The dark Black officer nodded at them. Thomas raised his hand and did a half salute. Ned mumbled a curse.
The truck carrying the prisoners rolled off. The street rumbled beneath their feet as it did. It took Thomas a few seconds to realize that it was not the police truck that made the ground shake but something else.
The cops working the area stood back as a military transport rolled down the street. It was filled with infantrymen in full gear. They carried M-16 rifles and wore camouflage uniforms. One of the men saluted them and Ned snapped one back.
“Oh, it’s lights out for darkie now,” Ned laughed.
This he said too loud because the light-skinned Black cop turned with an angry look on his face. He took a step in their direction and for a second, Thomas saw himself in the middle of a nasty incident but the other Black cop pulled his partner back and they walked off. Ned never saw this, which was good because he did love a fight.
Thomas and Ned walked back to their cruiser, when a White cop whose name Thomas could never remember approached them.
“Did you hear?” asked the cop who was thin and had brown hair.
“About the hotel thing?” said Ned. “We heard.”
“No, worse than that,” said the thin cop. “Somebody shot a Black kid, five years old. Killed her.”
“A kid?” asked Ned. “How the hell—-“
“Said it was a sniper house,” said the cop. “They saw a light and just fired.”
Thomas now saw true fear in his partner’s eyes. The death of a child was a chilling, heartless thing and for the first time, Thomas suspected that Ned realized that the subtle, often benign prejudices cops carried were just as deadly as the overt ones.
The cop with the red hair moved on telling anyone he could find the news.
Thomas stopped in his tracks by the door of his cruiser. He looked at the burning city and chaos and had a terrible feeling that there was more to come. He took in a sharp breath and then it seemed to burst from his lungs.
“Jesus,” Thomas whispered.
“Don’t think even he can help us tonight,” said Ned.
**********
The fires were extinguished, the wounded tended to, the dead catalogued and the soldiers redeployed.
The curfew was soon to be lifted but the wreckage of the past ten days would be with the little city by the river for decades to come.
Unthinkable acts had touched the lives of average people who’d never dreamed such things were possible in America.
Those old enough to remember the riots of 1943 had lived a nightmarish déjà vu.
Not many saw the startling parallels between the two riots. The nation was at war both times. The government turned its attentions toward international crisis and away from domestic concerns. A resentful White majority was left to work with the descendants of slaves who took jobs and opportunity in service of that war. And the Blacks felt justified in this because the government promised freedom and prosperity. But in the end, it never delivered.
Forty-three people officially died during the ten days of the riots, thirty-four of them were Black. Thousands more were injured, over four thousand arrested and millions in property damage was done. It was the worst urban riot in the history of the nation.
In the annals of the world, it was a small tragedy, not comparable to genocide, war, plague and natural disaster. But in those days, in that city, it looked like the end of everything.
The city pushed out the old blood with orgiastic ferocity. It was over, but a terrible levy had been paid and if there was a Devil, he was dancing.
The sun rose on that last day and the summer wind blew dark ash across the sky, like the tears of fallen Angels.
10
REGION
Robert’s head was pounding as he awakened. In the dream, he was fighting the Cong, only he was in downtown Detroit and the Cong looked strangely like American soldiers and every man he shot had the sneering face of Peter Cole.
The riot was over, or so they said. The city was still under Marshall Law and the curfew had only just ended. But a city under Marshall Law is not a city, he thought. It was a zone, a sector 23; a place whose meaning was defined only by the destruction men had wrought. Detroit was now just a region.
He felt like a coward for not doing something about the problems he saw. But after being in one war, he knew that he could have gone out into the night to be some kind of a champion and maybe catch a bullet for his trouble.
It seemed as though the police and the soldiers were just shooting any Black person they found in the wrong place at the wrong time. He couldn’t believe that grown men went out and risked their lives for a bag of groceries, some cigarettes or a TV set. It wasn’t like the war, he thought. It wasn’t like they needed the stuff to live.
Marcus had told him that the urge to loot was an act of defiance. The men who did it cheered the apparent fall of a tyrannical order and in the wake of it, everything was for the taking. And that’s why the police killed them for it. They were protecting the order.
Robert didn’t understand any of the fancy ideas his brother spoke of; all he knew was that it was silly to die for a pack of Camels and a beer.
Robert walked into the kitchen with food on his mind. He found Denise and his mother having breakfast. The bacon and grits were a pleasant diversion from the ache in his head.
Robert and Denise had made love almost every night of the riot and the desperate feelings that drove them to it were never spoken of. He had never had sex like that, borne of a mixture of fear and love. And it wasn’t so much good as it was vital.
Abraham came in and Theresa shouted down to Marcus who now slept in the basement. There was no answer. She called again but not a sound emanated from below. Finally, Theresa headed to the basement door, which was just off the kitchen and the pantry.
Something in Robert panicked.
“I’ll get him,” Robert said. He got up from his seat and went to the door then down the creaky stairs.
