Streets of Fire

by Thomas H. Cook

  For a moment, Ben simply stood to the side and watched them, trying to figure out what use they could possibly be on the streets of Birmingham, or why they had suddenly appeared in such large numbers, unless it was to make the very idea of resistance to them unthinkable.

  He was still considering it all when Luther walked up and leaned against the wall beside him.

  ‘King’s scheduled for a speech at the Sixteenth Baptist Church late this afternoon,’ he said matter-of-factly. ‘I want you to be there.’

  Ben nodded.

  ‘And before that, I want you to follow along with the march down Fourth Avenue,’ Luther added. ‘It starts in about an hour, and we’re hoping there won’t be any trouble, but we want all hands on deck anyway.’ He hurriedly handed Ben a white slip of paper. ‘;This tells you where to be and when to be there. Now as far as King’s speech is concerned, I want you to take down everything he says. If he so much as burps, I want it in your notebook, you understand?’

  ‘Yes, Captain,’ Ben said.

  ‘And make sure you’re armed, Ben,’ Luther went on breathlessly. ‘In the next few days, we don’t want any of our people hurt. And remember what the Chief said yesterday. Keep control of yourself, but don’t take any shit.’ He took a deep breath. ‘Got that?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘Good.’

  Ben pointed to the crowd of patrolmen. ‘What are they here for?’

  ‘Relief,’ Luther said. ‘For the time being, they’ll be taking over some of our more routine duties. Traffic control, that sort of thing.’

  ‘McCorkindale said something about civilian deputies,’ Ben said.

  ‘That’s just a contingency,’ Luther told him. ‘In a situation like this, you can’t be caught without a plan.’

  ‘McCorkindale’s downstairs getting ready to distribute handguns.’

  Luther looked at him sternly. ‘You got a problem with that?’

  Ben said nothing.

  ‘This is not a department for little girls,’ Luther added coldly. ‘You feeling like a little girl, Ben?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘I’m glad to hear it,’ Luther said. ‘Now you just go on about your business, and leave policy to the people who know how to make it. Do you read me, Sergeant?’

  ‘Yes, Captain.’

  ‘Good,’ Luther said. ‘Now get on with your assignments.’

  Ben walked back to the detective bullpen immediately. At his desk, he found a note from Leon Patterson telling him that he planned to have the girl buried in Gracehill Cemetery at around six in the evening. For a moment he tried to think if there was any reason to delay the burial, decided that there was none, crumpled the note in his fist and tossed it into the wastebasket beside his desk.

  ‘Giving up on something, Ben?’ Breedlove asked as he sat down at his own desk only a few feet from Ben.

  ‘They’re going to be burying that little girl this afternoon,’ Ben said.

  ‘You got something on that case?’

  Ben shook his head. ‘Nothing much. A few things that seem a little funny.’

  Breedlove leaned toward him slightly. ‘Like what?’

  ‘Well, Patterson found a ring in her pocket, but it didn’t fit her. There was blood on her skirt, but none on her collar. She wasn’t wearing any panties.’

  Breedlove laughed. ‘These Bearmatch girls, they don’t always wear panties.’

  Ben’s eyes shot over to him. ‘She was about twelve years old, Charlie,’ he said.

  ‘So what?’

  Ben turned away and idly glanced at the slip of paper Luther had handed him.

  ‘How about the Langleys,’ Breedlove said. ‘Did you talk to them?’

  Ben continued to stare at the paper. ‘Yeah.’

  ‘They know anything about it?’

  Ben shook his head.

  ‘Then I guess you better just fold it up and drop it in the shitter,’ Breedlove said, ‘because if the Black Cat boys don’t know, nobody knows.’ He stood up. ‘Well, I got to go pick up Harry. We’re going to have a little talk with that Coggins kid.’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘The little shit that’s organizing the school kids for the march today,’ Breedlove said. He pulled out his service revolver, threw open the chamber and checked that it was fully loaded. ‘You want to come along?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Could be fun,’ Breedlove said with a narrow, mocking smile.

  Ben shook his head. ‘I’m just supposed to follow along with the line of march,’ he said.

