Too Black for Heaven

by Keene, Day

  He took off his dust-stained hat and inclined his head at the courthouse. “Jist across the street, ma’am. Both the police an’ the fire department lease space from the county. The merchants figure it’s cheaper than buildin’.” He grinned, snag-toothed, as he looked at the parking ticket. “Got you fo’ overtime, eh? Well, don’t fret about it. All it costs is a dollar.”

  Dona’s heels clicked angrily on the red brick pavement as she crossed the street. She didn’t care about the dollar. It was the injustice. She hadn’t over-parked. She’d put a nickel in the meter. She’d turned the lever in good faith.

  Court was still in session. The groups of men and women were still clustered on the walk. Dona walked on, up the stairs and through the double doors. Three long corridors opened into the foyer. There was a directory on the wall. The Police and Fire Departments were at the far end of the right-hand corridor. The click of her heels sounded unnaturally loud on the oiled, wooden floor. She took her wallet from her purse so she wouldn’t have to open her purse in front of the clerk of the traffic court and walked through an open doorway bearing the legend POLICE.

  A tall man wearing a blue shirt and blue trousers was standing in back of the booking counter talking to a deeply-tanned younger man wearing fawn-colored riding pants, highly-polished black boots and a light gabardine shirt. His stiff-brimmed, white Stetson was pushed back on his head. He had a gold star pinned to his shirt and a holstered pearl-handled revolver strapped to his right thigh. Both men stopped talking when they saw Dona and the man on her side of the counter took off his hat.

  “Yes, ma’am?” he asked politely.

  Dona laid the ticket on the counter. “It seems I over-parked. But I still think the meter is wrong. I’m positive I wasn’t gone for more than forty or forty-five minutes.”

  The man behind the counter scratched his head as he looked at the ticket. “That happens. Cream-colored, Cadillac convertible with Illinois license plates, eh?”

  “That’s right.”

  He tore the ticket in two, then in four, and smiled, “Then let’s forget about this, Miss. Could be you’re right about the meter. Besides, we try to make it easy on tourists, at least for their first offense, jist so you-all won’t go ‘way with a bad taste in your mouth an’ givin’ us a hard name up and down the highway. But thanks for comin’ in. Most tourists jist tear ‘em up.”

  Dona opened her wallet. “But I’ll gladly pay the fine if I’m wrong.”

  “No need,” the tall man said. “I’m Chief of Police Clyde Simpson.” He nodded at the other man. “An’ this is the Sheriff, Wade Early.”

  “I’m pleased to meet you,” Dona said.

  Sheriff Early said, “I’m pleased to meet you, Miss. While I can’t call your name, I know you’re stopping at the Yazoo or were. One of my deputies told me about you. He said you came into town a little fast, but it would be sacrilege to drive a car like that any slower.”

  Dona laughed. “I’ve kept under the speed limit since then.”

  “I’m certain you have. Going to be with us long, Miss — ”

  “Santos.”

  “That’s right. Ransom did tell me. You aren’t by any chance kin to that pretty girl who sings on television? What’s her name? Estrella Santos.”

  Dona wet her lips with the tip of her tongue. The story would be in the morning Courier. There was no point in not telling Early. “Yes,” she answered. “I am. Estrella is my mother.”

  “I swear now,” Simpson said. “I wouldn’t have figured that possible. Maybe sisters, yes. But she’s not your mother.”

  “I’ll tell Estrella. She’ll be pleased.”

  “I mean it.”

  “She married young.”

  “She must have. Are you going to be with us for a while, Miss Santos?”

  “I don’t know. Perhaps a month. At least, I’ve paid a month’s rent on a lake cottage.”

  “Good,” Sheriff Early said. “But watch out for the Chamber of Commerce.”

  “Why should I?”

  “They’ll probably send out a photographer to get a cheesecake picture to use in the pamphlets they send North.”

  Dona laughed. “I bought a bathing suit this afternoon.”

  Early wasn’t as young a man as he looked. He was mature and shrewd. Dona was pleased that the incident had occurred. Both men liked her. She could tell by the way they acted. By coming to the station as she had, willing and ready to pay her fine, she’d proved herself a law-abiding citizen.

