Dark Town Redemption

by Gary Hardwick

  He didn’t go into work that day. He didn’t trust himself not to jump Brady and Reid on sight and with cops; you never knew how bad the fight might be.

  Cahan had often told the story of a cop who had lost it on the job and ended up shooting up the station house, killing two men and injuring several others before he was himself gunned down by his brothers in blue.

  He thought of Ned, fat, lovable and dead on his livingroom floor with a shot and a beer. He didn’t care what the detectives said; he knew no vigilante had killed him. It was a hit and a cop had done it.

  He wondered what they were saying about him at the station behind his back. He’d refused the bluepact and he knew that Brady and Reid would spread it all over the station that he was disloyal, a rat who would sell out his friends.

  Thomas spent the rest of the day trying to reach out to Sarah. He called and got no answer. He swung by her place but saw no one.

  He retired to McGinty’s where he had another night of drinking.

  The next day, he went into work and realized that he did not have a partner. He sat at his locker after he dressed, not wanting to move.

  “I think it stinks,” said Dennison to Thomas as the latter sat at his locker looking glum. “Ned was a stand up guy.”

  “Who’s my new partner?” asked Thomas.

  Dennison’s face fell and he averted his eyes for a moment and before he said it, Thomas knew. “Well, you don’t have one yet,” he said. “None of the regular guys will ride with you while this thing’s hanging over your head.”

  “What do you mean regular guys?”

  “The colored cops don’t have a choice of partners. Many of them want street assignments to get away from the baby duty they have to do.”

  “No, thanks,” said Thomas and he was not at all shocked by the venom in his voice.

  “Didn’t think so,” said Dennison. “So for now, you can fly solo.”

  “I thought the department didn’t like that sort of thing,” said Thomas.

  “They don’t,” said Dennison but nobody’s saying nothing about it. If you want, I can put you on desk duty and—-“

  “With the washouts and the old timers? No fucking way,” said Thomas.

  “Didn’t think you’d wanna do that either,” said Dennison. “Well, then you got no choice. Look Riley, for what it’s worth, I don’t think you ratted anyone.”

  “Is that what they’re saying?” Thomas spat.

  “Some guys around here are just paranoid, looking for somebody to blame, that’s all,” said Dennison apologetically.

  Thomas felt his heart sag as Dennison walked off. He’d reached into his locker and had the flask in his hand before he knew it and it was to his lips a moment later. The warmth of the whiskey was soothing and it burned away some of his pain.

  Thomas walked outside to a police cruiser. He could feel the eyes of the other cops all over him, like he was walking toward a firing squad.

  Thomas got into the car and looked at the key in the ignition for a long time. He felt that if he turned the car’s engine over that his humiliation would be complete. Finally, he started the car and it seemed to be an insult to his ears as he pulled away.

  He spent his first day doing close patrol to the precinct. He did not see Brady or Reid and was glad of it. He could not have taken their smug looks.

  The Grand Jury was making headlines and it felt like their influence came closer to him each day. The secret nature of it was maddening, he thought.

  Thomas missed Sarah desperately and called her place as many times as he could but he did not reach her.

  He didn’t want to go home and he didn’t want to drink either. He found himself driving over to Sarah and Liz’s place as the sun was setting and soon he had the house they rented staked out.

  He could go over and say he was in the neighborhood, he thought but no one would believe that. He sat there a long time, listening to a rebroadcast of a Tiger game on the radio.

  Thomas saw the front door of the little house open and Sarah and Liz walked out. They were dressed up nicely and they walked down the street away from Thomas. He waited a while and then he followed them on foot.

  Sarah and Liz walked about a half-mile to a local bar frequented by the college kids. Thomas peeked inside after them and saw them go over to two men. One of them was a fireman he knew. The other was a tall thin man he did not know. The thin man hugged Sarah and kissed her on the lips. Sarah had looked surprised at the kiss and turned red after he did it.

