“All men have pain and mental weakness,” the Army shrink would tell Thomas later. “Most of us believe we build barriers over these frailties. The truth is strength is built from weakness,” he would say to Thomas as he was being processed for discharge. “As you face fear, you use the confrontation to create a new sense of reality and strength,” the doctor would say.
According to the Army psychologist, Thomas’ loss of his brother and beloved grandfather and the void they left with a father who did not love him were his weaknesses. He never acknowledged this fact and when tested, the weak crumbled, taking the strong with it.
Thomas spent a week in a hospital saying that he was okay. But the commanders didn’t buy it. An unhinged Marine was too dangerous a thing to just cut loose.
Frank was called in and after some private meetings, Thomas was let go for having a hearing problem that made him unfit for combat.
Father and son never spoke of it, but Thomas knew how heartbroken Frank was.
Thomas stayed close to home after that. He talked to a priest and kept to himself until the images in his head and the pain in his heart started to subside.
And then, the silence.
Thomas and Frank stopped talking to each other. They were often in the same room but never engaged each other directly. Thomas’ mother, Esther noticed this but she was too smart to say anything about it. You had to leave men to be men.
But men have a way of burying problems and letting them decay. The secrets and pain turn to vile soil from which grows the cruelty of family.
Thomas accepted his place as the failed son and Frank took his role as a father crushed by that failure and other acts of God.
Now Thomas was searching for something. He didn’t know what it was but somewhere in his life there was a path that led away from the past and the certainty that he’d never be happy.
He just had to find it.
**********
“Twelve-eight!” said the female voice on their radio. “Disturbance on East Adams near John R. Suspect drunk and disorderly.” There was just a second of silence and then she said, “NS.”
“Roger,” said Ned.
Thomas was bolted back from his thoughts. He saw his hand reach for the siren and he stepped on the accelerator. The car shot off down the street. “NS” meant Negro Suspect.
Ned smiled. He was going to get the action he wanted.
The police had many such codes for crimes or disturbances that involved Blacks. There was NWAG, which stood for Nigger With A Gun, CFOD, Car Full Of Darkies and the one that always made Thomas laugh, NOMAD, which stood for Nigger On Mack After Dark. Mack Avenue was a thoroughfare, which led from the black east side of Detroit into the exclusive white enclave of Grosse Pointe.
Thomas and Ned pulled up near the disturbance point. They were first on the scene. Thomas called it in and requested back up. He and Ned moved toward a large figure on the sidewalk. People were scattered around looking on.
As they got closer, Thomas saw that the suspect was indeed a Negro and one of the biggest he’d ever seen. The man stood six five at least and had to have clocked in at two seventy or so.
“Holy shit,” said Ned. “It’s fucking King Kong.”
The big man paced in a little semi circle muttering to himself. Thomas could smell the alcohol emanating from him on the soft wind that blew the twenty yards between them.
Near the man, was another man, Black and smaller. He lay on his face, unconscious. Then Thomas saw the reason for the fallen man. King Kong was holding a long piece of iron pipe.
“Police!” yelled Ned.
The big man turned on thick legs. He leveled his eyes to the cops. His reaction would tell Thomas how bad this was. If the Black man saw the uniforms and showed fear, then Thomas knew he’d go easy. If he didn’t, then the suspect was crazy or drunk and they had a situation.
The big man saw them and then straightened his back and growled something under his breath. He turned fully to face them and then raised the pipe and slapped it into his other hand making a thick, thudding sound.
Situation.
“Drop the weapon and get to your knees,” said Ned with so much authority that Thomas felt the man would obey immediately.
The big man made no move. He circled the fallen man a few steps then said, “Fug you,” in a thick voice.
Ned cursed and pulled the strap off his service revolver. Thomas did the same. Ned moved in and Thomas circled to the other side of the big man.
The big man looked at them both trying to choose which one he’d concentrate on. He picked Ned.
“Come on,” said the big man. He flipped the pipe in his hands.
Ten feet away now, thought Thomas. Striking distance.
Then the big man dropped the pipe. It clattered to the ground and rolled. Ned took the opportunity and moved in closer and before Thomas could yell, the big man had scooped up the pipe and was swinging upwards. Ned moved back just as the pipe whooshed past his chin.
“Fuck!” said Ned and he quickly pulled and cocked his weapon. Thomas was on the big man’s side and slightly to his rear.
Thomas pulled his gun.
The big man whipped around when he felt the presence behind him. Thomas was in a shooting crouch. Their eyes met and Thomas could see harmful intent.
“I ain’t scared,” said the big man. “Not no mo’.”
Thomas held his gaze and could see Ned take a step closer. In the old days of Cahan and Frank Riley, this man would already have a bullet in his leg or be on his way to the morgue. Thomas was surprised that the swipe he took at Ned didn’t result in just that. But times were different and there were witnesses present.
With his eyes still on the suspect, Thomas said loud enough for the big man to hear: “Do I shoot before or after you, partner?”
This statement did something to the big man. His eyes seemed to pull in light and he straightened his back again. He lowered the pipe and took a half step backwards. Somewhere in the alcohol-addled part of his brain, he regained reason.