  Breedlove shrugged. ‘Hell, Ben, these days that amounts to a goddamn desk job.’ He slipped the pistol back into his holster. ‘Sure you don’t want to come along with me and Harry?’

  ‘Not today,’ Ben said.

  Breedlove shrugged. ‘Suit yourself,’ he said, ‘but hell, anything’s better than sitting around here.’

  Ben leaned back in his chair and watched as Breedlove quickly checked inside the cartridge pouch that hung at his side, then walked briskly out of the bullpen.

  With Breedlove gone, Ben was now entirely alone in the large, desk-littered room. All the other detectives had already gone to take up their positions. By now, as Ben knew, many of them were laboriously mounting the stairs to the roofs of the squat brick buildings that fronted Fourth Avenue, while others were hunkering down behind the windows just below, their telescopic rifles cradled in their sweating arms. Still others were simply standing on the corners in their rumpled brown suits, staring nervously left and right, searching for that one face that did not go with all the others, the wilder, meaner, more desperate face of one who was armed as they were armed, and just as willing to meet them on the common ground of sudden and annihilating violence. For a moment he saw them as the comrades they still were, men with bills to pay, children to feed, men in cheap Robert Hall suits, who smoked five-cent cigars and drank their iced tea out of old jelly jars, men in the midst of engulfing circumstances who suddenly seemed almost as fully helpless as the dead.

  EIGHT

  Scores of police cars had lined the streets off Fourth Avenue by the time Ben arrived. The black-and-whites of the Birmingham police mingled with the gray-and-blacks from the Highway Patrol and an assortment of vehicles from the Jefferson County Sheriff’s Department. On the closest side streets, paddy wagons and school buses were parked one after another for almost as far as he could see, all of them manned by troopers with automatic carbines and double-barreled shotguns. They stood tensely along the otherwise deserted sidewalks, smoking cigarettes and staring off toward the avenue as if looking for the first dark whirl of a tornado.

  On the avenue itself, police blockades had been set up near the entrance to Sixteenth Street, and uniformed patrolmen stood behind them, their legs spread wide apart, their lead-tipped leather truncheons already in their hands. There was no traffic, not a single civilian car, and the sidewalks on either side of the street were entirely deserted. Only a few yards away, Ben could see the Chief dashing here and there, shouting commands, deploying his troops, and generally overseeing the entire operation. His short, stocky frame darted in and out of the sunlight, and wherever he went, his men stiffened suddenly, as if coming to attention. Luther followed close behind him, along with an assortment of officials from the front office, all of them under the solitary protection, or so it seemed to Ben, of Teddy Langley.

  ‘So you finally made it down here, Ben,’ Charlie Breedlove said as he stepped up beside him.

  ‘No need to hurry,’ Ben said casually.

  ‘None at all,’ Breedlove said. He pulled a pack of Lucky Strikes from his pocket and lit one. ‘You’ve not been on riot detail before, have you?’

  Ben shook his head.

  ‘Why is that, Ben?’

  ‘I guess they needed somebody to keep watch on other things,’ Ben said.

  ‘Probably didn’t think they needed you before now,’ Breedlove said. ‘But you know how it is. Things build up. Things get hotter and hotter. It’s been doing that
now for a long time.’

  Ben nodded.

  ‘So today they figure to put a stop to it once and for all.’

  Ben looked at him. ‘You think they can?’

  Breedlove shrugged. ‘Who knows. They got King back with them.’ He shook his head. ‘They should never have let him out of jail.’

  Ben glanced back toward the avenue. The dark-gray pavement seemed to bake sullenly under the morning sun. At the far end of the street, up a slight incline, he could see eight or ten motorcycle patrolmen take up their positions several yards beyond the barricades.

  Breedlove glanced at his watch. ‘They should be coming over the hill anytime. Harry radioed in that they left the church about fifteen minutes ago.’ He winked gaily. ‘Singing their little song, you know.’ He spat onto the street. ‘But it could be a little different today. Today they just might get themselves “overcome” a little.’

  A few yards away, the Chief darted back into the street, his short, fat legs pumping fiercely across the steaming pavement.

