Thin Walls: A Smokey Dalton Novel

by Kris Nelscott

“It may not be as easy to change as you think. Just because you’ll be in charge of the board and have the majority of shares doesn’t mean you can change an entire corporate culture—one that got started on graft and corruption in a town that thrives on graft and corruption—in one lifetime.”

  “So I shouldn’t try. Is that what you’re saying?” She had crossed her arms.

  “You’re going to get hurt, Laura.”

  “I know that,” she said. “I don’t see why that should stop me.”

  “It could even be dangerous.”

  Her eyes narrowed. “So I shouldn’t bother my pretty head over this?”

  The words hit me with the force of a slap. “I didn’t say that.”

  “You’re implying it.”

  “You’re just hearing it that way.”

  Our voices had gone up. A few people glanced our way.

  “Then what are you trying to tell me?” she asked. “That I should duck my head and move on, let someone else deal with the problem? That’s not who I am, Smokey.”

  I was still uncomfortable having my real name bandied about in public. I made a small gesture with my hand, asking her to lower her voice.

  “Laura,” I said, “you’ve been protected and pampered your whole life.”

  “Yeah. And in the last year, I’ve learned that my entire life has been a lie. I have to do something with all that I’ve learned. I have to make a difference.” She leaned close, so that I was the only one who could hear her. “I nearly died in August, and I realized that I pissed away every chance I’d had to do anything. Every night in that apartment—.”

  She stopped herself. When it was clear she wasn’t going to continue, I said, “Every night in that apartment, what?”

  She shook her head.

  “Laura, finish.”

  She swallowed hard and looked away from me. “I don’t sleep. I walk around in it, thinking about what would have happened if I had died then. Who would have missed me, who would have even noticed I was gone, and—”

  “I would have noticed,” I said. “I would miss you.”

  She looked at me. That openness was there, the same openness I’d seen that night in Memphis, the night we actually had a chance. I’d seen that look so rarely since then. Only a few times in Chicago, once when she’d asked me if we could try to rekindle the relationship here.

  Sometimes I wanted to, no matter how difficult it was. And maybe that was why I was arguing with her—because I knew that this decision, her decision to take over Sturdy, would make an even wider gulf between us.

  “Smokey,” she said.

  I made myself lean back. “Jimmy would miss you too.”

  The words put distance between us, just like I intended. She nodded once, swallowed, then looked away.

  “I was going to ask for your help with this,” she said, “but since you don’t support it, I guess that wouldn’t be appropriate.”

  “Ask,” I said.

  She looked at me again, but the openness was gone. She shook her head slightly. “This is my decision, and—”

  “Ask.”

  “All right.” She took a sip of her coffee as if to fortify herself. “I was wondering if, after the board meeting, you would be my spy, for lack of a better word. I need someone I can trust to examine the buildings we own and tell me what condition they’re in.”

  “You can get that from your own people,” I said.

  She shook her head. “They’re going to say everything is fine, and even I know how easy it is to buy off a building inspector. I need someone who’ll give me the real information before I request changes in an area. You’d be on my payroll, not Sturdy’s.”

  “Laura, I don’t want your money.”

  “It’s a job, Smokey, and I’m paying you for the work because I’m going to demand a lot of you. Will you do this?”

  “I’m sure you can find someone else.”

  “Not someone I trust.” Her gaze hadn’t left my face. I wondered what she saw there besides reluctance.

  “All right.”

  “Good.” She grabbed her gloves. “That won’t be until January, but I’ll talk to you more before that.”

  She reached for her coat, but I put my hand on it. The rabbit’s fur was soft and warm. “When’s the board meeting?”

  “January second,” she said.

  “What kind of security do you have?”

  “At the meeting? Sturdy’s usual—”

  “No,” I said softly. “I mean you. For the next month.”

  “I don’t need security,” she said.

  “Does anyone know what you plan to do?” I asked. “Besides your friend Drew, I mean.”

  “He doesn’t even really know,” she said. “I’ve been purposefully vague.”

  “Good,” I said. “Was anyone surprised that you contested the will?”

  “A few people,” she said.

  “And what was the reaction in court today?”

  She put the gloves on top of the coat. “Why? What are you getting at, Smokey?”

  “Answer me, Laura.”

  “They were surprised at the verdict.”

  “Why? Didn’t they fight it hard?”

  “My father’s will was pretty loose. It’s clear that those shares are mine. The proxy was an informal thing, not a formal thing. That’s why the case was resolved so easily.”

  “Was anyone angry?”

  “Well, yes, but I expected that—”

  “Laura?”

  She raised her chin. “They all were.”

  “And what did your lawyer advise?”

  “That I refuse to meet with any of them unless I have a lawyer present.”

  Thank God for that. The man had some sense. “Well, I’m your security adviser now, Laura. And I want to be present whenever you have a meeting as well, especially if you have an informal one.”

  “Smokey, we’re talking about businessmen here, not criminals.”

  “We’re talking about a lot of money here, Laura, and I want to see what you’re up against.” I took another bite of pie. It tasted better than it had a few minutes before. “Remember, these are people your father trusted.”

