Robert forgot about his mother’s anger and his father’s disapproval. He looked at his wife and was filled with joy and shock. He pulled his hand from his face and felt the corners of his mouth turning up into a smile.
“When?” he asked.
“This week. I just had to make sure.”
Before she knew it, Robert had covered the distance between them and taken her into his arms. He kissed her and she hugged him tightly.
“This is great, baby,” said Robert. “This is great.”
“Now you see why I told your father?” she said. “We need you, Bobby. This changes everything.”
Robert moved back a little so that they could see each other.
“What’s different?” he asked with caution.
“Everything,” Denise said. “I supported you but now, we have a family and I can’t have you out there risking your life.”
“And so I’m supposed to just forget about my brother, about the movement, go get a job from the enemy and do what I’m told. I made a baby, Denise. I didn’t cut my balls off.”
“Why does everything have to come down to that for you? You’re not less of a man if you care about your baby.”
“I care but there’s work to be done on our conditions here, can’t you see that?”
“Don't give me that shit about Marcus,” Denise folded her arms defiantly. “I know you, Robert Jackson. This is about you. You're thinking that you gave Marcus the knife and you got him mad at you that day. You're thinking, ‘If only I had done something.’ You're doing all this revolutionary stuff for yourself. Listen to your mother. Let it go before it's too late.”
Robert hung his head a little and Denise knew she’d gotten to him some. But he was a bull-headed man and baby or no, Robert had his calling.
“I ain't gonna deny what you said but what's done is done,” he began. “Don't matter what my reasons are. My cause is righteous. If my daddy don’t want me here, cool. We can move out. Get a little place across town. Maybe move in with The Guard.”
“No,” said Denise.
“I'm your husband, woman,” said Robert with anger and some incredulity. “That don’t mean nothing to you?”
“Mother and father come before husband and wife,” said Denise. “I may not know what it means to be a man but I know what it means to be me. And it means putting your child before revenge. It means a Black family is good for the movement and another dead father isn’t. So, if you're moving out to keep on doing violence, we won't follow.”
Robert moved closer to her with pain in his eyes. It was these times that she found him the most attractive, when he dropped his battle armor and showed what was underneath. Denise steeled herself against her own emotions.
“You ain't gonna leave me,” he said.
“I'll stay here with mama and daddy while I'm pregnant. If you want to stay with us you can but your activities have to stop.”
“You gonna use my baby to make me do what you want?” There was real hurt in Robert’s voice.
“You don't know what it means to be a woman,” she said.
Robert watched as Denise walked out of the room, leaving him alone. The TV continued to report on Dr. King’s death and soon he turned it off when it got to be too much.
He sat alone for along time, debating the issues in his head: a baby, a gift from God versus the earthly causes of men. No matter what his choice, he’d lose.
He asked himself what his son or daughter might want him to do. Would they respect him for leaving and going on with the cause or would they see him as a deserter to their young life? Denise wouldn’t have the baby until some time next year, he thought. By then, he could be done with all of this.
He sat for another hour thinking and then he went into his bedroom and kissed his wife. She turned to look at him and before he said anything, she knew he had made his decision.
“I gotta go,” Robert said to her. “I’ll be close and I’ll check on you everyday.”
Denise reached over and grabbed his face and kissed him. Robert couldn’t tell if it was a good luck kiss or a goodbye one.
21
EVIDENCE
The irony that the leader of the nonviolent movement was killed by the ultimate violence was not lost upon anyone. Now the question was, what would win the souls of Negroes, Dr. King’s religious-based philosophy or the radical, violent militancy?
H. Rap Brown and Stokely Carmichael both visited Detroit after King’s death. Massive crowds turned out to see both dynamic speakers. Their fiery rhetoric inflamed an already angry people and projected fear into the hearts of Whites. They each spoke of King’s death as a call to arms against an enemy that showed no mercy.
Thomas and other police had been assigned to protect the speakers and they received a chilly reception. Brown and Carmichael taunted police and spat fiery words of revolution into the air, making a thankless job even more so.
The only good news around town was the Tigers had taken first place in their division and showed no signs of slowing down.
Thomas had been talking about baseball the night before at McGinty’s but that was the last thing he remembered at this moment. Right now, he didn‘t know how he’d gotten into the room he was in. In fact, he didn’t know what room he was in. The last thing he remembered was going to McGinty’s after his shift ended and having a good time.
Pierson had moved on since Thomas let the Negro suspect escape. Thomas didn’t care. Ned would be back soon and he’d have a real partner again.
Thomas was on the floor of the room and it didn’t seem familiar to him. He was on his face and looking into a hardwood floor. The floor was dark brown and seemed to be well kept. It was polished and he could see his own eye in the dull reflection. He felt a cold draft on his legs and then something else.
He was naked.
He turned over and felt himself. Shit. His genitals felt cold and doughy. Thomas lifted himself off the floor. He looked around the room and now he was sure that he was not home. As he righted himself, a sledgehammer hit inside his head and he almost fell back to the floor.
He sat up straight and just breathed for a moment. His balls hit the cold floor and he winced. Sarah popped into his head and he winced again. Then he began to remember.
