by Pearl Cleage
Looking at the heartbroken mother, Precious thanked her lucky stars one more time that she had been able to raise Kwame in peace, but she knew West End was only one tiny oasis. A few miles away, there was nothing but cruelty and chaos.
“Have the police arrested any suspects?” Precious asked.
“Suspects? They ain’t got to look for no suspects. They know who did that to my boy. They been knowin’.”
Precious frowned slightly, but her voice stayed even. “What do you mean?”
“I mean, they all in on it, too.”
“The police?”
“Yeah, the police. They protectin’ these coke dealers because they payin’ ’em to look the other way. They were afraid my son might tell what he knew.”
Precious leaned forward and took Mrs. Robinson’s hand. It was damp with tears and sweat. “That’s a very serious charge you’re making.”
Mamie didn’t blink. “Why you think I came down here? Everybody else scared to help me or they takin’ money.”
“I don’t really have any powers over the police department.”
“I thought you was gonna be the mayor.”
“That’s a long time from now.”
Precious wondered if Mrs. Robinson had ever voted. The charges the woman was making were explosive. The wiser course was probably not to get involved at all.
“So what was all that about the open door?”
“I was in the state legislature then,” Precious said, knowing she might as well have said, That’s when I was living at the North Pole. “But I still wouldn’t have had any power over the Atlanta Police Department. The two governments don’t work that way.”
Mamie withdrew her hand and stood up. “Then I guess I wasted your time and mine by comin’ here.”
“I’m so sorry,” Precious said. “But at this point, I don’t know what you want me to do.”
Mrs. Robinson lifted her chin. “I want you to do whatever you’d do if some niggas sent your son’s dick home in a shoe box.”
The two women looked at each other and in that look was all the information they both knew about the power of class and cast and gender; who was worth protecting and who was not. Precious’s whole life had been dedicated to fighting for this woman’s right to be heard, to be seen, to be respected. If she couldn’t help a woman whose child had been killed so brutally, what good was all her talk about sisterhood and solidarity? If she started avoiding controversy now, the bad guys had already won.
“You’re right,” Precious said, ashamed at her initial hesitation. “You’re absolutely right and I apologize. Please sit down and let’s figure out how I can help you find out who killed your son.”
Mamie began to cry again. “Thank you, Senator. Thank you!”
“Thank you for trusting me enough to come here.” Precious picked up the phone. “Joann? Get me Lee Kilgore on the phone, will you?”
34
When Baby Brother arrived at the West End News, still wearing his baggy blue jeans, oversize white T-shirt, and 76ers baseball cap, he wasn’t sure what to expect. Zora had made Blue Hamilton sound like some kind of godfather or something. That was cool, Baby Brother thought. He needed someone to watch his back until he got the lay of the land. Right now he needed a job and a place to live. Zora seemed to think this guy was good for both, so at the appointed hour, Baby Brother presented himself at the newsstand and asked for Mr. Hamilton.
The old man fiddling with the cappuccino machine looked him up and down, shook his head, and told him to take a seat. Baby Brother wanted to tell the old guy what he could do with that look, but he didn’t want to get off on the wrong foot. Instead of picking a fight, he decided to use the time to look around. He had no idea what kind of place this might be. The shelves and racks were filled with newspapers and magazines. There was lots of foreign stuff with weird writing. It was like being back in Iraq, he thought. The people there read a million newspapers a day.
He wondered if they kept the porno in the back. There were a couple of people sitting around reading and drinking coffee and there was a pretty steady stream of folks coming in for the evening paper or the latest issue of Jet magazine. He made eye contact with a slender, dark-skinned beauty who looked too regal for the sweats she was wearing. She smiled as she paid for her cappuccino and left. Atlanta was full of fine women, Baby Brother thought. I think I’m gonna like it here.
Momentarily distracted, he didn’t see General come up behind his chair.
“Are you Wesley Jamerson?”
Baby Brother jumped about a foot in the air. “Damn, man! You scared the shit out of me!”
The big man just looked at him. “That’s the last cursing you’re going to do in here today, youngblood. Now I asked you a question. Answer it.”
Being bold was one thing, but Baby Brother didn’t have the nerve to say something smart back to this guy. “Yeah, I’m Wes Jamerson.”
“Are you carrying any weapons or contraband of any kind?”
He felt like he was back at boot camp and he didn’t like it one bit. “Naw, man. Are you Hamilton?”
“You’re not here to ask questions, youngblood. You’re here to answer them. Follow me.”
Baby Brother walked behind the man down a short hallway full of more newspapers. At the end of the hall, the man pulled open a large metal door and moved inside to let him enter. Baby Brother found himself in a large room where a dark-skinned man in a beautiful black suit sat at a table drinking coffee in a little tiny cup.
General looked down at Baby Brother. “Stand until he tells you to sit, and when he tells you the meeting is over, the meeting is over.”
“Cool,” Baby Brother said, heading for Blue.
General grabbed his arm in a grip that made him wince. “Say ‘yes, sir,’ youngblood, and pull your damn pants up!”