  She studied me for a moment. “Most of these men have known me my whole life.”

  “You think that’ll make a difference with them?”

  “Yes,” she said.

  I sighed. She couldn’t afford any illusions now. It didn’t matter who shattered them. “You’re going to be sticking your neck out, Laura.”

  “Of course.”

  “You’re not just becoming the first female CEO of Sturdy. You’re also going to take on their entire business practice. It’ll become clear very fast that you’re not going to be a figurehead.”

  “I’m not going in there with a bulldozer,” she said. “I’m going to be careful, play the game, do everything I can to win people over. I promise I’ll make the changes subtly. I’ll convince the other board members that it’s their idea.”

  “I’m not talking about your changes, Laura,” I said softly. “I’m talking about you.”

  “What about me?”

  I studied her for a moment. She didn’t get it, not yet. She’d been that protected, that pampered. “You’re a woman taking over a world that has been controlled by rich white men. You’re asking for a seat anywhere on the bus, a chair at the lunch counter, the right to use any water fountain you want.”

  “I’m not a national leader,” she said. “No one’s going to pay attention to me.”

  “Don’t be so sure,” I said.

  THREE

  IN THE END, Laura agreed to let me accompany her on any meetings that she was going to attend in the next month—formal and informal. I was also supposed to staff part of her security team for the board meeting on January second, something she had planned to ask me to do anyway.

  I knew she was doing this to placate me, and I didn’t care. I wanted to see for myself how trustworthy these men were, these men who had work
ed for her father, these men who had known her all her life.

  “I don’t get it,” Jimmy said. “Why’d Laura want to celebrate?”

  We had just turned onto our block. The apartment buildings were lit up, curtains drawn against the night. A few people had already strung Christmas lights along their balconies, but I didn’t see any trees yet. They would probably all appear after the weekend trip to Wisconsin, stolen, fresh, and beautiful.

  The air had gone from chill to cold. Jimmy had moved closer to me as we walked. He had been talking the entire way home, but this was the first time he’d mentioned Laura. He had been telling me about pinball. The machine had tilted on him, the first time that had happened in a while. Apparently he blamed the machine.

  “And how come she was so dressed up?” Jimmy said. “I never seen her so dressed up.”

  Actually, he had. He just didn’t remember. She was that dressed up the very first time he saw her, in my office in Memphis last February.

  “They make you dress up for court,” I said.

  “I still don’t get that,” he said. “She was in court because she done what?”

  “Did what,” I said absently. “She sued someone to get her rights back.”

  “What’s that mean?”

  As we walked down the sidewalk, thin flakes of snow floated past, like confetti falling from the ceiling long after a party had ended.

  I wasn’t sure how to explain any of this to him, but I had to try. Learning the way that Laura lived her life would be as much of an education for him as understanding the roots of Black Christmas. Besides, I had promised myself early on that I would do my best to answer his questions.

  “You know that Laura’s rich,” I said as we walked up the ice-crusted steps toward our front door.

  “Yeah. She’s white.” He reached for the door handle and pulled.

  I glanced at him. He had spoken matter-of-factly.

  “Not all white people are rich,” I said.

  He snorted through his nose, pulling off his mittens as he stomped his feet on the brown mat someone had put inside the entry.

  “Really, Jimmy. There are some white folks who are very poor.”

  He shook his head and grinned at me, as if I were teasing him. “That’s why we got Black Christmas, so they don’t get richer off us.”

  “Who said that?” I asked. “Your teacher?”

  He shrugged and started up the stairs. “Not everybody got white friends like you, you know.”

  Something red flashed inside his coat. I followed him. I was biting back a denial, about to claim that I really didn’t have white friends, only Laura. But that was the last thing I wanted to say to him as well.

  “What’s wrong with white friends?” I asked.

  He had one hand on the wooden railing. The other clutched his mittens. “Some people don’t like them.”

  “So you don’t like Laura anymore?”

  “I didn’t say that.” He stopped on the landing.

  “I’m just trying to understand you.”

  He frowned at me, his brows forming a single line across his face. “Folks say it’s ’coz of white people we all live like this. ’Coz of white people, we ain’t got nothing and we ain’t got no chance for nothing.”

  I didn’t like that last. The one thing I’d been trying to give Jimmy was a chance. “Who says this?”

  He shrugged, turned away, and headed up the next flight of stairs.

  “Jim? Who says?”

  “Folks.” He was taking the stairs two at a time, moving beyond me. The glimmer of red caught my eye again. Fabric of some kind, stuffed in his back pocket.

  I crossed the landing quickly, quietly. I had a hunch I knew what that red fabric was.

  I caught up to him, reached under his coat, and grabbed. My fingers caught soft felt and I pulled.

  “Hey!” Jimmy put a hand on his back pocket and turned, all in one movement. Then he froze, his expression a mixture of guilt and terror.

  I stuck my fingers in the red felt, pushing it into its normal shape. It formed a small tam—a cousin to the beret—but here it was better known as a sun. The only people who wore a sun were members of the Blackstone Rangers, the largest street gang in Chicago.