“Okay, okay,” said the big man and dropped the pipe.
“On your knees!” barked Ned.
The big man got to his knees and held his hands up.
“Hands on your head!” yelled Thomas.
The big man complied. Thomas walked over to him as Ned circled around and handcuffed the man. His wrists were so thick that Ned had some difficulty.
“Hey,” said Thomas. “This shit ain’t so hard.”
Ned laughed as Thomas went over to check on the fallen man. He had not been struck by the lead pipe as Thomas had first thought. But he did have a swollen jaw where he’d been punched. Why such a small man would start trouble with that giant was beyond Thomas.
Back up came with an ambulance and Ned and Thomas took in their prisoner, which Ned would give to Thomas as his first official collar.
When the area was clear, Ned went over to the big man, who sat on the curb. His feet were shackled along with his hands now.
His name was Barney Glover and he was an autoworker for Ford. The man he’d hit had refused to pay on a debt from the previous week.
Thomas was about to suggest that they lead their prisoner into the vehicle when he saw Ned take out his nightstick and swing with both hands into Barney’s side. Barney groaned and fell over like a big trash can.
“You ever take a swing at a cop again and I’ll kill your black ass dead,” hissed Ned.
Barney looked up at Ned, pain and anger in his eyes. But what troubled Thomas the most was what he did not see in the man’s eyes. There was no surprise. He had expected to pay this penalty for his actions, written in the unofficial statutes of race relations.
Ned looked over at Thomas and nodded towards Barney who had managed to sit himself back upright. Ned wanted Thomas to strike the man as well.
Thomas was a rookie but he had learned the code of the force from his family. Ned had been violated and so now this man had to pay the price. Had Barney been White,
the penalty would be left to the courts. But in this case, justice would be doled out now.
Thomas pulled out his nightstick. Barney turned at that movement. He caught Thomas’ eyes and
Thomas felt a surge of power. He remembered that Negroes had ruthlessly killed one of his relatives so long ago in this city.
Thomas struck him hard in the back and Barney fell over again. He groaned and spat out blood and saliva.
“Back in the day, we’d disappear your ass,” said Ned. “Now, get up.”
Barney stumbled as they lifted him into the cruiser.
Thomas felt a little sick as he started the car and drove away. The night seemed to melt around him as he moved along the streets and heard the muffled sounds of the injured man behind him.
It wouldn’t be until next year that he was no longer officially a rookie, but the newness of his occupation lifted from him in this moment, like smoke blown away by a strong wind.
Thomas drove back to the precinct and all that night, he kept hearing the words of the Negro.
I ain’t scared... not no mo’.
5
SIX MILE
He was taking the long way home but it was worth it. Sergeant Robert Jackson had asked his driver to take Woodward Avenue from downtown. The driver, an amiable white corporal named Davis obliged without complaint.
Davis was also blessedly quiet as he drove, not bothering to ask Robert about his tour or the other stupid questions as to whether he was happy to be back. He just drove and let his passenger take in the sights of home.
Robert let the city and its life pour back into him as they drove along. The sights, sounds, smells and faces of the city energized him. He wanted to be human again and if anything could do that it was Detroit.
They turned on McNichols road and headed east. When they got to Dequindre just past the I-75 freeway, Robert asked Davis to stop the car. He was too close now to keep rolling in the Army vehicle. He wouldn’t feel completely home until he set foot on the street.
Robert thanked Davis and offered him some money but Davis refused. The discharge money Robert had gotten was burning a hole in his pockets and he couldn’t wait to spend some of it on Denise and his family.
He got out of the car. He grabbed his duffel and headed east on McNichols.
It was spring and the weather was mild. The humid summer was still a few months away and this was really the best time of the year to be in the city.
Robert looked up. The deep blue of the sky helped to confirm that he was no longer in Vietnam with its cruel pale blue.
He thought of Percy and Foster, their smiling faces behind dark bottles of stolen beer and hoped that they’d see the skies of their homes one day. He also thought of Peter Cole, whose life he had saved.
When Cole had come to, Robert was getting ready to go home but there had been plenty of time for Cole to thank him. Cole had not.
Robert told himself that he didn’t want Cole’s thanks but some small part of him hoped that his heroic act had changed the man. He wanted to get in Cole’s face and tell him that he would forever owe his life to a Negro.
Robert walked the cracked pavement of McNichols, which was also called Six Mile, which was, according to city legend, approximately six miles from the heart of downtown on Woodward Avenue.
Robert passed by the Midway Market and remembered going there in the back seat of his father’s black Plymouth Fury, anxiously awaiting sweet Faygo pop and salty Better Made potato chips.
Across the street, they were clearing a big lot for a new Farmer Jack’s Supermarket. It was the first such market built in the Black neighborhood and it was a sign that things were changing for the better.
Robert drew a lot of attention in his Marine uniform. Some people saluted, others waved and smiled but some gave him disapproving frowns. He nodded and smiled anyway.
