's threats. He had no qualms believing harm would come to that sour-mouthed dinosaur if Baltimore had been left to rot, mainly because no one bothered to search Knight's leather doctor bag. Packed among the scalpels was a Derringer pistol, locked and loaded. What he was willing to do with it hadn't been discussed previously; with any luck he wouldn't have to decide.
As the heavy gate swung open, each of the men felt the same fear but none of them voiced it. The lawyer ducked inside the cell with the others, wincing regretfully. Delbert held his breath and his place while more seasoned personnel headed the examination. He'd seen dead people before, lots of them with their faces bruised and swollen, lacerations slashed here and there, split lips, and broken ribs. But none of them appeared half as doomed as Baltimore did when they rolled him over gingerly on his back. Surprisingly, he howled loudly when they moved him. That ole crew-cut jailer seemed the most relieved upon hearing it.
“See, he-he's all right,” the big man stammered frightfully. “He's alive. He's all right.”
Dr. Knight carefully pulled on Baltimore's severely torn and saturated shirt. “He's alive but he's not all right, not nearly all right,” he argued, shooting the jailer a hateful glare. “He's got at least two bruised ribs and possibly some internal hemorrhaging.”
“This patient is in desperate need of medical care,” added Dr. Stanton. “And this poorly lit cell won't suffice. Get me the man who runs this place, now!”
“But, I can't leave with ...” he started to debate until Knight stared him down again. “I'll be right back but I got to lock the gate. County regulations,” he explained.
Albert Hummel, the lawyer, agreed to go with him. The others stayed behind, enclosed with the prisoner. While they were off searching for the administrator, Delbert kneeled down by the bedside and noticed that the eyelid that wasn't swollen shut began to flutter. “Baltimore,” he whispered. “Hey, Baltimore, it's me, Delbert. You know, Tex. We've come to help you. You're hurt something awful.”
“No shit, doc,” Baltimore answered. He uttered a slight chuckle until the pain caused him to groan in agony. “They wasn't gonna kill me,” he said assuredly. “Crackers wanted to d'stroy my spirit first. Said I was resisting arrest. You can't trust 'em.”
“Those crackers almost took care of both simultaneously,” Dr. Stanton mused. “But we won't let them finish the job, son.”

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