A Dangerous Road: A Smokey Dalton Novel

by Kris Nelscott

  “That’s the same woman from last week. She’s my client. She’s from Chicago.”

  “I ain’t going in there,” he said.

  “You don’t have to.” I put my hand on the small of his back. He was wearing the pea coat. It was too big on him, but at least he felt warm. I pointed up the stairs. “Let’s just go up there.”

  He shook his head. “Gotta talk alone.”

  “We will be alone.”

  He looked as if he didn’t believe me.

  I sighed. “The offices upstairs are mostly empty this time of day.”

  “The stairway echoes.”

  It did too. “Well, we’ll have to take our chances,” I said.

  He shook his head and started down the stairs.

  I grabbed his arm. “Jimmy, you’re already here. If you’re worried about something, you may as well tell me.”

  He froze, staring straight ahead, as if he were considering my words. It was a very adult posture on such a young boy. Finally, he sighed, turned, and walked up the stairs, his head down, his movements slow and elderly.

  When he reached me, he moved far enough away so that I couldn’t help him climb. Perhaps he did that to show me he had grown up; perhaps he did it because he wanted to prove to himself that he was coming to me of his own volition.

  He waited for me at the top of the stairs. I pointed in the other direction from my office, toward King’s Palace. That part of the Gallina Building hadn’t been occupied in some time. The offices were dark and dingy, and cobwebs filled the halls. It was rumored that just before the turn of the last century, several people were murdered in this part of the building. It had been a secret gambling and racehorse den, and it was in fights over money that more than one patron had lost his life.

  Jimmy glanced over his shoulder at me as he went deeper into the gloom. I nodded and followed. He stopped near a rotting wooden carton and some sprawled packing straw. This entire portion of the corridor smelled of decay. The lights had long ago burned out, and the only light came from the window that overlooked the roof of the building next door.

  I stopped beside Jimmy. He was hugging himself even though the hallway was warm. He too had probably heard the stories about this part of the Gallina Building.

  “All right,” I said softly. “What is it you wanted to tell me?”

  He rubbed his hands along the sleeves of his coat. “It’s Joe. He ain’t going to school no more.”

  I suppressed a sigh. I had known that, but I hadn’t wanted to face it. “What’s he doing?”

  “He’s with them Invaders. And the new guys.”

  “The ones I saw in the Little Hot House?”

  Jimmy nodded. “They got plans for the strike.”

  I felt a chill even though the hall was stifling. “What kind of plans?”

  “I don’t know. Joe says they’re going to do important stuff if they get a chance.”

  This wasn’t anything I didn’t know. “Why’d you come to me?”

  Jimmy looked away. “Joe likes you. He’s thinkin’ you know what’s what.”

  “He didn’t act that way the other night.”

  “He was with them new guys.”

  I swallowed hard. “What are they planning?”

  “They don’t know,” Jimmy said. “They been arguing about it. That’s why I come to you. Because of Joe.”

  “He’s with them.”

  “He don’t go to school no more. He sits with them and smokes weed and talks all day.” Jimmy looked up at me and I finally saw the worried little boy in his eyes. “You said nobody gets to do nothing without school. You said it’s the only way to be somewhere. But Joe says you’re full of shit. He says you didn’t go nowhere.”

  I winced.

  Jimmy didn’t seem to notice. “And besides, he says that the world’s different now.”

  “What do you say?”

  Jimmy closed his eyes and leaned his head back against the filthy wall. “I think them men’re gonna get Joe in trouble.”

  “I think you’re right. But what do you want me to do about it?”

  Jimmy opened his eyes. “Talk to him?”

  “I don’t think he’ll listen to me right now.”

  “Sure he will. He likes you.”

  I almost smiled. The words sounded so naive. But Jimmy was not even a teenager yet, and he didn’t realize that teenagers often rebelled against the people they had once admired.

  I couldn’t promise to help Joe. The conversations I’d had with him the week before made it clear that he had found someone else to listen to.

