Robert barely heard the words his father uttered as he began to eat. He was still seeing the mural condemning his life and not even his mother’s smothered pork chops could chase that away.
Since Marcus’ death, he had been planning to do something, to strike at the cops who had killed his brother. But so far, all he knew was their faces and a little information about them. He was working, looking after Denise, trying to get her pregnant and watching over his mother who had become more and more depressed. And something else.
He was afraid.
Even though he had braved Vietnam and lived to tell, he did not want to test his luck at home. This was not a real war and if he went after the cops, he might regret it. Absently, he thought his mother could not survive the loss of another son.
The family ate in silence for a while. A chair was at the table but unoccupied. Robert saw his mother glance at it now and then, looking sad.
Robert felt haunted by his brother’s passing. To have a life pulled from the course of your own leaves you weak and tentative, afraid and unsure of your next step; it makes foul air and bitter water and mocks happy thought. That was what a real ghost was, he thought, an empty chair.
“The Tigers are looking real good this season,” said Abraham breaking the silence. “McClain is throwing like a man possessed. Everyone’s healthy, too. After being so close last year, I think we got a shot.”
Denise and Theresa smiled and murmured assent although they knew very little about baseball. The comment was really for Robert.
“Did that lawyer say anything about the case being reopened?” asked Robert ignoring the topic.
“Just that they're looking into it with some other cases,” said Abraham dimly.
“I know just how much they gonna look into it,” said Robert with energy in his voice.
“That's at least something,” said Denise innocently.
Robert shot her a nasty look. “They have to do that to make it look good, Denise. They don’t want to know who killed him.”
“I thought we said we wouldn’t talk about this at the dinner table no more,” said Abraham.
“Bobby, we tried everything to bring a case and got nothing,” said Theresa not hearing her husband. “The police are on this now so-—“
“They said Marcus got into a fight with some man with a knife,” said Robert. “The man shot him but somehow he got away. Four White cops and none of them did it? Come on, man.”
“I don't... can we talk about something else?” asked Theresa her voice breaking a little.
“What else is there?” Robert pointed to the terrible chair. He ain't here and no talk about baseball is gonna change that.” He lowered his finger and now the chair seemed even more awful to everyone. ”I went over to the riot area over on Twelfth Street.”
“Why?” asked Abraham with mild anger. “There’s nothing over there for you”
“People are trying to rebuild and I just want to help,” said Robert, knowing that this statement had to quiet his father. The relief effort was something Abraham had approved of and he couldn’t gainsay that now.
“You know what I saw?” Robert continued. “Some kids were painting this big picture on the wall of a burned-out building. It was a picture of the riot and the movement and it had a message against the war and demanding freedom for our people. And when I saw it, I realized that I've been wrong, thinking this country loves me.”
Abraham put down his knife and fork. “Things have always been hard for our people but we're making it like we always do. It just takes time-—“
“How much time, daddy?” Robert’s voice rose. “You were in World War Two and what did it change? Nothing. They wouldn’t even let Black men fight. How many dead brothers before we get our day? Uh huh, no, I ain't waitin' no more.”
This last statement brought the silence back. The whole family knew that Robert had a bad temper and wasn’t afraid of anything. He was big, strong and had a violent streak.
“Bobby, what... what're you going to do?” asked Theresa.
“Whatever I have to.” Robert said without hesitation. “By any means necessary.”
“It's not your place to do anything,” said Abraham with authority. “There are still laws and where the law fails there is God. He will take care of it.”
And now Robert dropped his knife and fork with a clank and looked at his father. Robert’s face had an expression as if his father had just put on a ridiculous looking hat.
“Which God is that, daddy? The blue-eyed Jesus over the mantle who looks just like the men who killed my brother? That's not my God.”
More silverware fell as Theresa said: “Don't you blaspheme at my table, boy!”
“My god lives in a rice paddy half a world away,” Robert said, ignoring his mother. “My god kills the weak and the foolish. So, you wait for your God, the God the enemy of our people forced upon you. You embrace Him and His peaceful ways. I'm going to find Marcus’ killer.”
Robert got up from the table and marched off. Abraham bolted upright and took a step away from the table to go after the boy. Theresa's hand on his forearm stopped him and he slowly sat back down.
“Excuse me,” said Denise and got up and went after her husband, leaving Theresa and Abraham alone with all the empty chairs.
Denise found Robert in the backyard of the house. He stood next to a big apple tree and looked across the street. In the distance, he heard music from Simpson’s Record Shop. The Temptations were singing “I Wish It Would Rain.”
The sad song stopped Denise for a moment as she looked at her man and felt some of what he was feeling. Suddenly, she saw him as she first had, tall, scraggly Afro and boyish face and those eyes, hard and mischievous. She went to him and hugged him from behind.
“Thought you’d be mad at me,” said Robert.
“Not this time,” said Denise. “This is all complicated, you know.”
“I’m sorry about all that, but daddy just don’t get it sometimes.”
“They’re old, Bobby. “You have to cut them some slack.”
“I can’t just do nothing. I’ve been working, trying to get back to life but every time I close my eyes, I see Marcus walking out the door, saying how he ain’t got no brother.