After his shift ended, he’d run into Brady and Reid. They were confrontational as usual but this time there was more. They were scared. The talk of Grand Juries and indictments was everywhere.
The death of Dr. King only made things worse. Negroes wanted blood and heads on platters. White heads. Police heads. Brady and Reid were afraid and they leaned on him about keeping quiet in their most threatening manner.
Thomas had gotten into a bitter argument with the two men and it had almost come to blows. But cooler heads prevailed and the three men parted company without incident.
Thomas went home and found Sarah there with some of her college friends. He hated when they came over to his place and she didn’t tell him.
All the guys she hung out with wanted to fuck her and Thomas wasn’t sure about some of the women’s motives in that regard. The radical student movement was filled with perverts.
Thomas wanted to unwind but was forced to listen to talk about peace and how the Negroes were oppressed and how White people needed to stop it. He went into the kitchen and poured himself a drink, then another.
After he was intoxicated, Thomas had said the wrong thing. Actually, he had said many wrong things and Sarah had corrected him in front of her friends and demanded an apology.
Thomas refused to apologize. He was still a man after all, not like these long-haired queers who thought reading books made them men.
Sarah made him feel like a stranger in his own home, so he said more nasty things. The friends had excused themselves and headed out.
And then the real fight began. He and Sarah went over all of their problems again, rehashing all the pain, broken promises, mistakes and incompatibility issues.
She started in on him abo
ut his drinking, telling him that he was becoming a stereotype, a drunk, Irish cop. He just ignored her, lying about how much he drank and what a problem it was. He struck back at her with her balk on the marriage and her excuses for it. He called her a snob and he knew that hurt. And then Sarah went for the deathblow.
She said he was just like his father.
Thomas had heard a train coming. Sarah kept talking but the train’s noise filled his ears with its deafening rumble. She was turning red as she spat his sin at him. And then he saw a fist traveling toward Sarah’s face. The train wouldn’t let him hear what she was saying and that fist, it was just going to hit her all on its own.
Sarah stopped yelling at him when she saw the trembling hand. It meant to strike her, to hit her in her lovely mouth and shut her up.
She looked at Thomas with fear and shock in her green eyes. It was his hand and it was going to smite her like a god would a nonbeliever.
Thomas stopped the arc of the blow. He turned his head toward the hand and unclenched his fist and dropped it to his side, hoping it would fall off and roll into a corner.
He was about to say something to Sarah, something magical that would make this ugly moment fade from her memory but Sarah flashed a look of pure fear from her green lights then ran off. She went into the bathroom and he heard the door lock loudly.
He went to the door and was about to pound on it but then he would be the monster that she obviously thought he was. He called her once, but she didn’t answer.
The regulars at McGinty’s welcomed him like the prodigal son later that night. A few drinks and he had told the entire story. He was surprised by the sympathy he received. These were learned men, men who had been through much in life and they understood.
“Is that all, boy?” said one man. “Shit, you’re all worked up over nothing. A real woman needs a good smack in the chops at least once a week.”
”You should go back and finish the job,” said another learned drunk.”
“Hell, I hit my first wife,” said yet another. “Second one, too. “I’ll get married again, when I find one that can take a punch!”
Laughter rolled and the liquor flowed like a soothing river.
Something had told Thomas that this was wrong but for the life of him, he couldn’t remember what it was. The sweet, thick haze of whiskey blocked that knowledge. It blocked everything and that’s why he loved whiskey. It never questioned or doubted and it never ran out. One regular always said if they put some tits on a bottle of Johnny Walker, he’d marry it.
“Barbara,” Thomas said out loud in the little foreign room.
There had been a woman at the bar. She was a regular, too, a female regular. She had dyed reddish hair and wore tight dresses. All the men knew her and they all acted like they knew some secret.
She was a whore, Thomas had thought and she was looking at him all night. He remembered thinking that he was probably the only man who hadn’t had sex with Barbara.
He looked around the room now and saw the unmistakable touch of a woman.
“Jesus,” he said.
He was so drunk that he couldn’t have had sex with the woman and God only knew what she really looked like. Barbara seemed to be a fairly attractive woman but whiskey tended to improve a woman’s pulchritude.
Thomas got up and looked for his clothes. He found them and began to dress. He smelled food cooking and it made his stomach lurch. He was going to be sick and he ran out of the room. He saw a small bathroom across the hall and went into it. He fell to his knees and heaved over the toilet for about a minute but the sickness passed and nothing left his body.
He waited for a few moments and then went downstairs. The house was fairly big. It was nicely done and he saw a picture of a handsome man in his twenties on a wall next to a stunning and shapely redhead that had to be Barbara as a younger woman. As far as he knew, Barbara wasn’t married and if she was, he hoped that that man in the picture was not at home.
Thomas got into the kitchen to find Barbara preparing breakfast. He was relieved to see that she was indeed nice looking. She was ten years older than the woman in the picture but still a looker. Her waist was narrow her hips round and her chest ample. She was in a pink robe and her red hair was tied in a ponytail.