  “You in show business, too?” Early asked.

  “No. Estrella has all the talent in the family.”

  “How come you landed in Blairville?”

  Dona told him what she’d told Kelly. “I’ve been in Los Angeles a dozen times but I’ve never seen the South. And after all, Estrella did fly west on business. I don’t think the publicity boys at M.G.M. would welcome an eighteen-year-old daughter.”

  Early chuckled. “That’s right. I read that in the Courier yesterday. Your mother’s going to make a picture, huh?”

  “We hope so.”

  “I hope so, too.”

  Sheriff Early returned his hat to his head. “It was a pleasure meeting you, Miss Santos.”

  Dona felt their eyes on her as she walked back down the hall. It was a comfortable feeling. Not all men were evil. Neither Sheriff Early nor Chief Simpson were trying to see through her skirt. They liked her. They thought she was a nice girl.

  Court had broken while she’d been talking to the two officers. The stairs, leading to both the second floor and the foyer, were filled with men, most of whom were talking heatedly. A bailiff was attempting to clear the stairwell and the foyer.

  “All right. Let’s get going, boys. Let’s not block the doorway or the stairs.”

  As Dona waited for the entrance to clear so she could get outside, a well-dressed, middle-aged colored couple came down the stairs. The woman was wiping her eyes, the man looking straight ahead of him. They were followed by a white-haired colored woman who was shouting, “Praise the Lawd. Blessed be His name. For the Lawd shall look after His own.”

  The man standing in front of Dona said, “The Lord, hell. The ol’ lady ought to be thankin’ Jack Ames an’ Tom Moran. Jack wants to be attorney general and Tom’s aimin’ even higher.”

  His companion said, “Ain’t that a fact. Since the high court ruled niggers kin vote in the white primary, every politician in the state has been kissin’ their behinds.” He saw Dona and took off his hat. “I’m sorry, ma’am. Please excuse the language. I didn’t know you were there.”

  He and his companion elbowed their way through the crowd in the foyer and walked through the double front door. Dona stood clinging to the newel post of the stairs. She felt empty, drained of all emotion except anger. She started as someone behind her cleared his throat and was relieved that it was Deputy Sheriff Ransom.

  Ransom touched the brim of his hat. “Afternoon, Miss Santos. Hear you moved from the hotel to Loon Lake.”

  Dona tried to be casual, “That’s right.”

  “Mighty pretty place. I fish it at least twice a month.”

  Another deputy clomped down the stairs, followed by two laughing colored youths and four older sullen-faced white men. All of them were hand-cuffed in pairs. A second officer followed the sextet of prisoners down the stairs, cradling a double-barreled shotgun in his arm.

  “What did they do?” Dona asked Ransom.

  “Them first two stole a car,” he told her. “Drew six months apiece on the road gang an’ two years probation. The white boys is in more serious trouble. The red-haired one forged a check, his third offense. The man he’s cuffed to set fire t’ a cotton barn an’ drew three years fo’ arson. An’ them last two, the Davis brothers, killed a cattle buyer durin’ an armed robbery attempt an’ the jury come in with a verdict of murder in the first degree.”

  Other white men followed the second deputy.

  “That first one, the one laughin’ so hard, is County
Prosecutor Yarnell,” Ransom said. “Jack Ames pinned his ears back on the Peabody case but he come out pretty good on the Davis boys.”

  Carrying an expensive pigskin brief case under his arm, Jack Ames followed his fellow attorneys down the stairs. He looked tired.

  Ransom thrust out an arm and stopped him. “I want you to meet a friend of mine, Counselor. Pretty newcomer to town. Miss Santos, meet Jack Ames. Jack, please to meet Miss Santos.”

  “I’m very pleased to meet you, Miss Santos,” Jack Ames said, soberly.

  Chapter Fifteen

  AMES WALKED Dona out of the courthouse and down the worn stone steps.

  The groups of people standing on and just off the walk were swollen by the addition of friends who had managed to get seats in the courtroom. The old colored man was still selling peanuts. Both the ice cream man and the soda-pop man were doing a good business. The asthmatic wheeze of the carousel organ sounded shriller than it had. The swarms of children still raced across the lawn, screaming with undaunted vigor.