Resisting the desire to rub his arm as he walked across the room, Baby Brother did as he was told. He stood awkwardly while Blue gave him a long, hard look. He was glad Zora had warned him about the eyes. Otherwise, he felt he never would have been able to withstand Blue’s gaze. He had never seen a black man with eyes that color.
“What’s your name?” Blue’s voice was a low rumble.
“They call me Baby Brother.”
Blue’s eyes glittered in a way that made Baby Brother wish he’d just said “Wes Jamerson” like he had some sense.
“Well, they aren’t here, so why don’t you tell me what your mama calls you?”
Baby Brother swallowed hard. “My given name is Wesley.”
“I’ll call you Mr. Jamerson. You’ll call me Mr. Hamilton.”
Baby Brother wished he could sit down, but he knew better. “Yes, sir.”
“What kind of work do you do?”
“Well…”
Zora said tell him the truth, but what was he supposed to say? I used to browbeat my mother out of money, but she died. I hustled my father a lot, but he died, too. I guilt-tripped my sister. Stole from her, too. Sold a little dope to kids. Let the homies pay my way if they got it like that. You know, man, same ol’ shit.
That was the truth, but he was hardly going to say that to this blue-eyed stranger who had no sense of humor that Baby Brother had been able to detect.
“I’ve been in the army, sir.”
“But you’re not in the army anymore.”
That was the one thing they could agree on. At least he wasn’t in the army anymore. Baby Brother grinned at Blue. “Word!”
Blue’s look was so disapproving, it sent a chill through Baby Brother. He hadn’t meant any disrespect.
“Word, sir.”
“What are you going to do now?”
Baby Brother didn’t know how to answer the question any better now than he had when Zora asked it, so he just stood there. Blue didn’t move a muscle while Baby Brother shifted from one foot to the other and tried to think of something sensible to say. Failing that, he decided to throw himself on Blue’s mercy and ask for some assistance.
Blue watched Baby Brother morph effortlessly from one persona to the next and wondered why the one he chose most consistently was the one with no future. “Sit down.”
Baby Brother took a seat across from Blue. Without being told, he pulled off the 76ers cap and placed it on the floor beside his chair.
“Since you don’t seem to know what kind of work you can do, I’ll find a job for you in West End. You’ll be paid. It won’t be much over minimum wage, but not working is not an option. Everybody works.”
This was sounding more and more like the army. “Does everybody work for you?”
Blue’s eyes glittered like black diamonds. “Everybody who’s got any sense. Does that include you?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Good. You’ll share an apartment in one of our buildings until you find your own place. Mr. Mason will meet you there and tell you the rules.”
Baby Brother felt like he’d jumped out of the frying pan into the fire. He hated rules. A flicker of annoyance passed across his face and Blue recognized it for what it was: defiance. He leaned forward and placed both his hands on the table. His long fingers were laced together like he was getting ready to pray. The cuffs of his white shirt were spotless.
“Let me explain something to you as clearly as I can. You are a deserter from the United States Army. You’re not the only one, not by a long shot, and the army can’t afford to let all of you just slip away. It sets a bad precedent. So they’re going to be looking for you. If they find you, that’s a problem for you. If they find you in West End, that’s a problem for me.”
Baby Brother didn’t say anything. The last thing he wanted to be to this blue-eyed boss man was a problem.
“In order for us to avoid that moment, you have to stop acting like a damn kid who can’t keep his britches up over his own ass and be a man.” Blue paused to let his words sink in. “We don’t tolerate violence toward women or abuse of children. We don’t tolerate nonproductive people who want to live off their neighbors’ hard work. We don’t tolerate men acting a fool.”
Baby Brother started to ask Blue for a more precise definition of acting a fool, but he knew better.
“West End is a unique community, Mr. Jamerson. There are lots of other places you can live in Atlanta where none of these rules apply. If you decide to do that, I will have nothing more to say about how you live your life. But if you stay in West End, you’ll have to keep up your end of the bargain or I’ll want to know the reason why.”
The possibilities of what might happen if the explanation wasn’t satisfactory was not something Baby Brother wanted to explore.
“Is that clear?” Blue said.
“Yes, sir.”
“Are you sure you understand what I’m saying to you?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Good.” Blue stood up, and Baby Brother scrambled to his feet, too. Behind him, General was already opening the door. Outside, another man in a dark suit was waiting. “Then this meeting is over.”
He held out his hand and Baby Brother shook it, feeling the strength of his grip without Blue having to squeeze too hard like men sometimes do to show how macho they are. Blue’s strength seemed to flow down his arm and out through his fingers like a force Baby Brother could feel, but couldn’t see.
“Thank you, sir,” he said, backing away. “Thank you.”
General stepped out into the hallway just long enough to introduce Baby Brother to Jerome Mason, who would take it from there. When he closed the door, Blue was already pouring himself another espresso. General waited for Blue to speak first.
“What do you think about this kid?”
General didn’t mince words. “He’s trouble as sure as I’m sitting here.”
