Exile Blues

by Douglas Gary Freeman

  “What kinda shit?” said Eldee. “It don’t matter. We already figured it out. There ain’t no more Devil Ds around here for a long time. Man, years ago a couple of their big boys got shanked up in the joint and came home in boxes. Since then, they all been in with us, but that’s old. The cops was acting on old information. We know what they trying to do. And Uncle thinks they want to bust some caps in your ass and blame it on us.”

  “Everybody know what you been doing over there on the West Side with the Kobras and K-Knights,” said Kel-Mel. “Uncle say if you can get Prince Earl and Big Diesel to be at the same place at the same time without trying to kill each other, then you a fuckin’ miracle worker, like a prophet. He wanna talk with you and he want you to talk with us, give us some knowledge.”

  “But for now, we gonna watch your back so you can do your thang,” said Eldee. “And we not bluffing either. C’mere.”

  Preston sat between them. Eldee lifted a familiar-looking green backpack that rested on the bench between his feet. He opened the bag’s flap to reveal two very large and shiny revolvers. “Forty-four mags, man. This shit punch holes in sheet metal.” Then they both lifted their pants legs to reveal smaller pistols tucked into their boots. “We ready to protect.”

  43

  Chicago, September, 1966, A Friday

  Prez became Professor Mackey’s teaching assistant. It was a paying gig and it was good money. Prez was determined to use his new position to his advantage. He would be a TA of a different sort.

  “Professor Mackey, I have a question.”

  “Just when I thought we’d be able to end this session early and get off to some early Friday evening shindigs, along comes our beloved Mr. D.C. Downs. The only teaching assistant I know of who dares to ask questions—out loud. You all know what that means, so pull out your pillows, and don’t dare rest your heads on them, they’ll be for you to sit on so your asses won’t go numb. Now, what is your question?” Professor Mackey was concerned that he had not won allies in his attempt to keep Prez quiet, because no one uttered a sound. The professor had to get out of there and meet somebody.

  “Yes, thank you, Professor Mackey, very quickly, just a couple of questions. How can I find out exactly where the grant money for this program comes from? And number two, we’re preparing to take part in that seminar series next week to discuss the effectiveness of the federal War on Poverty program. I notice there will be a number of foundations and philanthropic organizations taking part. How can I find out about them?”

  “Man, that’s going to have to wait until next class.”

  “But sir, can’t you point me in the direction of the answer for at least one of those questions? I need to fill out the outline for what I am going to write next.”

  “Look, I am meeting somebody very important in about fifteen minutes . . . ago . . . you dig it? I’m already late. Next week, Downs.”

  The professor gathered up his things and rushed out the door without a further word.

  “That’s the first time I recall the professor being the first one out of this lecture hall,” said Percy, rising from his seat to stand over Prez.

  “What do you think came over Professor Mackey?” asked JB. “He certainly was in a rush. Maybe he’s got a fat black cock jones. Is that how you call it over here?”

  “Why are you talking like that, JB?” asked Prez.

  “I’m sure Preston knows the professor has a big black boyfriend that he fucks in the back of a big black Mercedes, JB. Leave it alone, will you? But I don’t think what just happened has anything to do with Mackey needing a cock up his ass,” said Lizzy. “It was Preston’s question. Here, Preston.” She handed him a grocery bag with a cord tied around it.

  “What is this?”

  “A present. Open it.” It was a rough-hewn brown leather satchel with brass buckles. “It belonged to my father. I know you’ll put it to good use.”

  “I’m touched. I’ll treasure it. Okay folks, we have to be somewhere, too,” said Prez. “So, let’s go. I promised.”

  “Yes, we know how much you hate going around the Loop. We appreciate it,” said JB.

  “It’s Old Town, actually, and it’s for a good cause. We’ll also be meeting the people I told you about, the ones I’ve been working with,” said Prez.

  “Oh, your dreaded gang members?” said Percy.

  “Don’t start shaking in your boots, man. They smoke good weed. So be nice and you might get a toke or two,” said Prez.

  They all laughed, ran up the street, waved down a jitney cab, and jumped in.

