“You’re expecting problems with your neighbors, aren’t you?” I said. “He can’t even stay here, can he? They’ll protest because of the color of his skin.”
“I own the building, Smokey.” Her voice was cool. “What they say doesn’t matter. If they get too pissy, I’ll make their lives hell.”
She sounded tough. I was about to speak when she continued.
“I’m more concerned about Jimmy’s safety. If I take him outside, and someone comes after him, I can’t do much. You’re the one with the gun and the experience.”
I smiled thinly. “Most situations take ingenuity, not greater firepower. Just be aware of who is around you at all times.”
She tapped her thumb against her teeth. I could see her thinking, weighing the options, trying to figure out her response. Then she let her hand drop, and looked up at me. “How long will he need to stay here, Smokey?”
“With luck only a few days. But it might be as much as a week. This town is filled with FBI and undercover cops. They’re all over the Black Belt, trying to make sure that the gang leaders and the Panthers are aware of their presence so that they don’t try anything before the convention starts.”
“And they’re following you too? What are you doing, Smokey?”
That was the kind of question I’d expected. “I’m trying to survive in this place, Laura. I haven’t done anything.”
“Sorry.” She took a step toward. “Smokey, I’m so very sorry.”
She wasn’t referring to what she had just said, but everything that had gone before.
She put her hand on my arm and a tingle ran through me. At that moment, Jimmy came out of the kitchen. His mouth was smeared with peanut butter, and he held a Coke in his left hand.
“I had some stuff,” he said. “Is that okay?”
“It’s fine.” Laura let her hand drop from my arm. The warmth of her fingers lingered on my skin.
He wasn’t looking at her, though. He was looking at me.
“Come here, Jimmy,” I said, ignoring his earlier question.
He came, his steps slow and tentative. He knew something was about to change. He could probably hear it in my voice.
When he reached my side, I put my arm around his shoulder. “For the next few days, I want you to stay with Laura.”
“Here?” Whatever he had imagined, it was clearly nothing like this. “Are you staying too?”
“No.”
“Then I’m going with you.”
I had expected this argument. I knew he wouldn’t want to be separated from me. I’d been his only stability for months now, maybe the only stability he’d ever had in his life. “This morning you asked me to keep you safe, remember?”
“I asked if we gotta move again. Maybe go someplace else.”
“We might have to.” I crouched. We had to speak on equal footing. “But I want to check out what Marvella said before we give up everything we’ve started here.”
“We ain’t started nothing.”
“I don’t know,” I said. “It seems to me you’ve been making a few friends in the neighborhood.”
“They’re just kids,” he said.
“And I’ve got work, and we know people here. If we go somewhere else, we won’t have any of that.”
“So how come I can’t stay home?”
“You know the answer to that.”
He did. We had discussed it earlier. Laura was watching us intently. I could feel her tension as clearly as I felt Jimmy’s.
“You saw that man today, Jimmy. Men like that are all over Chicago right now and it’ll just get worse when the convention starts. Some of them may be looking for a black man and a boy your age. It’s better if we don’t let them see that.”
“I’ll stick out here.”
I nodded. “Yes, you will. But no one will think you’re Jimmy Bailey. Would Jimmy Bailey live here?”
There was a sadness in his eyes that matched how I was feeling.
“No,” he said.
Laura put her hand over her mouth. In her world, apparently, children weren’t as aware of their limitations as they were in mine.
“There are guards downstairs, and locks on the doors and more security here than in any other place I could take you. I want you safe, Jim, and this is the best way to do it.”
He took a deep breath. He was trying. He really was. “Can you stay too?”
I resisted the urge to look at Laura. “I’ll be here every day if I can, just to see you. And if I can’t—if it’s too dangerous—I’ll call.”
“But you ain’t gonna leave me here forever, are ya?”
Even though I had expected that question, it still hurt. In Memphis before Martin died, I had taken Jimmy to a foster family, and then hadn’t told him I was leaving town. That action on my part, among other things, had led Jimmy to be on Mulberry Street the night of the assassination.
“I’ll come back for you, I promise.” I made sure I met his gaze and that my voice was firm. “If we have been discovered, I’ll get us out of Chicago. We’ll stay together. We’re family now, Jim. We will be for the rest of our lives.”
Tears filled his eyes, but he didn’t move. “I don’t want you to go, Smokey. Please. Don’t leave me here.”
“I’m not leaving you here,” I said. “I’m having you stay with a friend so that you’ll be safe while I take care of both of us. There’s a big difference, Jim. I’ll never abandon you. I’ll always be with you. You know how to reach me, at work and at home, and I’ll make sure Laura does too. We’ll be okay, you and I. This is temporary. I promise.”
He bit his lower lip, looked down at the floor, as if he were trying to gather himself. It felt as if he were moving inward, away from me, as if he were becoming the boy I’d known in Memphis, five months before.
“So I was right?” he asked. “Things are really bad?”
How to answer that? Things were really bad. They had been bad since Martin died. But were they worse? I didn’t know yet.
“I’m not going to wait until things get bad,” I said. “We take precautions first and then find out what’s going on. You agree with that, don’t you?”