  But Jimmy hadn’t. He’d come to me twice in two weeks. He wore the coat I sent to him.

  I said, as gently as I could, “They haven’t gotten you involved, have they, Jimmy?”

  He shook his head, but a tear ran down the side of his face.

  “What are they making you do?”

  “Deliver stuff,” he whispered.

  Drugs, I thought. I had been afraid that was what the brown packages were. “Where?”

  “Places around here. The park.” He raised his head. “Scary places.”

  I sighed. “Where’s your mom?”

  “Tampa.”

  Wonderful. She had never been much of a role model, but at least she had been there. Now it seemed she wasn’t even doing that. “How long has she been gone?”

  “Christmas.”

  I started. The boys had been on their own since then, and I hadn’t even noticed. I wondered if anyone else had. “How are you living?”

  “Joe’s taking care of it.”

  Yeah. Joe was taking care of it by using his brother as a courier. I wondered if the drug money went to Joe or to the Invaders. Then I remembered the slip I had found on the apartment door and knew I had my answer. Soon Jimmy wouldn’t have a place to live. He certainly wasn’t eating. And getting to school was becoming a struggle.

  It was time to do more than buy an occasional meal.

  “Look,” I said. “Come back to my office with me. That lady in there won’t hurt you. I’ll call Reverend Davis, and he’ll find you a nice place to stay, where they won’t have you deliver things to strange people and they’ll make sure you eat, okay?”

  Jimmy was tempted. I could see it in his eyes. They were wider, more hopeful than they had been a moment before.

  Then they clouded over. “What about Joe?”

  “I’ll take care of Joe.”

  “Will you?” There was such a plaintive note in his voice, as if he knew, as I did, that Joe was a lost cause.

  I nodded, then put my hand on his shoulder. “Come on.”

  He bent his head, and I was surprised at how easy it was. Had Jimmy come to me, not just for Joe, but for himself? Did he want me to take charge? Had this been what he wanted all along?

  We walked through the corridor to my office, and as I pulled open the door, Jimmy froze again. Something about Laura, seated on the floor, the newspaper clippings scattered about her, worried him.

  “It’s all right,” I said, keeping my hand on his back for reassurance.

  He slipped inside nodded at her, and she smiled at him, that full-wide beautiful grin that made her seem even younger than she was.

  “You sure she’s not from here?” Jimmy asked.

  “Positive,” I said.

  Laura caught that question, and her gaze met mine. I nodded once and looked away, not wanting her to say something that might destroy the moment.

  I led Jimmy to my desk and let him sit in my chair. He frowned at the numbers on the ledger before him as if they were math homework, then swiveled so that his back was to us. He was so small that he got lost in the chair. It was as if he wasn’t in the room at all.

  I picked up the phone and called Henry. In a few brief well-chosen sentences, I explained Jimmy’s situation.

  “I know just the right folks to watch him,” Henry said. There wasn’t much more he could say, not then. He knew it and I did. Henry’s voice boomed through the phone l
ine, and Jimmy heard each word. I had let Henry know that Jimmy was there, and Henry knew better than to destroy such a fragile situation with some ill-spoken words. Too many kids were lost with that final straw.

  I hung up. Laura was looking at me, a question on her face. I smiled at her, trying to reassure her. Then I crouched beside Jimmy.

  “You sure Joe’s gonna be all right?” he asked.

  I took a deep breath. I could lie to him, give him those platitudes adults always gave kids. But that wasn’t fair, not to him, nor to Joe.

  “No,” I said. “I’ll do what I can, though.”

  “Maybe I should stay with him.”

  “Have you seen him much lately?” I asked.

  Jimmy looked at me sideways, then looked away quickly.

  “He’s been leaving you on your own, hasn’t he?”

  Jimmy shrugged. “He’s got stuff.”

  “We all do.” I rested my forearm on the chair. “Have you heard at all from your mother?”

  Jimmy shook his head.

  “She go alone?”