Denise just hugged him tighter. “So, you gonna go out and get them? Maybe get killed yourself?”
“No,” said Robert. “I thought about that. That ain’t the way, but waitin’ ain’t neither. I’m gonna find them guys Marcus was running with, The Vanguard. Maybe they know something. And I can put some pressure on them cops, well, one of them, at least.”
“The one that came to the funeral,” said Denise knowingly.
“Yeah,” said Robert remembering that he’d told her about Thomas Riley. “That’s where I’m gonna start. He was there, so maybe he did it.”
They became silent but it was different than the silence they’d just left. It was a purposeful quiet that made Robert feel like he was finally seeing things right.
“You pregnant yet?” he asked.
“Not yet,” said Denise. “But it’s been fun trying.” She laughed.
“Well, we gonna work on that some more tonight.” Robert managed a little smile.
“Wanna go back in?”
“Naw, not yet.” Robert let his mind drift as Simpson’s Record Shop changed to a song by the Marvelettes.
14
THE SILENT NEGROES
Thomas and Sarah shared breakfast. The eggs and sausage were good to him as he thought about starting his day. Sarah was a decent cook, not as good as his mother who made every meal a feast, but decent.
Sarah had an early class and he was back on days. He had not been sleeping well lately and his conversation with Brady and Reid had not helped. They were arrogant cops who thought their badges gave them some kind of super power. And in a way, it did. They were respected and feared in the precinct. Thomas could not get their accusing faces out of his head.
... all in this together, Ril
ey.
The memory of the night the boy was killed made him sick to his stomach but what was done was done and it was too late for any of them to get out of it.
“You can talk to me about it, you know?” he heard Sarah say.
“Huh?” said Thomas, her words bringing him out of his thought.
“You look like the world has fallen on you,” said Sarah. “I just wanted you to know that I’m here.”
Thomas managed a smile and he knew it wasn’t totally sincere. “I’m okay. Just some work stuff.”
“Like what?” asked Sarah.
“It’s nothing, really,” said Thomas and he took another bite of his food.
Sarah stopped eating and just stared at him with those piercing eyes. He could see the anger behind her expression. She knew he was hiding something and she didn’t like it. Considering their current cold war over the wedding, he decided to talk.
“Okay,” Thomas relented. “The department might be looking into some of the deaths associated with the riot.”
“That’s great,” said Sarah, the angry look fading. “They need to get into some of the injustices, especially the slaughter at the Algiers Motel.”
He wanted to tell her that those men were doing drugs with White women at a suspected sniper location during a race riot. But he knew if he said that, she would be all over him about how Negroes had a right to do whatever they wanted with whatever kind of women they wanted in their own space. She’d talk about the Constitution and the Fourth Amendment and all that radical shit.
“My case, the Jackson kid might be one of them,” Thomas said calmly.
“But it wasn’t a riot case,” said Sarah.
“I know. It’s just a rumor but it’s got me a little worried.”
“Why?” she asked and in that instant he knew he had made a mistake.
Sarah had believed him when he gave his account of the shooting. She believed him because she had no reason not to. Ballistics cleared them all of firing a gun and no weapon was found. The Jackson kid had a large knife on him and it was open and near his hand. And even though Brady and Reid had spotty records, they had citations as well and Thomas’ record was new and clean.
“I don’t know,” he said. “I think if it’s true, it’s just to appease certain people.”
“Black people?” and Sarah said it like she was looking for a fight.
“Yes,” he said defiantly. “And some of the White ones, too.”
Sarah looked pensive for a moment. Thomas wondered if she wanted to question him, ask him if he had told her everything? Or perhaps she was being as careful in the minefield of their relationship as he was.
“Try not to worry,” she said finally. “I’m sure it’s nothing.”
Thomas let the conversation go, afraid that it might take another nasty turn. He finished his meal and they said their goodbyes. He kissed Sarah and he could feel the unasked question still on her lips.
Thomas got to work and made his transformation to officer of the law. He was about to head out knowing that Ned would be late again. He was always the last one in lately. In fact, Ned had been different since the incident with the Jackson kid. He was railing on Brady and Reid and asking Thomas to distance himself from them.
As Thomas headed out, he was approached by Carl Rogers, a Police Commander. Rogers was a very overweight White cop who had been with the department for over thirty years. Rogers was a decent sort and was known as a straight shooter. He was also famous for getting cops out of tight jams. Rogers walked over to Thomas with a flat look on his chubby face.
“Got a minute?” Rogers asked. He was from the east coast, Boston, and still had a bit of the twang in his voice.
“Sure, sir,” said Thomas. “What’s up?”
“Some people wanna talk to you.”
“Who?” asked Thomas feeling himself tighten a little.
“Look,” said Rogers. “You don’t have to talk to them if you don’t want to. It’s a committee, some political types.” Then he waited a moment and said: “It’s about the Jackson kid.”
Thomas unconsciously took a half step away from Rogers. He felt a shot of heat streak through his chest.
“What the fuck do they want?” asked Thomas doing his best to sound strong.