“But how’ll I know you’re safe?”
Good question, and one without as easy an answer. “I’ll stay in touch like I promised.”
“What if you don’t call? Does that mean you’re dead?”
Most likely. But I said, “No. It means that I’ve found something and I don’t want to lead anyone to you. For the most part, though, I’ll be in touch.”
He nodded, bravely, I thought. Then he leaned as close to me as he could get, his body blocking Laura’s view of his face. “You really want me to stay here?”
“Yes, I do.”
“But, Smokey,” he was whispering now, “she’s white.”
Laura started, but I didn’t. I should have been expecting that comment. In Jimmy’s world white people were the enemy. They had been since he was born.
“I know.”
“But—”
“There are good white people in the world, Jimmy, believe it or not.”
Laura winced.
He frowned, as if he didn’t believe me, but he didn’t say anything more.
I stood, and faced Laura.
“I’m trusting you with the most important person in the world to me,” I said. She had to understand that. If she didn’t, I’d find some other way to take care of him. Or I would leave, even though I didn’t want to run any more.
“I know,” she said, putting her hand on his shoulder. He didn’t move away. “I’ll do everything I can to keep him safe.”
FOUR
I GAVE LAURA the phone numbers where she could reach me in an emergency, asked her not to keep them anywhere obvious and not to have my name on them. I told her that after midnight, I’d leave some of Jimmy’s clothes at the security desk, and I asked her to warn them that I was coming. The last thing I wanted was more hassles from her building’s doormen.
Then I went down to my car which, miraculously, was still there. The cop had only been threatening, or he had found something else to take his attention away from me.
I drove south on Lake Shore, my stomach knotted in a ball. For all the reassurances I had given Jimmy, I wasn’t sure I would be able to find anything out. By giving him to Laura, I may have only been delaying the inevitable.
At least he would spend the hot days of the summer in air-conditioned splendor. I went back to the Grimshaws’ apartment, which seemed even hotter than it had before.
Althea was in the kitchen, making a huge bowl of macaroni salad for dinner. Usually she tried to cook before the heat of the day, but she’d had to take their youngest daughter to a swim meet at the local pool. The television was blaring, a special report about a shooting near Lincoln Park. Antiwar protestors had been gathering in the park all week, alarming the mayor and tingeing convention preparations with an air of panic.
Althea looked as wilted as I felt. Sweat dappled her face and marked the back of her cotton sundress. She was heavier than she had been when Franklin met her, but the weight gave her a solidness she had lacked in those days. If anything, she was prettier now than she had been fifteen years ago.
“Thought you had to work,” she said.
“I do.” I went to the refrigerator, opened it, and poured myself some of Althea’s special homemade lemonade. After the morning I’d had, I deserved it.
“You want some salad? I don’t think there’ll be much left when you get home tonight.”
I smiled. I had missed lunch. “A little would be nice.”
She dished some into a bowl for me, and then went back to her preparations. Apparently the salad wasn’t the only thing on the menu. She was cleaning raspberries, which either meant ice cream or pie for dessert.
I took the bowl and lemonade to the table.
“What’s got you so down?” she asked.
I hadn’t told Franklin much about the reasons Jimmy and I were in Chicago, and I hadn’t told Althea anything at all. I didn’t want them to be implicated more than they were. I knew that they suspected I wanted more than a job and a place to live and they never did question me about Jimmy, although I heard from one of the kids that they believed he was mine and I had taken him from his real mother. I let all that stand.
“Listen, Althea,” I said. “Jimmy’s not going to be home for a couple of nights.”
“Oh?” She shut off the water in the kitchen sink, and turned to me, her hands stained red with raspberry juice.
“I have him staying with a friend.”
“Is he in trouble?” She wiped off her hands on a kitchen towel, then set it on the countertop beside the empty berry bowl.
“No. But Marvella saw some suspicious characters around, and I’m not taking any chances.”
Althea came to the table. She sat across from me. “Someone after that boy?”
“Why? Has someone been asking about him?”
She shook her head. “Just seems that way. You’re protective of him, Smokey. I never seen you be protective before.”
“He matters to me, Althea.”
She chuckled. “There’d be something wrong with you if he didn’t.”
I dug into the salad. Mayonnaise, macaroni, peas, radishes, some dill, and a little bit of leftover chicken. The noodles were still warm, but that didn’t diminish the flavor at all.
“Have you noticed anything odd lately?” I asked her.
“There’s been some people in the neighborhood who don’t belong.” She folded her arms together as if the conversation made her uncomfortable.
“White folks?”
“And a few black folks,” she said. “But they look official, you know?”
I did know. The best undercover cops were hard to spot, but the weekenders made errors, subtle ones, but ones that said they didn’t fit. “Any around me?”
“No. Why?”
I sighed and pushed away the empty bowl. I’d eaten faster than I’d expected. I’d been hungry and hadn’t even realized it. “There are some things I don’t want to tell you, Althea. But if there’s a safe place you can take the kids, especially the boys, while the convention’s on, you should probably do that.”
