I made myself take a sip from my glass. My hand was shaking so hard that I could barely raise it to my face. I brought the glass back down.
“So I go to the fire station, and there’s these white guys there, and I tell them, ‘I seen the guy,’ and they pull me into this corner and start asking me questions like what did I see, and who I was and where did I live.”
“Did you answer them?”
“Sure,” he said. “But they didn’t go nowhere, and they didn’t tell nobody, and then they tell me to wait, and finally these other guys, the ones you saw, come and get me. And the first guys says, ‘He seen stuff he shouldn’t have,’ and the others say that they’ll shut me up.”
“All this in front of you?”
He shook his head. “Off to the side where they think I can’t hear, but I heard ’em good enough. Before I can get out of there, they grab me and take me to their car. I fought ’em, Smokey. I fought ’em real hard, but I didn’t think they’d let me go. Then you came.”
His voice trembled at that last.
“What did you think was going to happen to you?”
“I dunno,” he whispered.
“What did you see that you weren’t supposed to see?”
“I dunno that either,” he said. “Only, there were a lot of cops there, weren’t there, Smokey? For that part of town? Joe used to like it there because there wasn’t any cops.”
I hadn’t been thinking clearly. But he was right. There were too many cops, and too soon. I had gotten to Mulberry by six-twenty, no later, and the place was crawling with police. They shouldn’t have arrived yet, at least not in those numbers, not even with the fire station nearby.
“What do you think was going on, Jimmy?” I asked.
He raised his eyes to me. “They didn’t act scared, Smokey,” he said. “It was like they knew something was gonna happen. It was like they knew.”
TWENTY-EIGHT
I STOOD. If the killing of Martin had been planned, as Jimmy said, then Jimmy’s life was in danger. He had seen the shooter, and he had told them both who he was and where he lived.
I held up a finger to him, indicating that he should remain quiet, then I picked up the phone and dialed Selina Nelson.
“It’s Smokey,” I said, without much preamble. “Do you know what’s happening?”
“It’s horrible,” she said, her voice thick. “And Jimmy’s still missing.”
“You haven’t found him yet?”
“No, and I can’t find anyone to look. They’re all busy. My husband’s out now, but I’m worried. They say that looting is going on.”
“I know,” I said. “I saw it start.”
“Smokey,” she lowered her voice. “The police were just here. They wanted Jimmy.”
I felt the hair on the nape of my neck stand up. “What for?”
“I don’t know. They wouldn’t say. What are they doing here with the whole city coming apart?”
Good question, and one I couldn’t answer. “What did you tell them?”
“Only that he’s been missing since this afternoon.”
“Nothing about Joe?”
“A little, but that’s all.”
“Not anything else?”
“No,” she said.
“Good. Keep it that way. I’ll call when I have news.” And I hung up. Jimmy was watching me.
“She’ll worry,” he said.
“I know,” I said and bit back the rest of it. If he had stayed home, like I asked, instead of looking for Joe by himself, then everything would have been all right. If he had stayed home. But he hadn’t. “You realize this is serious, don’t you, Jimmy?”
He nodded.
“You will do everything I tell you?”
He nodded again.
“All right,” I said. Sirens flared and died nearby. I tensed. “If someone comes to the door, you hide in my closet, and you don’t make a sound. You got me?”
“Yes,” he whispered.
And for the first time, I wished this house had a cubby behind the closet like the house I grew up in in Atlanta. There was no perfect hiding place here. But then, no one would drag me off either. They weren’t looking for me, they were looking for Jimmy, and I would bet that most of the search would wait until things in Memphis calmed down.
Still, for good measure, I closed all my curtains, made Jimmy stay low, and turned on the television rather loud. I got him to the couch and let him rest there while I took the easy chair near the window. My shape could be viewed there, and it would look, to anyone observing, like I was watching television alone.
Before I sat down, I got my gun and placed it on the end table beside me. Better to be safe. And I had no idea what safe exactly was.
“There’s not much more we can do tonight,” I said to Jimmy. “The city’s going to be locked down. But be prepared to do what I tell you tomorrow, all right?”
He nodded from his position on the couch, looking more frightened than I had ever seen him.
“Smokey?” he asked in a very small voice, “did I do something wrong?”
“That’s the hell of it, Jimmy,” I said, wishing the world were different. “You did everything right.”
* * *
The entire country erupted that night. People poured into the streets in over a hundred cities. Fires burned in Harlem, Detroit, and Baltimore. In Washington, D.C., whole sections of the city burned. Stokely Carmichael—who had been there all along, not here as reported—urged blacks to go home and get guns. The white media reported the white deaths—a man dragged from his car and beaten; the shooting of the white neighbor of a black man in Minneapolis who had sworn to kill the next white he saw—but they underreported the black deaths, which were often at the hands of police.
In Memphis, four thousand National Guard troops stationed themselves all over the city. The riots, looting, and fires were horrible, but only lasted the night. In Washington, Chicago, and other cities, they continued into the next day.