  *

  “There must be a million people here,” said Percy. “How do we even get to the front door?”

  “Follow me.” Prez grabbed Lizzy’s hand, Lizzy grabbed JB’s hand, and she grabbed ahold of Percy’s jacket and pulled him along. Prez pushed a path through the crowd and they went inside. It was jam-packed.

  Mother Blues was a blues-folk-rock club that was hosting an evening of anti-war and radical fare.

  Prez looked around at the wonderful mix of people who had assembled in that little place. There were young Afro-Americans looking like black hippies, and white hippies wearing their hair as if they were young Afro-Americans. There were former hardcore gang members trying to behave less hardcore and suburbanites trying to pretend they were hardcore. There were poetry readings and little impromptu speeches. And there was dancing. The hippie contingent proved to be confounding dance partners. Their way of dancing had no relation to the beat or the music. They just sort of wiggled, shimmied, and let their arms float about in the air. He looked at the ethnic diversity of the people and knew in his heart how beautiful the world could be.

  “Hey, Brother Downs.” Prez turned and saw it was Prince Earl standing there with Big Diesel. He looked over at the bar and he could see Eldee and Kel-Mel watching. He motioned them over. This, he thought, is it.

  “Look at us!” said Prez. We’re here together in peace. We’re here together because we love ourselves. We’re here because we are conscious of the fact that together we have the power. The power!” he exclaimed as he raised his fist in the Black Power salute.

  “You got that right, Brother-man,” someone said. “It’s an absolute truth that there can be no black unity without us being at peace with one another. We can never achieve Black Power without black unity. Right on!”

  Prez turned to see who it was. The fellow was slapping five, shaking hands, and greeting everyone. Big Diesel came over to Prez. “Preston Downs, meet Gabriel Turner. Brother Gabe, this is Downs.”

  Gabriel Turner grabbed Prez’s hand in the new Soul Brother handshake. “It’s a great pleasure to meet you, brother. Heard about you from Big Diesel and Prince Earl.” Then he stepped back, crossed his arms and posed. “Some say you a jaw-breaker, some say you a peacemaker, I wanna know your brain is no faker.”

  Here we go, thought Prez. He made motions like he was smoothing his clothes, then he crossed his arms and posed. “I see you a man in love with verse, you spout it out with no need to rehearse, as for me let me give you a sign,” he raised his fist in the power salute, “I’m in possession of a hardworking mind.” Gabriel almost toppled over laughing. There was laughter all around. Gabriel and Prez hugged. Then they went and sat down at a table with a bunch of guys gathered around.

  “Pardon me, I know your name, but exactly who are you?”

  “I’m the chairman of a new organization we’re starting called the Black People’s Party. Some of the fellas have been tellin’ me about your rap with them. You sayin’ the same things we sayin’, the Black People’s Party. Your perspective is exactly the same. You know they assassinated a great man, February last year.”

  “Yes, El-Hajj Malik El-Shabazz.”

  “He was a genius in his analysis of the situation we Afro-Americans face in this country. The evolution of his thinking is actually a model of the
evolution of black revolutionary thinking. He went from being anti-white to anti-capitalist. He went from being a Black Nationalist to being an internationalist. He went from advocating for civil rights to advocating for human rights. He was a big presence on the international scene and he believed that we Afro-Americans can never achieve justice or freedom if we keep relying upon the two-party system of government. C’mon, there’s no qualitative difference today between a Democrat and a Republican. We need our own party. When he was running around calling white people ‘white devils’ the media and the establishment couldn’t get enough of him. Then when he started asking the question about whether or not socialism would be good for Afro-Americans—boom!—he’s gone. Think about that. What are you drinking?”

  “I don’t drink. But I’ll have a root beer.”

  “Y’all hear that? Hey, Chi-chi, did you hear that? C’mon, man, hand it over. Don’t moan and make a face. You owe me ten bucks. Found my twin Soul Brother right here.” He slapped Prez on the back. “Chi-Chi made a bet with me that I would never find another dude that didn’t drink.” He turned back to Prez. “Carry your bag with you everywhere, I bet.”