  “She said it was a vacation. She said she’d be back.” His voice was flat, his tone harsh. He had apparently long ago given up on his mother’s return.

  “What does Joe say?”

  Jimmy looked at me again, that measuring look. “That we have to take care of ourselves.”

  “He’s been doing that? Taking care of himself?”

  Jimmy nodded.

  “And so have you.”

  Jimmy shrugged.

  I saw Laura through the corner of my eye. Her face had paled.

  “Do you think he’ll be mad?” Jimmy asked.

  I had a hunch Joe wouldn’t even notice that Jimmy was gone, not for a few days. “No,” I said. “He’ll want you to be okay.”

  “It’s been me and him since we were little,” Jimmy said.

  “I know.”

  “Them people—.” He stopped himself. I caught my breath, hoping he’d go on. But he didn’t.

  “What about them?”

  He turned the chair just enough so that I caught his reference to Laura. He didn’t want to say anything around her.

  “I told you.”

  “Yeah,” I said.

  Then there was a knock on my door. Henry had arrived. Laura got up before me and pulled the door open.

  Henry filled the doorway. He wore a heavy coat against the chill of the day and galoshes that squeaked as he walked. He smelled so strongly of cigars—his only vice, he said—that he brought the stench with him into the office.

  He looked at Laura like he’d never seen a white woman before. She stepped out of his way.

  “Smokey?” he said.

  Then I realized he couldn’t see me. I stood. He grinned. Jimmy swiveled the chair and gripped its arms as if Henry were the police come to take him away.

  “You remember Jimmy,” I said.

  “Indeed I do.” Henry crossed the room and held out his hand. It was a trick I had seen before, one that usually worked with sullen boys. It worked with Jimmy. He stood and took Henry’s hand, a look of wonder on his face. Most people didn’t treat Jimmy with respect.

  “Hear you need a place to stay for a while,” Henry said.

  “Till my mom comes home,” Jimmy said.

  Henry nodded. “Well, we have that. You want to come with me?”

  Jimmy glanced over his shoulder at me, and I could feel his fear. Laura could too. She reached for him, then clasped her hands in front of her. I found a new respect for her. She knew she was not part of this situation, and she was doing her best to stay out of it.

  “You’re not going far away, Jimmy,” Henry said. “You can see Smokey whenever you want, and you’ll still be in your same school. This is just temporary, until you decide how you want to live permanently.”

  I noticed the way that Henry phrased that last, but I knew Jimmy didn’t. Until he decided. He would probably decide quicker than he knew. The decision was already made; that was why he had come with me so easily.

  “Is there anything you need from home?” Henry asked.

  Jimmy shook his head. He had his school books. From the looks of his clothes, I doubted he had any others that fit.

  “You hungry?” Henry patted his own round stomach. “I could use some catfish. Want to join me?”

  Jimmy shrugged. Then he licked his lips, giving himself away. “Can Smokey come?”

  “I don’t know,” Henry said. “Smokey?”

  Henry, bless him, had an ease that made things work. Some of the other ministers in town were too formal or too condescending for a boy like Jimmy.

  I glanced at Laura. She picked up her coat. “I was just leaving,” she said.

  I smiled. I liked this side of her. “I’d be honored to come,” I said to Jimmy.

  He visibly relaxed. Henry nodded to me over the boy’s head.

  Laura grabbed her purse and pulled open the door. “I’ll see you Monday, Smokey.”

  “Great,” I said. “Thanks.”

  “It’s not a problem.” She left and closed the door gently behind her.

  Henry looked at the floor. “Do you need to clean up?”

  “It can wait.” I put a hand on Jimmy’s shoulder. It was bony and ridged. “Some things are more important.”

  “Catfish!” he said.

  “Yeah,” Henry said, his gaze meeting mine. “Catfish.”

  And making sure Jimmy went to his new home.