  ‘You know what I think about the Chief?’ Breedlove said as he watched him. ‘I think he’s loving every minute of this.’ He laughed. ‘You know, one of those New York-type reporters came up to him this morning at City Hall, says he wants to ask the Chief a question or two about the situation here.’ He laughed lightly. ‘And you know what the Chief said? He said, “First, I don’t talk to no New York reporters, but I’ll tell you one thing. They’s three things wrong with this country: Communism, Socialism and Journalism.”’ He shook his head happily, relishing the tale. ‘And he was loving it, loving every minute of it.’

  Harry Daniels stepped up beside Breedlove, his eyes fixed on the wide gray boulevard.

  ‘Well, you made it over here pretty fast,’ Breedlove said to him.

  Daniels peered down toward the end of the avenue. ‘They’re just over the hill,’ he said. ‘It’s all kids, nothing but kids.’

  Breedlove looked at him wonderingly. ‘Nothing but kids?’

  ‘That’s right,’ Daniels said. He pulled a small pamphlet from his coat pocket. ‘They were handing these things out in all the nigger schools yesterday.’

  Breedlove took it from his hands and glared at it. It was a call for the schoolchildren to join the march to City Hall.

  ‘Don’t that beat all,’ Breedlove said as he handed the pamphlet to Ben.

  Ben glanced at it casually, then handed it back.

  ‘These people,’ Daniels said disgustedly. ‘I tell you, Charlie, they don’t care what they do. They figured we were ready for them this time, and so they decided that they’d just send the kids after us.’ He leaned forward slightly and looked at Ben. ‘I bet you there’s not one of them over eighteen years old, and most of them are a lot younger than that. I’m talking about school kids, fourth- and fifth- and sixth-graders, and such as that.’

  Breedlove’s mouth curled downward. ‘Shit.’

  Daniels shook his head. ‘King’s one smart nigger. They wouldn’t have a brain without him.’

  ‘Yeah,’ Breedlove said grimly, ‘they wouldn’t have a thing without him.’ He tossed his cigarette angrily into the street. ‘But I’ll tell you one goddamn thing, Harry. Kid or no kid, I’m going to handle them the same.’ He curled his hand into a fist. ‘I going to give back double whatever I get.’ He glanced at Ben. ‘What about you, Ben?’

  ‘I’ll do what the Chief said,’ Ben told him. ‘I’ll protect myself.’

  Breedlove’s eyes squeezed together slowly. ‘That’s what we all have to do,’ he said, ‘protect ourselves.’ He glanced toward Daniels and smiled. ‘Right, Harry?’

  Daniels nodded determinedly. ‘Absolutely.’

  For a moment the three of them stood silently together, staring up the avenue and along the small grocery stores, poolhalls and flophouses that lined it on either side. The Chief was now moving toward them with Luther and Teddy Langley racing breathlessly beside him.

  He stopped only a few feet away and motioned for a group of troopers to form themselves into a line across the avenue.

  ‘We’re going to stop them right here,’ he shouted. ‘Now line up! Line up! I want you all to stand shoulder to shoulder!’

  The troopers moved out into the street and formed a straight gray line across it. When they had formed their ranks, the Chief paced back and forth in front of them.

  ‘Now I want you to know that the people of Birmingham are proud to have you here today,’ he said loudly. And ever-body in this city owes a debt to Colonel Lingo for bringing you in to help with this ridiculous situation.’ He smiled gratefully for a moment, then the smile disappeared suddenly, as if a hard wind had blown it from his face. Now I want to make something clear to you gentlemen.’ He pointed to the ground and raked the tip of his shoe across the pavement. ‘This is like the Alamo, gentlemen, and this is the line we are drawing in the dust.’ He paused, and dug his fists into his sides. ‘And don’t you let one Nigra pass it. Not one solitary Nigra.’ He pulled a small green notebook from his jacket pocket. Ben recognized it instantly as the one he’d turned in to Luther. ‘You know what King said to his people at the church?’ he asked. He flipped through the notebook and began to read: ‘“They know how to handle violence, but they don’t know how to handle nonviolence. It confuses them. They don’t know how to deal with it.”’ He closed the notebook and stared angrily at the troopers. ‘Well, bullshit, gentlemen. We know how to handle violence, all right. And by God we know how to handle violence that just looks like nonviolence.’ He pointed to the left where a group of reporters stood clustered together beneath the tattered green awning of a barbecue parlor. ‘Now these marches and demonstrations, they may look like nonviolence to people who don’t know any better,’ he cried, ‘but we know what it really is, and we know how to handle it.’ He returned the notebook to his jacket. ‘Do your duty as God gives you the wisdom to see your duty. And do it with pride, gentlemen, pride in your city, your state, your governor and your God.’ He paused a moment, eyeing each man in the line. ‘Are there any questions?’