  Ames stopped beside a group of dull-eyed men and women in which a flat-chested young woman was attempting to console a weeping older woman. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Davis,” he said. “I did the best I could.”

  “You got Sam Peabody off but my boys got to die.”

  “I did the best I could,” Ames repeated.

  “Your best wasn’t very good, was it? An’ we paid you five hundred dollars, even put a mortgage on the place.”

  A gaunt man laid a gnarled hand on her arm. “Now, now — ”

  She brushed his hand away. “Take your hand off me, Art Davis. They’re your boys as well as mine.”

  He said, “Happen so. But we’ve no call to throw off on Mister Ames. Like Jack said, he done the best he could.”

  The woman continued to cry, her grief too strong for words.

  “Check with me in the morning, will you, Art?” Ames asked the man.

  “I’ll do that,” Davis said.

  Ames and Dona walked down the walk to the curb. As they waited for a break in the snarl of traffic caused by mud-splattered cars and farm trucks pulling away from the curb, she asked, “Did they do it, Jack?”

  “Did who do what?”

  “Did the Davis boys kill a cattle buyer?”

  “Who told you that?”

  “Mr. Ransom.”

  Ames cupped her elbow and guided her through a hole between two stopped cars halted by the traffic light. “Between us, they’re guilty as hell. They got just what they had coming.”

  “Then why did you defend them?”

  “I’m a lawyer.”

  “Oh.”

  “Now you tell me what you’re doin’ in town.”

  “I came in for groceries and to buy a bathing suit.”

  Ames patted his face with his breast pocket handkerchief. “I could use a lake full of cold water. I could even use some water in a glass as a chaser for somethin’ stronger.”

  “You’ve had a hard day?”

  “One down an’ two to go. Would I be presumin’ if I offered to buy you a drink?”

  “You need one, don’t you?”

  “I’m dead on my feet.”

  “One drink then.”

  They walked up the street toward the hotel cocktail lounge. “How come you were in the courthouse?”

  “I got a ticket for over-parking.”

  “Cost you a dollar?”

  “No.”

  “How come?”

  “Chief Simpson tore up the ticket.”

  Ames laughed softly.

  “He and Sheriff Early were very nice to me.”

  “They’re nice fellows.” Ames opened and held the street door of the cocktail lounge open. “After you, Miss Santos.”

  Most of the lawyers and court attachés Dona had seen in the courthouse were standing at the bar. All of them removed their hats and several of them raised their glasses to Ames, as he led Dona into the lounge.

  County Prosecutor Yarnell said laughingly, “You whopped me good on the Peabody case, Jack.” He eyed Dona with approval. “An’ it would seem, to the victor belong the spoils.”

  “So it seems,” Ames said. He waited for Dona to choose a chair, then sat across from her.

  Dona realized, embarrassed, she’d chosen the same chair in which she’d sat the night she and Jack had met. And they had gone directly, if separately, from the lounge to her room. She hoped Jack didn’t put a wrong interpretation on her choice.

  “What’s it going to be?” he asked her.

  “A tall Collins and light on the gin.”

  When the waiter came, Ames said, “A tall Collins fo’ the lady light on the gin. An’ the usual fo’ me, John.”

  The waiter wiped the spotless service table with a clean linen towel. “Yes, sir, Counselor.”

  Ames unbuttoned the top button of his shirt and loosened the knot of his tie a trifle. “You don’t mind?”

  “Of course not.”

  “Everything all right at the cottage?”

  “Everything’s fine. I was even interviewed this morning.”

  “By whom?”

  “A reporter from the local paper, a man by the name of Kelly.”

  “How come?”

  “He said he’d checked the hotel register, found my name and wondered if I was related to Estrella Santos.”

  “Are you?”

  “She’s my mother.”

  Ames bowed without rising. “Your highness. So we’ve been entertaining royalty unawares.”

  “Don’t be silly.”

  The waiter set a frosted Collins and a bottle of bonded bourbon on the table. Then he placed two glasses, one filled with water, next to the whiskey. “Do you want me to pour, Counselor?”