  TWELVE

  THAT WEEKEND, Henry moved Jimmy into a new home. He asked that I wait until Monday to visit so that Jimmy can get settled. He asked this at our catfish lunch and Jimmy had looked at me with liquid eyes.

  “Is it all right?” I asked him.

  He nodded as if he weren’t sure. I waited, giving him a chance to change his mind, but he didn’t.

  Somehow, not being able to see him made the weekend harder for me. I trained my small cadre of security, this time without Roscoe, and I despaired that they’d ever be more than glorified bouncers.

  The strike had gotten uglier. During a boycott of local merchants, the Invaders and their parallel organization, the Black Organizing Project, harassed blacks who made purchases at downtown stores. Several Invaders were arrested for disorderly conduct, but I called the precincts. None of the arrested was Joe.

  Sunday, March ten, was the hardest. It felt like Reassess Vietnam Day. The Commercial Appeal ran a syndicated New York Times article that claimed Westmoreland wanted to send two hundred thousand more troops over there to die in what NBC called later that night a futile war. The country was talking about ’Nam now, and they were doing so in a way that mirrored Martin’s speeches about the country the year before, speeches Martin had been excoriated for.

  People were again bringing up the King/Spock ticket that had first been proposed last April: that Martin should run for office with Dr. Benjamin Spock as his vice-presidential candidate on a peace ticket. Word from the Southern Christian Leadership Conference, the organization that Martin headed, was that he was not interested in running for president. His interests lay in something he was calling the Poor People’s Campaign. He believed that poverty was the root of all our social ills, and that unless you stamped out poverty, you had no hope in solving the social problems.

  I later discovered that I wasn’t the only one who had seen the articles on Martin. The Memphis Ministers Association used them as a final straw: they had been talking about appealing to Martin to help resolve the strike. The articles convinced them to do so.

  They contacted Martin on Monday. He promised to rearrange his schedule to see if he could come the following week.

  I didn’t want him in Memphis. Martin was a greater security risk than any of the other potential speakers. There had already been several attempts on his life, from the dynamiting of his hotel room in Birmingham to being stabbed near the heart in New York City in 1958. He was receiving constant death threats. He joked about them with me once, and I had refused to laugh.
r />   He had not been laughing either. His eyes never smiled.

  But I had to deal with other things before Martin arrived. Thursday was the day that Roy Wilkins of the NAACP and activist Bayard Rustin who, among other things, organized the March on Washington in sixty-three, were scheduled to speak.

  My security team and I would have our hands full.

  * * *

  On Tuesday, Eugene McCarthy came in a stunning second to the President in the New Hampshire primary. The votes were so close that, if you subtracted the Republican write-ins, Johnson won by only 230 votes. The student movement, the peace movement, and the civil rights activists suddenly believed they had a platform.

  The New Hampshire primary result left the door open for a hundred possibilities, and I heard, in my haunts on Beale, a bit of hope.

  Everything felt better that week. I walked Jimmy home from school several times, but he wouldn’t let me inside to meet his new family. I had a hunch he didn’t believe he’d stay with them long, and I also knew that he was afraid I’d make the comparison with his real family and find them wanting.

  For the most part, though, I holed up in my office with Laura. She was getting more and more frustrated. She had finally reached her father’s secretary, and the woman had said that her father’s papers had been destroyed—on her father’s orders. I made Laura ask basic questions, such as had the secretary actually destroyed everything, including carbons? And the secretary’s answer was yes.

  Laura asked why her father had given the order, a question that burst from her on her own, with no prompting from me, and the secretary had no answer for that either. The secretary did admit that such wholesale destruction was unusual, but then, she had said that working for Earl Hathaway hadn’t been like working for anyone else.

  Laura didn’t follow up on that statement.

  I took down the name of the secretary. I would follow up, if need be.

  We were still going through the financial records, finding a lot of missing ingredients. I became more and more convinced there was another set of books, and Laura became more and more discouraged.

  On Wednesday, I left the office in the early afternoon. I wanted to check with my so-called security team to see if they were ready for the following night.