  “What the hell is this?” I was amazed that I sounded so calm. I wanted to grab Jimmy and, carrying him up the stairs by his arms, throw him into the apartment and never let him out. I wanted to shred the tam and throw the pieces at him. I wanted to take the railing and rip it in half.

  Jimmy’s eyes were wide. “Smoke, you don’t understand.”

  “Oh, I understand.” I kept my voice soft. “I understand that the Stones love little boys like you. They make you do the work so that Jeff Fort and the Main 21 don’t get their hands dirty.”

  “I ain’t done nothing!” His voice rose and I knew that in a moment my neighbors would be in the hallway. Jimmy and I had never had a public disagreement and we weren’t going to start now.

  “Inside, quick,” I said, nodding toward the apartment.

  He ran up the stairs, fumbling for his keys. I had mine out by the time I reached the top. My entire body was cold. I unlocked all three deadbolts and pushed the door open, snapping on the overhead light.

  Jimmy scurried past me. I closed the door gently, careful not to slam it like I wanted to.

  “Why do you have this?” I asked, trying to be reasonable.

  “Because.”

  “Because why?”

  His eyes moved, as if he were trying to think of an answer I would believe. Finally, he said, “You told me I got to try to fit in. You told me not to stand out or nothing, so I—”

  “So you joined the Stones?”

  “I got to fit in!” He backed away from me and banged into the couch. Suddenly I realized he expected me to hit him. That was probably how his mother had dealt with things.

  I was angry enough. Didn’t he know what we’d gone through? Didn’t he understand how much danger he had put us in? I’d gone to incredible lengths to keep him safe, to keep us safe, and he’d jeopardized it with one single decision.

  He looked small now, cringing away from me, like the little boy he truly was. I stared at him for a moment, taking deep breaths to control my anger. Then I tossed the tam on the kitchen table.

  His breath hitched, but he didn’t move.

  “Did you join?” I asked in something that approximated my normal voice.

  “I got to fit in,” he said again. “You said I got—”

  “We established that.” I didn’t move. I didn’t do anything threatening. It unnerved me that he was suddenly so terrified of me, but he had never seen me this angry. “I need to know if you joined.”

  He glanced at the tam, giving me my answer.

  I cursed under my breath, not sure what to do. Yelling at him was the wrong thing. Grounding him would be worse. He had done this in a misguided way to please me. That much was clear—and I should have seen it coming. I should have known what my request that he fit in really meant to a boy who had grown up the way Jimmy had.

  “You said they’s not a regular gang. That church, they like them.”

  He meant the First Presbyterian Church in Woodlawn. The minister there supported the Blackstone Rangers and tried to get them to give up their guns. In return, the Rangers used the church as a headquarters, and a few years ago, had a battle with police that shot the entire place up.

  “And they do stuff for people, you know,” Jimmy was saying. “You told Franklin that gangs got their place. You said they can help sometimes, and the Stones, they help people. You know that.”

  Jimmy’s little speech sounded rehearsed, as if he’d been planning his own defense since he took the tam. Maybe that was why he had kept it hidden, because he had expected my disapproval but hadn’t known how to say no and still be part of the group.

  “They’re not a regular gang.” I walked toward the kitchen table and pulled out one of the chairs, straddling it and resting my arms on its bac
k. That put me at Jimmy’s eye level. It also put a barrier between us so that he might feel protected.

  He didn’t move. All he did was watch me, still cringing against the couch.

  “They’re bigger, for one thing, and smarter, and very dangerous.” More dangerous than I wanted to admit, even to myself. The Stones were organized. They had managed to unite twenty-one area gangs, becoming over four thousand strong. They controlled the South Side. And, while they did do good things, often with the help of the First Presbyterian Church and the Kenwood-Oakland Community Organization, those things were usually a public-relations move, a cover for their other activities.

  “You said that gangs serve a purpose.”

  I hated hearing all my words echoed back to me. “Yes, I said that.”

  I had, too, last summer when I helped convince Franklin to take in a teenager, Malcolm Reyner, who had been a member of the Black Machine, one of the few area gangs not yet under the cover of the Stones.

  “They do serve a purpose,” I said. “A whole bunch of purposes.”

  They served as a police force in a community where the police were often the enemy. They gave young men a place to go and belong. They taught organization skills, and they filled a power niche that was often empty, especially in the poorer sections of the South Side.

  But for every person they helped, they killed five. They took protection money from local businesses and ran drugs throughout the area. They were responsible for a dozen murders that I knew of, and probably a lot more that I didn’t.

  “The church says they’re okay.”

  “The church is trying to rehabilitate them, Jimmy.”

  He looked blank at the word.

  “It’s trying to help them stop breaking the law.” And it wasn’t working. If anything, the church’s help and the legitimacy that it had given the Stones had expanded their power, not diminished it.

  “So, see? It’s okay.”

  I shook my head. “Sit down. Stop cringing. I’m not going to hit you.”

  He studied me for a moment, seemed to accept that as truth, and then levered himself over the couch. The move almost made me smile. He had put another barrier between us, in case I changed my mind.

  “Gangs are full of undercover cops and FBI informants,” I said.