The basement was big. Many of the old Detroit houses had large basements for storage. Root cellar, his mother called it. Robert vaguely remembered the coal chute that was now gone, a gas furnace in its place.
Robert got down to the bottom of the stairs and saw immediately that Marcus was not there and from the still immaculate bed had not been there all night. Then he heard a window open on the far side of the big room. Marcus entered, wiggling through backwards.
“Get up boy!” Robert said for the benefit of his mother. The sound startled Marcus who almost fell while sneaking back in.
Marcus turned to face his angry big brother. Robert pointed up to the kitchen. “Lazy ass!” he said again. Marcus nodded and began to undress.
Marcus joined the family feigning sleep and hunger. He had obviously not eaten and hadn’t slept so the ruse went over. Robert tried not to look accusingly at him during the meal.
All the breakfast conversation was about the riot, how it was over and what it meant. Marcus said precious little and soon excused himself to go back to his room.
Robert wanted to wait until later to talk to Marcus. Theresa went off to church and Abraham was going to the stadium to work on the field. The riot had chased the team away but now that the worse was over, the Tigers were coming home.
Robert was actually excited about this. The Tigers and the Red Sox were in a two-way race for the pennant. If the Tigers prevailed, they would go to the World Series.
After his parents were gone, Robert found Marcus on the kitchen phone, talking. Marcus stopped talking when Denise and Robert entered. He spoke in vague “Uh huhs” and “Yeahs,” then hung up.
Denise could sense a conversation coming, so she went into their bedroom and closed the door.
That Robert had covered for him was not an issue. That’s what brothers did for each other. Robert wanted to know why he been made to take the action.
“Where were you?” asked Robert.
“With a girl,” said Marcus flatly
.
Normally this might have been the end of the conversation. Robert would slap five with his baby brother and do some male bonding. But Marcus’ admission was missing something, that sense of lusty satisfaction a man got when he was sneaking.
“Bullshit,” said Robert. “You was running with them niggas, The Vanguard.
Marcus looked at Robert with the eyes of a man, a very angry man who was fed up about something.
“Okay, I was. I saw the girl, then I got with the Guard and we did some things.”
“What things?” Robert could feel his anger swelling.
“Protecting our people from White killers,” Marcus said as if surprised that Robert would not know this mission. “They killed a baby, did you know that? They are shooting Black people on sight. We went around telling people to stay in and discouraging others from looting.”
“And y’all didn’t set any fires or beat down any White folks?” asked Robert angrily.
“I can’t talk about the group’s actions,” said Marcus. “I’m sworn to secrecy on that kind of thing.”
“Secrecy,” said Robert derisively.
“At least I’m doing something for my people,” said Marcus, the accusation was laden with spite.
Robert didn’t know how to respond. He could not deny that things were bad and he had felt the urge to go out and take action but had done nothing. Still, he was the big brother and needed to show Marcus his folly.
“It ain’t your job to save stupid folk while this shit’s going on.”
“Fuck that!” Marcus said. Robert could not remember his brother ever cursing. “This is it, the revolution is here! The chickens have come home to roost.”
Robert knew that he could not engage Marcus in a debate. He was not smart enough to win that kind of fight.
“Don’t go back out,” said Robert with conviction.
“The curfew is over today,” said Marcus.
“I don’t care. You’re still a minor and you can’t just do what you want,” said Robert surprised of his parental tone.
“I’m not going to stop,” said Marcus defiantly. “We have a mission.”
“Fuck your mission,” said Robert. “You go, I come after you.”
Marcus shook his head sadly at his brother. “What the hell did they do to you over there?” asked Marcus. “Aren’t you tired of seeing your people get killed, raped and lynched? We got a chance to do something. I’m taking it.”
“There ain’t no glory in war,” said Robert. “It’s all death and pain. You and some fools are going to try to take down the government? Be for real.”
“That’s what they said to Washington and Jefferson and them fools. There are plenty of White folks who see things our way, too.”
“You’re being stupid,” said Robert.
“I’m being a man.” Marcus set himself straight and looked his brother right in the eyes. “Not like you.”
Before Robert knew what had happened he saw his hands around his brother’s throat. Marcus hit him hard in the jaw but Robert took the blow like it was nothing. Marcus hit Robert again but this time the blow landed in his flat, hard belly. All the while, precious air was being cut off from Marcus’ lungs.
Marcus grabbed Robert’s arms and pushed as hard as he could. He thought he dislodged the bigger man but Robert had let go voluntarily.
Robert shot out a hand and slapped Marcus hard across the face. The slap hurt but it was the humiliation of it that stung the most. Women and kids get slapped, not men.
Marcus kicked out and caught Robert in the gut. This time the big man backed up, infuriated by the attack.
The soldier’s face appeared.
Robert crouched a little and advanced toward the younger man. He looked at Marcus’ eyes, trying to decide which action to take to hurt him. There were several easy ways to do it. He just had to choose....
“What the hell is going on in here?” asked Denise from behind Robert.