  Some of the troopers shifted uneasily on their feet, but no one spoke.

  ‘Very well, then,’ the Chief said. He clicked his heels together, saluted them, and then rushed off” toward the cooler shades of Kelly Ingram Park.

  Luther and Teddy Langley remained at the Chief’s side, and from across the street Ben could see them nodding vigorously as he spoke to them, waving his arms right and left, deploying his men up and down the length of the park and sending squads of others out along the steaming brick side streets and parking lots.

  ‘Old Dynamite Teddy,’ Daniels said. ‘He’s always sucking up to the Chief.’ He looked at Breedlove. ‘You know they almost got him for some schoolhouse bombings in Tennessee.’

  Breedlove smiled. ‘Teddy? Is that a fact?’

  ‘Actually locked him up one time for about an hour or two.’

  ‘Whereabouts?’ Breedlove asked.

  ‘Right here in Birmingham.’

  ‘When was that, Harry?’

  ‘Back when Big Jim was governor.’

  Breedlove scratched his chin. ‘You reckon he’s been doing stuff like that around here lately?’

  ‘If the Chief wants him to,’ Daniels said without hesitation. ‘He’ll do anything the Chief says, that’s for sure.’

  Ben’s eyes drifted over toward the park. Several squads of troopers were marching double-time across the southern end of the park, their feet kicking up a low, grayish-brown dust. Beyond them he could see a convoy of school buses as it nosed its way up the length of the far end of the park. The Chief’s white tank headed the procession, as if clearing away enemy positions.

  Suddenly the Chief was in the street again, yelling through an electric megaphone. ‘Get ready now, gentlemen,’ he cried. ‘Here they come!’

  Almost at that instant a line of marchers crested the hill at the end of the avenue and then proceeded slowly down the street. Their placards flapped loudly in the summer
wind, snapping in the air like distant gunshots.

  ‘Take up your positions,’ the Chief shouted.

  Another line of troopers moved in front of the first, while others marched forward in ragged flanks, their once-straight lines now breaking awkwardly around police cars, trees, telephone poles, until their ranks finally dissolved entirely into a jaggedly moving chaos of gray uniforms and gently waving nightsticks.

  ‘You there, up ahead!’ the Chief screamed. ‘You will not be permitted to continue this march.’

  The single line of marchers continued forward at their same languid pace, flowing slowly, like a dark syrup, over the hill and down the avenue.

  ‘I repeat,’ the Chief yelled. ‘You will not be permitted to continue this march. You will not be permitted to reach City Hall.’ His voice, high and metallic, echoed from the surrounding buildings and rebounded into the shadowy park. ‘You will not he permitted to continue this march. Do you understand? Turn around. Turn back.’

  But the marchers continued forward, some silently, some singing and clapping their hands. The breeze billowed out their skirts and blouses and rippled through the torn cloth awnings which stretched out toward the avenue.

  ‘Halt!’ the Chief screamed now at the top of his voice.

  But the marchers moved onward, their long dark line lengthening steadily as one pair after another crested the gently rounded hill.

  ‘Jesus Christ,’ Luther breathed softly as he stepped up behind Ben. ‘What are we going to do about this?’

  ‘We’ve all got our orders,’ Breedlove replied crisply.

  Daniels nodded. ‘That’s right. Let’s go.’

  Ben felt himself swept forward with them as they moved in between the two lines of troopers. He could now see the faces of the first marchers, two young women in light-blue skirts and white blouses, their eyes staring straight ahead, their faces utterly expressionless.