  Thomas felt his hand curl into a fist. He saw himself running inside and grabbing the man and beating him bloody in front of Sarah.

  “You going in?” said a voice from behind him.

  Thomas turned with a start and saw a big, beefy man standing a few feet from him. He must be the local bouncer, he thought.

  “No,” said Thomas.

  “Then you have to go,” said the bouncer.

  Thomas was about to flash his badge but thought better of it. What if this buffoon went back inside and told someone that a cop was outside looking through a window? What if Sarah heard and put two and two together?

  “Sorry,” Thomas said and he walked off.

  He felt the bouncer watching him as he rounded a corner. When it was safe, Thomas went back and stood watch across the street from the bar in the doorway of a closed shop.

  When they didn’t come out for another hour, he walked off, went back to his car and drove home.

  What the hell was he doing he asked himself. He was like some kind of pervert who followed women around trying to watch them undress. He had to get Sarah back or else get her out of his head and his heart.

  Thomas turned onto his street and pulled up to his apartment. He parked and got out of the car. He dreaded going back to the empty place. Brady and Reid had put a good one on him. Every time he went home, he was reminded of the consequences of his impending testimony.

  He walked toward his building slowly. The street was deserted and his edifice looked lonely, desolate.

  Something moved ahead of him.

  The apartment house was in the middle of two other buildings and there was a big shadow being cast by the one to the right. The walkway had a row of hedges along both sides; just the kind of place a man could hide if he wanted to surprise you.

  Thomas didn’t stop walking or otherwise indicate that he had seen anything. As he moved closer, he reached for his service revolver, placing his hand on the snap and undoing it. He stepped on the pathway to his building and saw the vague figure of a man hiding in the hedge to his right.

  Thomas’ heart sped up and his grip tightened on the pistol. His mind filled with all his troubles and through the clutter one thought arose, clearly and cruelly: someone would die tonight.

  Suddenly, a car’s headlights went on across the street behind him. The light bathed him, casting his shadow before him. In that instant, Thomas saw more than just his own outline. He saw the man by the hedge was just a jacket hanging from a cord with a skullcap perched on top.

  Before he could sense him, another man was upon him.

  Thomas was knocked to the ground. His service revolver skidded away from him, landing on the edge of the lawn.

  He saw instantly that the man on him was Robert Jackson. Robert placed a knife to his throat.

  “Now, you and me are gonna have a real conversation.”

  He was about to say something else but Thomas had already lifted a knee into his groin. Robert tumbled to one side, yelling out.

  Both men quickly got to their feet and squared off. Robert’s knife was gone. Thomas guessed he had dropped it. Robert was doubled over a little. The blow to his balls was still hobbling him.

  Thomas knew where his gun was but he’d never be able to get it in time. He also knew that he could not beat the Marine in a fair fight, even with his police training.

  Robert waded in. The men traded blows and Thomas got the worst of it. Robert smiled knowing he would win this confrontation.
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  “That all you got?” said Thomas, trying to bait him into a mistake.

  Robert swung again but missed. Suddenly, another pair of headlights illuminated the scene. Robert’s eyes were caught and for a moment he was blinded. In that instant, Thomas shoved him to the ground. When Robert got up, Thomas now held the lost police revolver on him. Robert froze, not looking at the gun but into Thomas’ eyes. Thomas could see it; Robert was ready to die.

  Thomas cocked the weapon. Robert was silent. He just stood there watching, judging.

  “I could kill you,” said Thomas.

  Robert said nothing. He just looked at Thomas. In those eyes, Thomas saw no anger. There was something worse. Emptiness. The Negro had an abyss in his eyes that frightened Thomas even though he himself held the gun.

  “I came here to get the truth,” said Robert finally.

  “To cut it out of me?” asked Thomas

  “If I had to,” came the reply with calmness.

  “Nice little trick by the hedge,” said Thomas. “Almost had me fooled. But tonight just isn’t your night, is it, boy?”