  “Yep,” said Prez. He had the wide strap of his tan leather bag over the back of his chair. He noticed Gabriel was carrying one as well, but his leather bag was black.

  “Armed to the gills, we both are. I know it,” said Gabriel.

  “Oh yeah,” said Prez. He raised the flap of his bag and pulled out a worn leather-bound copy of My Bondage and My Freedom by Frederick Douglass.

  “Damn, is that real leather? Where’d you get that?” said Gabriel. He reached in his bag and pulled out a copy of Man’s Fate by André Malraux. “It’s not leather, but it’s not all worn out either. We are packing heavy tonight, my brother.” He held up his book and raised the hand in which Prez held his book and said for all to hear, “You see, these are the only real weapons of freedom.”

  By the end of the evening, what had transpired over a few little square café tables pulled together was a meeting of the minds of the leaders of the major inner-city neighborhoods that included Afro-Americans, whites, and Puerto Ricans. There was more than a major peace pact agreed to, there was a commitment to a commonality of purpose. Perhaps if it were not for them being on neutral turf it would have been an unlikely achievement.

  It was well beyond midnight and Prez was starting to feel it. There was hardly anyone left in Mother Blues.

  “We gotta go,” said Prez to Eldee and Kel-Mel. “We gotta get up and run in the morning.”

  “Let’s take a day off tomorrow, man. We never take a day off.”

  “Hey, I run in the morning, too,” said Gabe. “Maybe we can run together sometimes.”

  Prez, Lizzy, and JB got up and started walking toward the door.

  “Hold it, what is going on out there? Don’t go out there,” said Prez. He looked back toward Gabe and his crowd and said, “The place is crawling with cops.”

  They all got up and walked over to have a look.

  “They know we’re here,” said Gabe. “I think the girls should go out the back. Call to see how it is back there.” One of his guys went to the phone booth in the back of the club. “There are three phone booths on the streets in a two-block radius from here. We have some of our boys at each phone.”

  The guy who went to the pay phone came back and said, “They’ve got the back alley covered.”

  “Okay, listen up,” said Gabe. “We’ve been through this so many times before. Everywhere we go the cops show up. Their aim is to try to provoke us. They are looking for any excuse they can find to shoot us. We don’t provoke them. We are polite. We obey all of their lawful commands. But that is the trick; we will not obey their unlawful commands and will not allow ourselves to be bullied. So it’s a fine line between knowing your rights and not getting killed.” Turning to Prez he said, “I suggest you all follow our lead on this. Somebody call some cabs. Let me go call Fitz and get him down here.” He looked around at all the guys. “I gotta ask if everybody’s clean. You know what I mean. If you’re not, you gotta figure out how to get rid of it. Now.” Nobody moved. “No shit? Everybody’s clean? Gotta love you dudes. You’re stronger than you know.”

  “Who’s Fitz?” Prez asked no one in particular. He heard someone say “A lawyer.”

  After about ten minutes a few cabs showed up. “Cabs here, let’s move,” said Gabe.

  Prez led the way with his arm tightly around Lizzy’s waist. He looked back to see where JB and Percival were. He wanted the four of them to get in the same cab together. Percival was still back at the table where Prez and Gabe had sat. He called for Percival to hurry. “What’s wrong with you, man?” Prez shouted at Percival as he held JB and Lizzy back from going out the door to wait for Percival. Prez looked out in front of the club at all the cops, some who had come quite close to the entrance, and he wondered if they would make it to the cab without incident. He glanced back over his shoulder and noticed the book he had given Gabe was on the floor under a table, but he knew Gabe had put it in his bag. There was a bit of shoving. It was Percy. “Don’t be so goddamn nervous, Percy. Be a fuckin’ man. You got to protect JB if any shit goes down.”

  “What the fuck do we have here?” A big red-headed cop had placed himself in between Prez’s group and the cab. He stood right in front of Prez and Lizzy. “What’s a pretty little white bitch like you doing with a nigger?”

  “Haven’t you heard?” said Prez. “The Supreme Court just ruled that interracial marriage is perfectly legal. You need to get up with the times, man.” The cop shoved his nightstick into Prez’s chest.