Jimmy fell into a fitful sleep on the couch, and I watched the television until all the stations went off the air. I thought of calling Laura, but I had no idea what I would say to her.
So I turned on the radio and sat guard all night, listening to the reports filtering in and the sirens that echoed around us. Once I thought I saw burning in the distance, but I wasn’t sure. In any case, it seemed to be gone within a short period of time.
The hope I’d awakened with that morning had died as if it had never been. I had only felt this way once before in my life—when my parents died. And then, as now, I was helpless to do anything about it. The only difference was now, I had a young boy in my care. A boy who needed me.
* * *
At eight o’clock the following morning, Memphis was quiet. The sirens were gone, the rioters dispersed. The television news gave me a rehash of the assassination, and none of the details sounded like the ones that Jimmy told me. They also reported on the chaos all over the country, the violent response to the death of a man who believed in nonviolence above all.
I almost put my own gun away. I didn’t need it after all. No one had caught up to us yet. Then I had second thoughts. With my plan, I might need it. I rummaged in my drawers until I found the shoulder holster and put it on, slipping the gun in it. Then I put a shirt over it. Normally I wouldn’t have risked carrying a concealed weapon, but things were normal no longer.
Jimmy still slept on the couch, covered in a blanket I had pulled off my bed. I figured that he should sleep as long as he needed to. The next few days would be difficult on him. I already had a plan.
Unlike my parents, I wasn’t going to assume that because no one had come, no one would. I wasn’t going to wait around for someone in authority to come after Jimmy. I was going to get him out of here. Then we would decide what else needed doing.
I called Henry and asked him to come over.
“Do you know what’s going on, Smokey?” he asked. “I can’t come there.”
“Yo
u have to,” I said.
“There’s going to be a press conference this morning, and they need help with the arrangements—”
“No, Henry,” I said. “You need to come here.”
“Smokey—”
“Did the police visit you last night?”
“At the church,” he said.
“And they weren’t asking about Martin, were they?”
“No.” He drew the word out, and as he did, I heard the moment when he understood me.
“Be here as soon as you can,” I said and hung up.
* * *
By the time Henry arrived, Jimmy was up and in the shower. I was making the last of my eggs and had coffee percolating on the stove. The shower shut off just as Henry knocked. I had given Jimmy some old clothes of mine. They wouldn’t fit, but they would do.
I let Henry in. He looked fifteen years older and more tired than I had ever seen him. He hadn’t slept either.
“The whole world has ended,” he said.
It felt that way. I had no response.
“Come into the kitchen,” I said.
Jimmy was out of the shower, his hair still glistening wet, my Boston University sweatshirt, which he wore, damp on the shoulders. I served him some eggs, offered some to Henry, who declined, and gave them both coffee. Then I poured myself a cup and sat.
“I need you to stay with Jimmy, Henry,” I said. “Don’t let anyone in and don’t tell anyone he’s here.”
“What happened?” Henry asked.
“Jimmy can tell you after I’ve left.” I leaned forward. “We’ve got to get out of Memphis before he gets traced to me, and he will get traced to me.”
“Smokey—”
“You’ll understand soon enough,” I said.
“Where are you going?” Jimmy asked, and he sounded scared.
“To my office. We need money to travel on, and I don’t have it here.”
“I can give you some,” Henry said.
“It won’t be enough.” Having something to concentrate on kept me fresh. I felt more alive than I had since I learned of Martin’s death. As long as I focused on Jimmy, I’d be all right.
“You’re coming back to Memphis, aren’t you?”
“I don’t know,” I said.
“But Joe—” Jimmy started.
“Joe wanted me to keep you safe,” I said. “That’s what I’m doing. If you stay in town, you know what will happen.”
Jimmy’s eyes filled, but he said nothing. Henry put a hand on his shoulder.
“I’m counting on you, Henry,” I said. “He has to stay here.”
Henry nodded.
“One more thing,” I said. “Call Selina. Tell her, somehow, to put Jimmy’s things in a bag and leave them at the church. Do that without using his name. We’ll drop you there on our way out of town.”
“But I brought my car.”
“Have someone come back for it.”
Henry blinked hard, as if he were trying to force himself to concentrate, and then he said, “This is bad, isn’t it?”
I nodded. “If I don’t get Jimmy out of here, I can’t guarantee he’ll live a week.”
Jimmy raised his head at that.
“I’m sorry,” I said. “It’s true, and you know it.”
He closed his eyes. “I know.”
I nodded, then stood. I put a hand on his other shoulder. “Tell Henry,” I said softly. “When he sees Joe, he’ll explain. Believe me, Joe will understand too.”
And then I left.
* * *
A thick cloud of smoke hung over Memphis. There had been more fires than the radio had reported. Entire sections of the city were destroyed. National Guard troops once again patrolled in tanks.
There were very few cars on the road, but I was startled to see airplanes circling the airport. Life was still going on. It was hard to believe. It did feel, as Henry had said, as if the world had ended.
I wondered if Laura was in one of those planes, heading to Atlanta. Off to meet people who probably were happy that Martin was dead.