“Keep an eye on him.”
“Don’t worry. I’ve got it covered.”
35
Regina couldn’t remember when her body had required so much sleep. Probably never. It was disconcerting at first. She’d be having lunch with Blue and all of a sudden she’d just start yawning in his face. She was mortified, but he found it funny. He encouraged her to listen to her body and do what it told her to do. She agreed and what it told her to do was take a nice long nap every day from twelve to two.
Once she surrendered to the naps, the house began to sprout suitable spots for her to enjoy them. The corner of the couch, with a jumble of pillows and the soft cashmere throw Abbie had sent her from India years ago, was as cozy as a cat’s favorite basket. The bed in the guest room that was soon to be the baby’s room was also a favorite. The nest that claimed her today was a tiny chaise longue that she kept on the sunporch off their bedroom. It was perfect for an afternoon nap and she was asleep almost before she laid her cheek on the plum-colored velvet cushion and pulled a light cotton quilt around her shoulders. For two hours, she dreamed of walking and laughing with her aunt on the beach at Tybee. At three-fifteen, she woke up, went downstairs for a cup of tea, and dialed Abbie’s number in D.C.
“My dear girl,” Abbie’s voice sang out before the phone completed one ring. “I have conjured you up at last! I thought my much-sought-after powers were abandoning me!”
“We can’t have that. What would your acolytes do without you?”
“They’d concoct a ritual for the return and revitalization of magic powers. These girls are serious believers in the power of burning sage and constructing altars in the woods.”
“I wonder who taught them to do that?” Regina laughed.
Abbie had an active, if unofficial, relationship with the women’s studies center at Howard University. Her classes and seminars were always full of earnest young women who needed to understand themselves and their world a little better. She also had a boisterous private clientele of pre-, peri-, post-, and in-the-midst-of menopausal women who flocked to her for advice and counsel. What had begun as Abbie’s personal quest had become a collective journey of sisterhood.
“You sound great,” Regina said.
“I feel great. How are you doing? Any morning sickness?”
“No, but I’ve been sleeping a lot more.”
Abbie chuckled. “When your mother was carrying you, she used to go hide in her office between classes and grab forty winks.”
“I’ve got that beat by half,” Regina said. “So how are you? Any more break-ins?”
This was the question Abbie had hoped she wouldn’t have to answer. She didn’t want to worry Regina by telling her that there had been two more home invasions less than a mile from the house.
“Things have been pretty quiet lately.”
“I don’t believe you.”
Trying to fool Regina had been silly. All she had to do was go to the Internet. Monday’s Washington Post had carried a big story about the neighborhood being terrorized by a string of increasingly violent crimes. The victims had all described the perpetrators as two black males in their late teens, armed with a .22 pistol and a Boy Scout knife.
“Don’t worry about it, dear. I’m always careful.”
“Have you called that man about the burglar bars yet?”
“No, dear, not yet.”
“Blue already paid for them!” Regina said. “All you have to do is schedule a time for the guy to come by and take the measurements.”
Abbie hated the whole idea of putting bars on the doors and the windows. That was no way to live. She might as well be in prison if she was going to look through bars to see the sky.
“I just don’t want to put bars on the house, Gina. I know it’s your choice, but I don’t think I could l
ive here behind bars.”
The last thing Regina wanted was for Abbie to leave the house. Last year she’d tried to give her aunt the deed, but Abbie wouldn’t take it, pointing out that while her brother had been Gina’s father, the house was her mother’s legacy.
“Didn’t you used to have a gun?” Regina said. “What happened to it?”
Abbie’s laugh broke through the strange paranoia of the conversation like a ray of light. “How can you possibly remember that? It was a derringer, a very ladylike, pearl-handled derringer that I carried everywhere for years and never fired one time. I doubt if it would deter any thief worthy of the name.”
“I wish you wouldn’t make jokes about this. I’m worried about you.”
“Don’t be. I’ve been turning on the alarm every night and whenever I leave the house during the day.”
“Really?” Abbie had resisted activating the house’s ancient alarm system almost as much as she had installing the burglar bars.
“Really. Now stop worrying and tell me if you’ve laid eyes on my friend Mr. Nolan.”
“Haven’t you talked to him?”
“Every other day or so. Lately, he’s been sending me letters.”
“Peachy?”
“Don’t sound so shocked, dear. As many spells as I’ve worked on that man, I’m surprised he hasn’t shown up at my door.”
“You better be careful. By the time you get back down here, you might blow his poor heart right up.”
“If I’ve got enough magic in me to stop his heart, don’t you think I’ve got enough to start it up again?”
Regina laughed. “You’re terrible!”
“I’ve got to go, dear. There’s a group arriving in twenty minutes for their journal workshop and I promised them fresh sangria. Tell your handsome husband I send enough love to last him until I lay eyes on you two in November.”
“I will. And you be careful until they catch those guys.”
“They better be careful. Woe be it to anybody who disturbs the peace of a postmenopausal woman at work!”