  “Please tell me you ain’t fuckin’ this little dumb-assed nigger. Please say you ain’t, missy, and I’ll let you get in the cab.”

  “You’re on the wrong side of the law,” said Prez.

  “We haven’t done anything, officer. Why are you behaving in such a disrespectful manner?” said an extremely nervous Percy.

  The officer cut his eyes to Percy and said, “What a fucked-up accent, punk.”

  “Hey, where’s my bag?” Prez heard Gabe say. He looked around and saw Gabe rush back into the club and towards the chair where he’d left his bag. Prez was still being shoved backward by the big red-headed cop, who persisted in verbally taunting and abusing him and Lizzy.

  “You don’t have a right to put your hands on me,” Prez heard himself say. “Don’t touch me again.”

  Prez finally saw what Percival kept looking at. The same dark-gray four-door sedan with the same two guys who had given Percival the backpack with the guns that the Bricks had. It was parked about a block away. He looked back and saw that Gabe now had his bag over his shoulder and was just about to exit the club. Percival also noticed and made a motion like he was scratching the top of his head.

  “Get in!” Prez screamed. He pushed Lizzy and JB in ahead of him. Percy managed to jump in the front seat. Just as he was about to get in he looked around and a bunch of cops emerged from the shadows, rushing toward Gabe. His bag, thought Prez. It’s his bag. I gotta tell him. “Wait! Let me out.”

  “Preston, don’t. Come with us. Come with me,” said Lizzy.

  He jumped out, banged on the cab, and just as it was about to leave all hell broke loose.

  Gunfire erupted all around them, bullets zinged at them from every direction. Metal clanged, concrete cratered, and glass shattered.

  Prez threw himself onto the ground and managed to crawl under a truck.

  When the shooting finally stopped Prez raised his head and saw the Puerto Rican fellow who had come with Chi-Chi lying on the ground in a pool of blood. One of the boys from the Bricks was leaning against a wall holding his side with blood dripping from his hands. He tried to straighten himself and walk but staggered and fell. Three cops pounced on him. Ambulances arrived. He could see a bunch of guys facing a brick wall with a bunch of police watching
them, guns drawn.

  “Did we get him?” he heard a cop say to another as they walked by the truck he was under.

  “Yeah. We shot that black nigger. But that goddamned spic jumped in the way and took some for him.”

  “You mean that fucker Turner ain’t dead?”

  “Shit, I don’t know. Who called those fucking ambulances anyway?”

  “I dunno, but his fuckin’ lawyer, that goddamned Fitzgerald, he showed up at the same time as the ambulances.”

  “Maybe somebody shoulda shot that asshole, too.”

  “And the ambulance drivers while we’re at it, too? Grow up, DeMarco. Let’s just hope the nigger is dead. If he ain’t we’ll have a very unhappy City Hall.”

  Fitzgerald waded in. “You know who I am, so stand back from me, please. Get out of my way. Where’s my client? I asked you the whereabouts of my client.”

  Gabriel Turner was found sitting upright against a parked car with seven or eight police officers surrounding him. His head hung to one side. He was bleeding from a number of different places. His eyes were shut.

  “Is this your client, here, attorney? Looks like he was your client. I don’t think that boy is breathing anymore. What do you think, Halley?”

  “I believe he may have gone and expired on us.”

  Fitzgerald bent down and felt for a carotid pulse. “Medic! Medic!” he screamed. “He’s alive!”

  Prez crawled from under the rear of the truck and onto the sidewalk. He stood and didn’t see the cab. A rush of relief lifted his shoulders and lightened his feet. But as he walked around to the front of the truck he could see that the cab was still there. It had rolled some car lengths down the street. He ran towards it and could see the driver kneeling on the ground just outside his open door, his head bobbing back and forth as if he was in a lot of pain. JB and Percival were also out of the cab and standing on the curb, JB crying hysterically as she punched and kicked Percival who kept muttering “they weren’t supposed to shoot.” Prez couldn’t see Lizzy. He looked at the cab and the back window was shattered. Someone was in the back seat. He started screaming.