“You look like shit,” she said.
“I kinda feel like it too,” said Thomas.
“It’s almost done,” said Barbara. “Have a seat.”
“Barbara I... I should get going.”
“Please. Let’s not do the ‘Oh what have I done’ act.” She put some eggs onto a plate. “I knew you were sauced when I took you home. You took your clothes off and really, I might have done it with you if you was able but sadly your soldier was out of commission.”
Thomas sat without thinking. The food was starting to smell good and he didn’t want to be rude to someone who had seen him naked.
“Who’s the man in the picture on the stairs?” asked Thomas after drinking some juice.
“My dead husband,” said Barbara and her mouth turned into a flat line. Died and left me bubkus. Jim was an asshole alive and a bigger one dead.”
“I’m sorry,” said Thomas and Barbara’s pretty little smile returned.
“I live around the corner from McGinty’s,” said Barbara. “Makes it easier for me.”
“Sorry I tried to have sex with you,” said Thomas reaching for some food.”
“Me too,” said Barbara. “I should have got to you after your second shot. You were already pretty lit up when you walked in.” She smiled a little then added: “But you know, it’s a new day.”
Thomas tasted some toast and it was good. He waited for his stomach to rebel but it didn’t.
“Barbara, I don’t want you to get me wrong but—“
She opened her robe, revealing her breasts. They were large and quite beautiful. Barbara grabbed one and played with it, squeezing and kneading it while smiling at him.
Never had he seen a real live woman do such a thing. He was transfixed as she fingered her nipple and it became firm. She unloosed her thick red hair with her free hand and it fell around her face making her look even more beautiful.
“Everybody already thinks we’ve done it,” she said. “So if you gonna get the sin, might as well get the fun.”
“Thanks but no,” Thomas heard himself say.
“Thomas, I usually charge the men I sleep with but I like you. This is like getting a free car from the car dealer, honey.”
Thomas said no again and Barbara closed the robe and the delicious flesh was gone. Thomas sighed and Barbara laughed a little at the compliment.
“Can I ask you something?” said Thomas.
“Since I’ve seen your cock, “I’d say yes.” Barbara smiled.
“Do you think Whites and Blacks can ever live together, I mean stop all this killing and shit?”
Barbara put her fork down and looked up for a second. Her brow furrowed a little and then she grabbed her glass of orange juice.
“No,” she said finally. Before he could ask why she continued. “I think we hate each other, it’s like we’re opposites. The Coloreds they just ain’t got enough pride about themselves, you know and White people, we just got too much.”
Thomas just nodded and kept eating. They finished their breakfast mostly in silence. Barbara never asked him why he posed the strange question. Thomas guessed it was all people talked about in Detroit lately and so it was no big deal.
Barbara teased and flirted with him some more and gave him a sweet peck on the cheek when he left.
He walked out of the house and stood a moment on the front porch. A tiny breeze hit him in the face and he stiffened. He could still smell it, the odor of burned wood, destruction and death.
Part of him wanted to go back in and take Barbara’s offer and become lost in pleasure, away from life’s terrible choices. Instead, he descended the stairs and headed down the block.
**********
When Thomas got home he wa
s not surprised to find Sarah gone. A handwritten note greeted him on the door. He didn’t read it. He checked the house and sure enough, most of her things were gone. He sat down hard on the sofa.
Thomas called out to his grandfather with his troubled heart. He imagined Cahan coming in and sitting with him. Thomas was a boy again and Cahan was bouncing him on his knee and favoring him over Shaun. Everything was sweet, simple and good again.
Suddenly, the phone rang. He snatched it up thinking it was Sarah.
“Gonna get you, muthafucka,” said the Negro voice.
“Who is this?” Thomas asked stupidly.
“I’m gonna get you if it’s the last thing I do.”
“Who the fuck is this--?“
The line went dead.
Thomas slammed the receiver down in anger. He was not going to take this laying down, he thought. He was going to find the Negro and settle this when he could.
He sat for a moment, seething in anger. Then he opened Sarah’s note and found just what he knew was there. A break up along with her fear of what he was becoming. But there was a bright spot. A phone number.
Sarah had left a phone number to her friend Elizabeth’s place. To him, that meant hope. She still cared and wanted him to know where she was. He called several times but the line was busy.
Thomas went into work a little late. As he hit the lobby, he saw a gathering of cops. Dennison and a few others stood looking somber.
“Riley, “ said Dennison motioning him over.
Thomas walked to the big man wondering what was going on. These days it could be anything.
“Yeah sarge?” said Thomas.
“Got bad news, son,” said Dennison. “Your partner is dead.”
“What?” Thomas said but he had heard him clearly. His partner was dead. “I knew Ned was sick but—“
“No,” said Dennison. “He was murdered. We’re pretty sure. There are detectives at the scene, his place.” Then he added: “I wasn’t supposed to tell you for a while.”
Thomas ran out of the building, grabbed a cruiser and headed to Ned’s house. Ned had lived alone after his second wife left him. Cops never had good luck with women, he mused.
Dark Town Redemption Page 17