The sound of her voice cut through Robert like a bullet. In an instant, he remembered life, home, love and peace. He remembered his renouncement of violence and that he loved his brother.
“Nothing,” said Robert coming out of his fighter’s crouch. “We’re just talking.”
“Brothers fighting,” said Denise. “It’s stupid.”
“Ain’t no brothers in here,” said Marcus grimly. “Not anymore.”
Marcus turned and ran out of the kitchen’s back door. Robert bolted to stop him but felt Denise’s hand on his shoulder. He stopped and turned to her, his face filled with regret.
“What did you do?” she asked.
Robert had no answer. He just looked out at the day which was already half over and knew that the city would soon descend into darkness with his brother in it.
**********
Thomas felt the aspirin he’d taken dissolving his headache. The last ten days had taken a toll on him. He didn’t feel like a rookie anymore, although it would be some months before his probation was over.
He’d missed the war over seas, but his trial by fire during the riots made him feel fully battle-tested. He’d never forget the flames licking the sky or the bloodied Black faces being loaded into paddy wagons and trucks. But mostly he’d remember himself, a young man thrust into hell and fighting to make sense of it.
Thomas drove as he and Ned patrolled an affluent part of the west side. After the riot, this was like a vacation. Many officers had taken medical days. They were burned out and living with the memory of what happened and what they’d done to stop it. Any cop who had been involved in a shooting had been told to take time off. Thomas thanked God again that he hadn’t had to use his weapon.
It was night, but you could see that the houses were big and the lawns green. It was as though there had been no riot in this part of town. They passed a house with a cherry red Cadillac in the driveway. Thomas loved that car and had always dreamed of owning one.
“They’re living pretty good out here,” said Thomas.
“Tell me about it,” said Ned. “I should be so fuckin’ lucky.”
“So, I hear the soldiers are going to leave soon,” said Thomas.
“Yeah, it’s a shame. Don’t think we would have survived without ‘em.”
“Do you remember the forty-three riot?” asked Thomas.
“Do I?” said Ned. “It was a helluva thing. It started with a fistfight on Bell Isle. It was mostly Polish and Black that fought. And you know how tough them Poles are. Well, it escalated and soon, Black and White were roaming the streets just beating the shit out of anybody that came along.”
“We lost a cousin in that riot. Dennis. Beaten to death in an alley. What the fuck causes all this?” Thomas wondered aloud.
“Who knows with them people? You saw what happened out there. They’re like goddamned animals.”
Thomas did not respond. He heard Sarah’s voice saying that the real cause was a lack of freedom. But if she could have seen what he’d been through, she might well change her mind, he thought.
He was as open-minded as the next guy but the Blacks he saw were far from peaceful and civilized. They burned and wrecked their own neighborhoods as if they didn’t care and braved death for a few trinkets.
“Yeah,” he heard himself finally say.
They saw another patrol car pass on the other side of the street. Then they heard the booming voice of Don Brady.
“Wake up you lazy bastards!” he said over the radio.
“You wake up,” laughed Ned.
“We’re assigned the north and southeast section,” said Brady.
“And we got the rest,” said Ned. “I guess after all this shit; the rich folk wanna feel secure.
“Hol-lee shit,” Thomas heard Matt Reid say.
“What?” Asked Ned.
“Some darkie,” said Brady. He’s headed your way.”
“Copy,” said Ned. To Thomas, he said. “Look out for him.” Then he mumbled. “That’s all I need tonight.”
�
�But there’s no curfew anymore,” said Thomas.
“What’s he doing in this neighborhood at night, rookie?” asked Ned. “Let’s find out.”
**********
Marcus hoped the cops who’d just passed hadn’t seen him. He moved faster. The blow up with Robert was bad enough but now he’d let the sun set on him.
He’d been assigned by The Vanguard leader to watch one of the other members. It was rumored that the FBI and the local police were trying to plant informants within Black militant groups.
The man Marcus was assigned to watch hadn’t done anything suspicious and so he’d gone to see his girl. They had sex and it was good but he’d lost track of time and the night had caught him when it was time to leave. Now he was trying to get back home without being seen. Even though there was no longer a curfew, there was still the unwritten law of being Black in a White neighborhood.
Marcus cut through a backyard. He walked quickly across it, moving around a child’s swing. He was about to jump the back fence, when a dog darted out at him barking furiously.
“Shit!” Marcus almost yelled. The dog, an albino German shepherd growled and snapped at him while it strained the chain that was fastened to its collar. Marcus saw lights go on in the house from the corner of his eye and bolted over the back fence.
He darted across an alley and out into the next street. He had to stay on the residential streets because the cops and the National Guardsmen who were still present patrolled many of the main thoroughfares.
The police car’s lights almost made Marcus jump out of his skin. The short blast of a siren was like a bolt of lightening. He felt his muscles charge with adrenalin and before his mind could fully register the dilemma, his body had leaned forward into a run.
**********
Thomas saw the Black man come into the street and hit the siren. Then he saw him take off so fast that it was like he was never there.
Dark Town Redemption Page 9