Beale wasn’t the mess it had been a week before. There was very little left to destroy. Most of the windows hadn’t been replaced yet. There was no Guard on this street, although there was a blockade on Main, and the radio said there was no going near St. Joseph’s or the Lorraine Hotel.
I sat in my car for a moment, trying to recapture the feeling I’d had the day before, trying, even, to remember what it felt like. But it was gone. I was feeling nothing.
I got out, and went inside. I hadn’t locked my office the night before, but surprisingly, no one had come in. I went to my desk and got the checkbook—I would stop at a bank on the way home, remove most of the cash, and give the stubs to Henry. He could pick up my mail and deposit the checks I received from the bills I’d mailed the day before. I’d figure out a way to pull the money out without being traced, but I’d worry about that later.
Then I went to my safe and opened it. The accordion file stuck out slightly. I would have to have Henry return that. I sighed at all the unfinished business, and then removed what cash I had inside.
I had just closed the safe when someone knocked my door. The sound startled me. I reached for the gun, and rose, holding it.
“What?” I yelled.
The door opened. Laura was standing there. She looked at me, then the gun, then back at me.
“Can I come in?” she asked.
I lowered the gun and motioned her inside. She closed the door gently.
“I thought you were in Atlanta,” I said.
“I couldn’t leave. Not after this.”
I stared at her as if I hadn’t seen her before.
“I wanted to call you last night, Smokey,” she said, “but I didn’t think it was right. Not yet. But all last night, I thought about you. I thought this is just a small piece of the shock you felt when your parents died in just the same kind of way, and I wondered how people ever got over it, whether they did get over it. And then I thought about what happened when I was just a baby, and I thought how unfair it is, all we have to deal with, all the legacies we’re left. And I realized I hadn’t told you something.”
“Is that what you’re still doing in Memphis?” I asked. “Coming to see me?”
She nodded. “I wanted to make sure you were all right. You’re not, are you?”
I stared at her for a long moment and didn’t answer. How could I be all right? What did she expect? Did she expect me to swallow all of it, like a Midwesterner, and pretend none of it happened?
“They think the shooter was white, don’t they?” she asked softly.
I nodded.
“That makes a difference, doesn’t it?” she asked.
“Only in that it was expected,” I said.
She closed her eyes. “Dr. King was a friend of yours.”
“Not really,” I said. I had wanted to see her so badly, and now I didn’t know how to talk with her. “Memphis isn’t safe right now.”
She opened her eyes. “Nowhere’s safe right now. Chicago’s on fire. There are riots in Washington, D.C. The whole country’s going to burn.”
“Probably,” I said.
Her lower lip trembled. “I need to go home, Smokey. I need to go to Chicago, sort things out, see what I can do with that money I was left. It didn’t all come from my father’s theft. And I might have to meet those people who are my real parents. I don’t know anymore.”
I wanted to go to her. I wanted to touch her, but I couldn’t move.
“I was thinking maybe there are some other things I could do with that money,” she said, “especially now. Help I could give. The Poor People’s Campaign’s already set up. It’d be a shame if it didn’t happen, wouldn’t it? Dreams don’t have to die, do they?”
I didn’t answer her directly. She could throw money at Martin’s campaign if she wanted. It wouldn’t be the same without him. But I couldn’t say that. She seemed to need hope. “That would be good,” I said.
I smiled. “You can help yourself, Laura.”
She shook her head. “No,” she said. “In Chicago.”
I could, I suppose. Take Jimmy and go to Chicago. It would be a start. A different start. Only I couldn’t picture it. I couldn’t see myself beside her any more. She looked almost alien to me, with that light, light skin.
“But that’s not going to be possible, is it?” she said softly.
“Not now.” My voice didn’t sound like my own. It was so flat, so lifeless.
She nodded. “I knew it when I opened the door.”
The silence hung between us. I couldn’t think of anything to say. I should have told her I was leaving. I should have told her everything. But I couldn’t. It just didn’t feel right any more.
After a moment, she adjusted her purse strap and smiled at me just a little. “Well, if you change your mind, you know how to reach me.”
“I do,” I said.
She grabbed the doorknob, turned it, and pulled the door open.
She was going to leave. Suddenly I didn’t want her to.
“Is that what you came to tell me?” I asked. “That you were going to use your parents’ money to do some good now?”
She shook her head. She looked down. “Yesterday,” she said, “even before—well, you know—I was thinking about you, and I realized I hadn’t told you.” She raised her head, her blue eyes shining in the dim light. “I love you, Smokey.”
I felt my breath catch in my throat.
“But last night, when everything fell apart, I realized that isn’t enough. Is it?”
“Yesterday,” I said. “I would have told you that it was.”
TWENTY-NINE
WE TOOK OFF THAT AFTERNOON, Jimmy and I, for parts unknown. I wasn’t driving the Falcon. Henry had nixed that. He had given me one of the church’s cars, a relatively new green Oldsmobile, and had taken the Falcon in exchange. He was worried that eventually we would get traced through it. He was probably right.
A Dangerous Road: A Smokey Dalton Novel Page 29