He knew the war was unpopular but these people didn’t understand how Vietnam would change the perception. People were enlightened now, they had integrated sports and schools and soon everything else would be as well. The war in all its evil would be a boon to Blacks.
**********
Robert Brent Jackson’s childhood was filled with trouble almost from the moment it began. His birth had been complicated and for a while, the doctors thought his mother’s life would be in jeopardy. In the end the baby came and the mother got a scar that would always remind her of the burden of carrying life.
Robert’s parents were both very devout people who were heavily involved in their church. This fact did not stop young Robert from getting into as much mischief as he could.
Robert defied his parent’s rules and ran in the streets with a dangerous crowd. They smoked, drank, stole and eventually engaged in premarital sex, a revelation that almost sent his mother, Theresa, to the hospital’s emergency room.
Robert had no idea where these impulses to do wrong came from. He liked the thrill of danger and girls seemed to like that about him. He was good-looking and bigger than everyone in his age group. He looked like a man when he was still a young teenager.
Robert commanded respect from his male peers because often they were too afraid to do the things he would do in a heartbeat. This made him feel powerful.
His parents told him he was a bad example to his younger brother, Marcus but Robert didn’t believe that. Marcus admired him and even though they had the normal sibling rivalries, they loved each other.
Robert was proud of his little brother who liked to read and never missed school or church. He was proud of Marcus’ goodness mostly because it reaffirmed his own power as the tough badass brother.
Robert could never bring himself to admire these same attributes in his father, Abraham. He guessed that brothers don’t impose their will on each other. Fathers do.
When he was fifteen, Robert looked so mature that he started a business buying alcohol for underage kids. For this feat, he’d take a small fee. He had a phony ID made and soon he was the go-to man for such endeavors. For girls, he’d do it for free if they were pretty enough and would let him take certain liberties.
And so it was inevitable that Robert fought with his father. Abraham was a big bull of a man like his son but his spirit was as gentle as a kitten. Robert didn’t understand why his father was so soft. He could make people do what he wanted and yet he chose to be mild, like his heroes, Martin Luther King and Ralph Abernathy.
Drugs soon became important to Robert’s varied enterprises. The police were cracking down on the business but it was too lucrative to pass up.
Soon, Robert had a little crew that specialized in marijuana. He didn’t like heroin and pills. Even he could see the danger in that shit. But weed was cool and the White kids loved it, which made it even more profitable.
Abraham threatened to put Robert in a reform school while he was still a teenager. The church had a relationship with a boy’s school in Ionia. He showed Robert the application as a threat designed to make him straighten himself out.
Although it was a shame for a man to admit he couldn’t control his son, Abraham held no illusions. This was America and if he didn’t do something, his son would likely end up dead.
And death did come. Dennis Ballet was one of Robert’s best friends. Everyone called him Dennis Bullet. Bullet was a mean, nasty customer who everyone agreed wasn’t quite all there in the head. Bullet was from a family of drug addicts and in that nightmarish upbringing had found crime to be his only salvation.
One of Bullet’s favorite things to do was dart out into traffic and cause accidents. He’d wait until a particularly nice car was coming and then he’d just time it, jumping into its path.
If Bullet was lucky, the driver would swerve and slam into a pole, hydrant or another car. If he wasn’t, the car would just swerve and maybe hit him. Bullet had cause six accidents and was swiped twice but never seriously injured.
Bullet and Robert had taken to each other right away. Robert’s boldness and Bullet’s fearlessness created an irresistible
and unbeatable team.
They were out one night selling their wares when they spotted a rival drug crew. These guys were into every narcotic and for some reason, Bullet hated them.
Robert and Bullet confronted the rival crew and soon a fight broke out. Robert was an excellent fighter and he put two of the three men down.
When he glanced over at Bullet, he was slamming the bloody head of the crew’s leader into a brick wall and laughing.
Whatever filament had held Bullet’s sanity together had finally snapped. Bullet was still tearing and squeezing at the pulpy flesh of the man’s head when the police came to take him away.
The cops saw the madman over his victim and pulled their guns. Bullet always kept a switchblade and Robert prayed that he wouldn’t take it out. But Bullet pulled the weapon and was dead before he could get to his feet.
For weeks, Robert sat at home feeling like he didn’t want to live. His future wasn’t going to be any different from Bullet if he didn’t change. Death was a permanent resident in their world and it seemed to be coming for him.
Robert had seen pictures of Death in his schoolbooks. The tall, thin man in the dark hooded robe. But that was a lie. Death was a cop with an attitude and a license to kill, death was the friend that went to jail and came out hard and ruthless. The real Grim Reaper was the people you saw every day.
Abraham and Theresa offered their son the bosom of the church to replace the thrill of the street. They hoped the power of God and promise of His Son could save the troubled young man and lift his soul from depravity.
After Bullet died, Robert vowed to get his life together.
He tried to study harder and started dating a pretty girl who was on the cheer team. Denise Barnes was a long, willowy girl with an angelic face and athletic body. She was also on the track team and Robert loved to watch her race around the track in her tight shorts.
Dark Town Redemption Page 5