“They’re looking into cases, you know, and yours came up. They’re talking to Ned, Brady and Reid, too.”
“What if I don’t go?” asked Thomas and he wasn’t sure he wanted to ask that question aloud.
“It’s informal, so nothing will happen,” said Rogers, “but my advice to you is to go.”
“Why?” asked Thomas.
“Because the big bosses are behind this. I’m talking about the Mayor and the goddamned Governor. They got Negro activists and lawyers coming out of their asses. And a lot of those guys have the ear of Senators and the President. You don’t go and they’ll think it’s suspicious and push to reopen the matter. You go and they’ll probably just ask a few questions and then let it go.”
“Did Brady and Reid go?” asked Thomas and even he could hear the tension in his voice.
“Yeah, they’re talking to them now,” said Rogers. “They laughed when I told them. Nothing scares them two.”
”And Ned?”
“He’s going in after you,” said Rogers. “I ain’t worried about him.”
Thomas felt unsure of himself. This committee had sprung this on them intentionally, he thought, to make sure that they wouldn’t have time to think about their answers or story. What he couldn’t believe is that the department was letting them do it like this.
“I know it ain’t right but since the riot, a lot of shit ain’t right,” said Rogers seemingly reading his mind.
“No IAD?” asked Thomas.
“Hell no,” said Rogers. Otherwise, I’d tell them to stick it up their asses.”
“Okay,” said Thomas and it sounded like defeat. “Where are they?”
Rogers led Thomas to a room on the fourth floor of the precinct.
Thomas walked down the hallway, like it was The Last Mile. He was a cop sworn to protect and serve and he felt like a criminal.
When he got to the room, Brady and Reid walked out. They seemed in good spirits. Reid even smiled a little. They gave Thomas the thumbs up sign and walked on.
“Here you go,” said Rogers. “Fifteen minutes max is all they got.” Rogers looked at him like he was sorry and Thomas got the feeling that there was something going on that he didn’t know about.
Thomas walked into the room, which was an old detective’s office. There was a wooden table, some chairs and an old desk, which had been shoved into a corner.
At the table were two White men and two Negroes, one male, the other female. Thomas tried not to stare at the two Negroes. They were dressed in nice business suits and didn’t seem like they were from Detroit.
“Hi,” said one of the White men. “I’m Paul Jones from the Mayor’s office. This is Andrew Summer from the Governor’s office,” he pointed to the other White man. “And these are Dana Von, an attorney for the NAACP and Samuel Johnson from C.O.R.E.”
Thomas said hello to them all and noticed that the two Negroes had pleasant looks on their faces. Considering the circumstances, he was surprised that they did not have angry expressions.
“This is an informal committee,” said Jones. “We’re here to gather information on matters pertaining to the riot last year.”
“We’re looking into cases where Blacks died during that period,” said Andrew Summer. “In this case, one Marcus Jackson.”
“That case wasn’t technically a riot death,” said Summers, “but it occurred in the same time period and so we’re just being thorough.”
The Negro woman, Dana Von, shuffled some papers. Thomas looked her way out of instinct and he noticed that she was fair-skinned and quite pretty. Her eyes were light brown and they seemed to float in her visage. He remembered the girl from Hudson’s who had made his belly flip when she smiled at him.
> “So we’ve all read the reports,” said Jones. “And we talked to officers Brady and Reid. Do you have anything to add to what you reported last year?”
“No,” said Thomas and he felt that he answered too quickly.
“Can you tell us again what happened that night?” asked Jones.
Thomas took a breath and told the story again. When he was done, the Negroes shared a look then looked over to Jones.
“You and the other officers concluded that the victim, Marcus Jackson was killed by an unknown assailant?” asked Andrew Summer.
“Yes,” said Thomas.
The two Negroes again nodded to Jones.
“Okay, officer,” said Jones. “That’s all.”
Thomas sat for just a second then he got up and left. When he got into the hallway, Rogers was gone. For some reason, that troubled him.
He started down the hallway to the elevator and wondered why the two Negroes never asked him a question. It was as if they were there to read his mind and his heart, to run him through some magical filter and sift out the good from the bad. The White men had done all the talking, but the Negroes had said so much more with their silence.
When he got to the lobby he could not find Ned. There were a few cops talking and the usual traffic from the courts and police staff.
Thomas walked into the lobby, saying hello to Sergeant Dennison, a big amiable cop who was riding the front desk. He took a few steps away, when a big Black man approached. He wore a Marine uniform.
“Got a minute, officer?” asked Robert Jackson.
Thomas looked at the man and felt a vague familiarity. But he didn’t know many Negroes and certainly he didn’t know this one.
“Desk Sergeant Dennison is over there,” said Thomas pointing to the big man behind the desk.
“I talked to him already. He let me wait here for you. He’s a Marine too,” said Robert. “Amazing how the uniform gets you respect, Officer Riley.”
Thomas was about to walk away but the sound of his name made him stop. “Do I know you?”
“Oh, I’m just a soldier,” said Robert, “a man who went to war and served his country. But then I came back to this city and someone killed my brother, Marcus.”
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