  “Big man for somebody who washed out of the Army,” said Robert flatly.

  Thomas’ eyes widened. Robert smiled a little.

  “What the hell are you talking about?” asked Thomas trying to cover.

  “You know what the hell I’m talking about,” said Robert. “You washed out of the service and said it was a hearing problem. You had a nervous breakdown, crying about your dead brother and grandfather. And here you are, a cop, holding a gun and covering up a murder, still a washout.”

  “You stay out of my life, you fucking—-“ Thomas stopped himself again.

  “Go on, say it,” said Robert. “Say nigger, then kill me like you did my brother.”

  “I didn’t kill your brother!” Thomas said. The gun shook in his hand. He sighed a little as if unburdened by something.

  “Then who did?” Robert said.

  Now it was Thomas’ turn to fall silent. He felt the gun waver again, suddenly heavy. He saw lights coming on in some of the apartment units.

  “You look like you could use a drink, Thomas,” said Robert. “Go on, I know you keep a bottle on you.”

  “Jesus, you want me to shoot you, don’t you?” asked Thomas suddenly realizing.

  “You or me,” said Robert. “Makes no difference to me now. Just like your partner. Which one of you panicked and blew him away?”

  Robert reached into his pocket and Thomas shifted the gun in response. But Robert produced a Polaroid picture. He held it out and moved it toward Thomas’ face. It was a picture of Marcus, the dead boy. In the picture, Marcus looked happy and full of life, wearing a Tiger’s cap.

  “This was Marcus Alexander Jackson,” said Robert. He was born May 4, 1950. He was a good student, an artist and football player. He loved Captain Kangaroo and Marvin Gaye. He was in love with a girl and he was murdered for going to see her and staying out after dark because his skin is black.”

  Thomas lowered his weapon and didn’t care if Robert took it from him.

  “You look at this picture, dammit!” Robert shouted. “He was loved! He was my hope. You look at him and know he was just as good as you and them other two cops. Just as good.”

  Robert didn’t make a play for the dangling weapon. He threw the photo into Thomas’ chest, then turned and ran off.

  Thomas put his gun away then looked at he awful picture on the ground and took it. He wanted so badly to rip it apart but could not didn’t have the strength to do it.

  26

  BOMBS

  On September 14, 1968, Denny McLain won his 30th game, making him the first major league pitcher to do so since the great Dizzy Dean in 1934. Three days later, the Tigers clinched the American League Pennant and won a trip to the World Series.

  Robert was happy but the game did not offer him peace from his troubles. He’d failed with Thomas Riley. He had not taken revenge and didn’t learn anything new about his brother’s death except that Riley had been believable when he’d said that he didn’t kill Marcus.

  Thomas looked into the man and beyond his grief he saw truth. But that didn’t mean Riley wasn’t covering for the other two, he thought. And it didn’t mean he was going to leave the White cop alone.

  Yusef saw the baseball joy in Detroit as an opportunity for a strike. He had been vague about his big plan to put The Vanguard into the national consciousness.

  They were safely moved to a new location, a big two-story building in a declining area of the city. Now he felt it was time to tell everyone his scheme. He was going to strike the major oppressor force of the city. He was going to bomb police headquarters.

  Robert had known of the plan for some time now. He thought it was extreme and dangerous but he’d helped to set it all up.

  Robert made two devices from the government’s own new synthetic explosives, procured from a black market source recommended to them by David, one of the phony cops who’d helped to expose Bohan’s treachery.

  The plan was simple yet elegant. Two of The Guard’s members had been posing as janitors for months and would plant the device. And when the time was right, they’d detonate it. And while the cops mobilized after the explosion, Yusef planned to rob a bank in broad daylight. He was going to man this operation himself. Then he’d send his manifesto to both newspapers.