She studied me for a moment. She didn’t yell at me for bringing something dangerous into her home, and she didn’t ask me why I thought she should get her children out of here, although I could see that she wanted to. She’d been around long enough to know that sometimes having information was dangerous in and of itself.
“I been planning to see my folks before school starts. They’re up in Milwaukee. Think I’ll give them a call.” She paused, measuring me. “Don’t think Franklin can get away, though.”
“I’m not worried about Franklin,” I said. “It’s the boys. They need to get out of here for a while.”
She nodded. “What about you, Smokey? You gonna be leaving us?”
“If you want me to,” I said.
“You’re welcome to stay here as long as you need to.”
I sipped my lemonade. It was tart and good. “Even though I’m causing problems.”
She put her hand on my arm. “You’re a good man, Smokey Dalton, and I know things aren’t always what they seem. I also know that boy seen something awful. Even if he wasn’t having screaming nightmares, you can see it in his eyes. He’s lucky to have you, and I know that while we’re all gone, you’ll take care of whatever it is in whatever way you need to do it.”
I put my hand over hers. “I hope your faith in me is justified.”
“It’s not faith, Smokey. It’s knowledge. And it’s rock solid, just like you are.” She slipped her hand from beneath mine, and stood, going back to the sink. “I’m making pie tonight. You and Franklin be sure to eat all the leftovers, you hear?”
“I doubt they’ll be any leftovers.” Then I went into the kitchen and hugged her from behind. “Thanks, Althea. For everything.”
She leaned the back of her head against my shoulder. “You make sure that boy’s all right, and we’ll stay square.”
“I’ll do my best.”
“Then that’s all we can ask for. The best is all we can do.”
* * *
Normally, I would take the “L” to work, but that day I decided to drive. It was hard to know if you were being tailed on the “L,” and besides, I wanted the freedom to investigate when my shift was over. I also had to take Jimmy’s clothes to Laura’s. There was no way I was going to walk in that neighborhood at night.
I’d been working at the Conrad Hilton Hotel as a security guard for more than two months now. I needed a regular paycheck. I’d worked as an unlicensed detective in Memphis—describing my work as odd jobs to the occasional white person who asked—and I had a regular stable of customers, most of whom were probably quite angry at me for disappearing.
Moving that sort of business to a town where I knew almost no one and understood less than the greenest local was impossible. Not to mention the fact that I wasn’t sure how long we’d be here.
Which meant I needed a paycheck. I applied for jobs. I probably wouldn’t have gotten anything if it weren’t for Franklin and a few of his friends. They’d offered to be listed as references. I wanted to work in the black community, but most of the jobs there were patronage jobs, just like they were everywhere else in Chicago. Only in the community itself, the patron wasn’t Mayor Daley, it was the head of the neighborhood, whoever that might be. And I didn’t know anyone well enough to qualify for those jobs.
So I had to look elsewhere. Most of the detective agencies in town were white owned, and all required a license. Security guard positions paid well, and often hired based on size, always an advantage for me. On Franklin’s suggestion, I used his last name and the recommendations from his friends ensured that no one checked my identification.
Thanks to all that patronage, I got the Hilton job on my first interview. I kept it because of my detecting skills.
The hotel employe
d only a handful of black security guards. Mostly we had the invisible shifts, from late evening to early morning. I had been moved to afternoons and evenings after I’d solved some thefts that had been plaguing the hotel for more than six months.
A white guard would have been promoted, maybe given a raise, and certainly would have gotten some sort of public recognition. Me, all I got was respect. And considering how much that had been lacking earlier, respect was a considerable reward.
I also got a parking voucher, to be used sparingly, and I got taken off job probation, which meant I was entitled company benefits, such as they were for a first-year employee. Mostly, it amounted to a few sick days and paid holidays. No vacation time. I wouldn’t get that for five years.
The idea of staying at a job for five years terrified me. In the space of a summer, I had become someone I didn’t recognize, someone who cared about the respect of white people, who wanted a parking voucher, and who looked forward to the day when he got a week’s paid vacation.
I parked the car in the underground lot, in the far back section reserved for low-level Hilton employees. The garage was humid and damp, smelling of gasoline and mold. My footsteps echoed as I walked toward the stairs.
I was completely alone. So far as I could tell, no one was following me. But I’d give it another day or two, just to make sure.
I was getting to my job nearly an hour early. The staff had called a meeting. Anyone who missed it would be fired, no exceptions.
It annoyed me that I couldn’t come and go as I pleased. I was itching to do some investigating, and instead, I had to sit in a stuffy room, listening to someone talk about procedures that seemed to be designed to irritate instead of accomplish something worthwhile.
I entered the hotel through the employee entrance. Employee areas of hotels, I’d learned, were not decorated. The concrete walls remained their ugly gray; the floor was covered in ancient linoleum. The employees had their own cafeteria, where we got leftover food from the dining rooms as well as some unpleasant casserole mixed up especially for us, a break room, which was the only place employee smoking was allowed, and locker rooms, so that we wouldn’t be seen on the street in our all-important uniforms.
Smoke-Filled Rooms: A Smokey Dalton Novel Page 4