  “I can manage, barely.” Ames filled the empty glass half-full of bourbon. “So you’re the daughter of Estrella Santos. Tell me, how does it feel to be the daughter of one of the country’s highest paid entertainers?”

  There was a strained quality to his voice that reminded Dona of Charles just before he’d walked out of the apartment.

  Dona hoped Jack wasn’t thinking the same thing. “Like being anyone’s daughter, I imagine.”

  Ames lifted the drink he’d poured. “Well, here’s to crime. May it flourish. At least in Blairville.”

  Dona touched her glass to his. “You’ve seen Estrella on television?”

  “Also in person. At the Chez Paree in Chicago. Is she really Spanish?”

  “Her parents were.”

  “I see. An’ your father?”

  “I don’t know anything about him. He died when I was a baby.” The old story came easily, even though she knew now that it was a lie.

  “I see,” Ames repeated. He finished his drink and poured more whiskey into the glass.

  Dona had the impression that he wanted to say more. Her laugh was forced. “Don’t tell me Blairville doesn’t approve of show people?”

  “On the contrary. We go to everything that comes to town, even the annual play at the high school. Although I will admit the kids seem to be in a sort of a rut. No matter what they start to put on, fo’ some reason, it always comes out The Mikado or Pirates of Penzance.”

  Dona changed the subject. “I went to your office this afternoon.”

  “So?”

  “And a very pleasant white-haired woman told me you were in court.”

  “That was May, my sister, the one I told you keeps house for me. You see, my regular receptionist also acts as my secretary an’ on court days I need her with me. She’s the only one who can decipher my notes.”

  “Oh.”

  “Anythin’ special you wanted?”

  Dona wished she knew what she’d said or done. The relationship between them had changed. Ames was polite but detached. She said, “Well, nothing urgent. I just stopped by to see if you’d gotten that gun permit you mentioned.”

  “Oh, yes, the permit,” Ames said. He unzipped his pigskin brief case and took two printed forms from one of
the compartments. “I got the forms this mornin’ but couldn’t fill ‘em in because I forgot to take the serial number of the gun.” He took a fountain pen from his pocket. “You chance to remember it?”

  “I didn’t even know it had a serial number. But I have the gun in my bag.”

  “Do you carry it with you wherever you go?”

  “That’s why I bought it.” Dona opened her bag and passed the revolver across the table.

  Ames copied the serial number on both forms, returned the gun to her bag, then pushed the forms across the table. “Now if you’ll sign your name attestin’ you’re white and of legal age, eighteen in this state, an’ have never been convicted of a criminal breach of the law.”

  Dona signed the forms and gave them and the fountain pen back to Ames. “Thank you. Thank you very much, Jack.”

  He creased one of the forms and gave it to her. “I’ll file the other with Sheriff Early.”

  Ames looked at his empty glass. “Funny how this stuff evaporates. Must be the heat.” He poured another drink. “Look, sugar — ”

  “Yes?”

  “Sure you can’t tell me what’s eatin’ on you?”

  “What makes you think anything’s eating on me?” Ames gestured with his free hand. “Skip it. You happen to see Beau today?”

  “For a minute.”

  “Where?”

  “In the drug store. I was having a coke and he stopped behind my stool and thanked me.”

  “Publicly?”

  “No. No one heard him but me.”

  Ames licked a bead of whiskey from his upper lip. “I thought he was passed out cold when we left him in front of his house last night but he must’ve had some glimmer of consciousness ‘cause he also stopped by the office this mornin’ an’ thanked me. He apologized all over the place for what he’d done an’ tried to do. Frankly, it rather sickened me.”

  “Why should it?”

  “Because, while I’ve known Beau fo’ years, it was the first time I ever heard him really crawl. And crawlin’ doesn’t become him.

  “You bein’ from the North wouldn’t know. But down here, the first thing a colored father teaches his children is how to get along with white folks, how to crawl. The advice is usually like this, ‘Remember, a white man is always right an’ you’re wrong. In your dealin’s with them be brief, be polite, say what you have to say an’ get away fast.’ In other words, never forget you’re colored.”