  Yusef had at first wanted to detonate the device during the World Series, but Robert had vetoed this idea. Baseball had never harmed anyone, he thought. Robert was surprised to find that most of The Vanguard held this opinion as well.

  Robert fashioned a remote device that would detonate the bomb from a distance.

  Linda and another woman named Ruth were given the job of planting the device. It was agreed that Black women weren’t as suspicious as men these days and that no one even looked at Black faces when they were cleaning up.

  “Fine piece of work that bomb,” said Yusef. “But why do we have two of them?”

  “Standard procedure,” said Robert. “You always have a back up if you have the materials. And if we get caught, what better way to destroy the evidence? Getting the stuff to make it was the hard part.”

  “You can thank David and his gang from Chicago,” said Yusef referring to the men who had posed as cops. “Those boys do not play.”

  “Why don’t we just let Bohan go?” asked Robert. “I mean, he ain’t giving up any info and he don’t know where we moved to.”

  “We could,” said Yusef, “but then he’d bring a lot of heat down on us. I can’t have that. Not now. Besides, he’s a traitor to the race. In the tribe, they’d kill him.”

  “So, how you gonna do him?” asked Robert.

  “I was hoping you could assist me on that,” said Yusef in his proper way. “I mean, you’re good at these things. Vince wants to do it, but he’s so mad at Bohan, I don’t trust him, you know.”

  “Not me,” Robert said and he surprised himself at how fast he’d come to the conclusion. “I don’t wanna do it.”

  “That’s cool,” said Yusef. “It ain’t like you don’t pull your weight around here. We’ll take care of Bohan at the same time we detonate the device. They’ll be so much confusion, that no one will care about another dead nigga, especially if we shoot him up with dope first.”

  Robert was solemn at this. He didn’t like it but at heart he was still a soldier and there were always casualties. If this were Vietnam, he would have cut Bohan’s throat himself and then had dinner.

  “We still have to test it,” said Robert, “the bomb materials.”

  “How do we do that?” asked Yusef.

  “I made a little one,” said Robert. “I want to test the detonator, too. I mean, if we hit it and it don’t go off, we’re fucked.”

  “Solid,” said Yusef. “When we gonna do it?”

  “Tomorrow, after the game,” said Robert. “I know a place. It’s way out but it’ll be worth it.”

  “Okay, but just me and you,” said
Yusef. “I want to keep access to the detonator at a minimum.”

  “Cool,” said Robert.

  “I suppose you’re rootin’ for the Tigers to win,” said Yusef.

  “Ain’t you?” said Robert.

  “No, and I’m taking all bets,” Yusef smiled

  “I got fifty on the Tigers,” said Robert proudly.

  “Fifty?’ Yusef smiled. “I’ll be happy to take your money.”

  Before he left, Robert looked in on Bohan who was being kept in a back room of the new place. He was chained to a wall and blindfolded. It stank inside. There was a bucket there for him to evacuate himself. Robert was reminded of the Cong they took as prisoners in the field.

  “Who is it?” asked Bohan in a frightened voice as Robert entered.

  Robert didn’t answer. He just turned away from the doomed man and closed the door, leaving him in darkness.

  27

  THE SERIES

  The World Series opener took Thomas’ mind from his other problems. He still had the Polaroid that Robert Jackson had given him. It was in a drawer in his kitchenette but even from there it spoke to him.

  The Grand Jury had to be working their way toward him, he thought. It was only a matter of time before he’d be called. What would he do? He could hold fast to the police code, or he could come clean with it all.

  Neither choice was good. One left his life in shambles; the other left him a damned soul.

  He was still a pariah at the station house. The story had been told and retold and as he understood it, he was no better than some junkie dropping a dime on his supplier. Very few men took his side publicly.

  Brady and Reid were still well liked but they had many detractors as well. But no detractor would denounce the pair openly. It was clear who the department was behind.

  Thomas saw for the first time how rare strength was. Most people, even cops, just wanted an easy life, to get along with others and not be singled out.