The gravity of this settled on him as he approached the crime scene. A crowd of neighborhood people was across the street from Ned’s place. He recognized newspaper and TV people who were being held at bay by uniformed cops.
Sarah, his drunken night and the sexy redhead were erased from his mind as he jumped out of the cruiser and pushed his way into the house.
“You don’t want to see this,” said a detective Thomas recognized as Bernie Mandeville.
“Move,” said Thomas and he stepped around the officer into the small livingroom.
Thomas stopped short as he saw the body of his partner laid out between the livingroom and the entrance to a kitchen. Ned had been shot twice, once in the chest and again in the head. The head wound was delivered after he fell, and there was a large splatter on the floor and lower wall.
Ned was dressed only in his bathrobe. An unopened beer sat in a far corner, obviously dropped when he was shot.
A hit, thought Thomas, heart and headshots, like a professional.
“Pistol,” said Mandeville behind him. “One in each area.”
“But... he called in to the station,” said Thomas with disbelief
“Yeah,” said Mandeville. “But we think this was done a day later, after the King assassination. Retaliation. Everyone around here knew he was a cop.”
Thomas stepped back as he felt himself becoming a little nauseous. He turned into the living room and saw something that made his heart stop cold.
A bottle of scotch and a glass on a coffee table.
Slowly, he walked over to it and only after asking if prints had been taken did he touch it.
It was full. The glass next to it was empty.
“Detective,” Thomas called. Mandeville walked over to him.
“You really shouldn’t be here,” said Mandeville. “You’re practically family, officer.”
“This drink,” said Thomas ignoring him. “Why was he pouring it, if he was getting a beer?
“He was having a beer and a shot,” said Mandeville casually. You think we didn’t think of that? Us gold shields are awful smart, officer.”
“Ned was a good cop. No way some lowlife broke in here and caught him by surprise.”
“So what are you saying?” asked Mandeville.
“He was getting the beer for a guest, someone he knew.”
“And that’s who killed him?” Mandeville laughed a little.
“I don’t see anything funny here, detective,” said Thomas. “My partner is dead. We need to do something about it.”
“Okay officer,” said Mandeville. “I know you’re upset but this is a homicide and we’re on it. We’ll consider your theory but right now, we’re thinking some agitator type did this.”
“That’s what they want you to think!” yelled Thomas and several cops turned in their direction.
“They?” asked Mandeville.
“Whoever did this,” said Thomas knowing he’d said too much.
“You should go,” said Mandeville. “We got it covered. I’m sorry for your loss.” Mandeville nodded to another officer who placed a gentle hand on Thomas’ shoulder.
“Come on, sir,” said the officer. “Please,” he added.
Thomas went to McGinty’s and found it full of cops. He was consoled and managed to resist drinking for the first hour.
Finally, he took a shot of whiskey and it rested his troubled mind.
Someone had murdered a cop and there was already talk of vigilante justice. But what troubled Thomas the most was that Brady and Reid were not attendance.
The next week, the funeral was held. It was so big that it had overflow in Ned’s little church. Both his ex-wives were there and a daughter that Thomas only heard about once.
Brady and Reid came with their wives and Thomas could have sworn that they intentionally avoided him.
Thomas was already working on proving that the two killed Ned. The pressure of the Marcus Jackson investigation was heavy and Brady and Reid found out something about Ned’s testimony and had him eliminated. Or maybe Mandeville was right and it was an agitator or maybe even that pest, Robert Jackson.
Whatever the truth, Thomas saw dark days coming and for this he was not happy.
The next day, he called the number Sarah had left but got Elizabeth on the phone. Thomas liked Elizabeth generally but she didn’t seem to feel the same way. She was short with him telling him that Sarah was out. He didn’t believe her but he didn’t start an argument. He promised to call later.
As he walked to the door there was a knock. He hung his uniform on a coat rack, then grabbed his service revolver and went to the door.
“Who is it?” asked Thomas careful to stand to one side of the door frame.
“FBI,” said a man’s voice.
Thomas opened the door, revealing
the FBI agents who had questioned him.
“Thomas Riley?” asked the White agent
“You know who I am,” said Thomas.
“Thomas Riley?” the White agent repeated in a flat, all-business tone.
“Yes,” said Thomas relenting.
“You’ve been subpoenaed to testify in connection with the death of Marcus Jackson,” said the Black agent.
The Black agent handed Thomas the paper and smiled. It was the most evil smile Thomas had ever seen.
The White agent just looked at him like he smelled something foul. Then they turned and walked off.
Thomas stared at the envelope. He opened it and looked at the thing. The official court heading, the scrawl of a judge and the noble pronouncements made his knees weak.
Thomas closed the door and turned. He caught sight of his uniform hanging on the coat rack. It teetered on its wire hanger and rocked back and forth like a man on the gallows.
PART THREE
DARK TOWN
REDEMPTION
June 1968 – October 1968
“Man must evolve for all human conflict a method
which rejects revenge, aggression and retaliation.
The foundation of such a method is love.
- Martin Luther King Jr.
22
GHOSTS OF MOTOWN
Robert Jackson was now living two distinct lives in the changing city. He continued to harass Thomas Riley and followed Vince when he could do so safely. He now felt that part of the mystery of his brother’s death involved The Vanguard, the mole inside of it and the White officers.
He lived in a little apartment near The Vanguard safehouse. It was a modest place with only five other tenants, most of whom were working families. He kept to himself, didn’t talk much and generally minded his own business. The owner was a Guard ally and so the rent was low.
The death of the cop named Ned Young had surprised him. When he’d read it in the news, he’d wondered if the police would come looking for him officially or off the clock. Either way, he was ready.
No good end comes to a man who was no good, he thought. If the cops did bring him in, he’d make sure he had plenty of witnesses and a lawyer.
Yusef had asked him if he had killed the cop. Robert said nothing, simply reminding Yusef of the conspiracy laws. Yusef had only laughed and patted him on the back.
But Robert had not killed the old cop. He was pretty sure the one called Ned had nothing to do with Marcus’ death. But maybe the resolve between the conspirators was weakening. Maybe the other three had iced him for wanting to tell too much.
Robert smiled at this thought. He might not have to do anything but wait for them all to self-destruct.
White people were leaving Detroit in droves now. The riot, Dr. King’s death and growing violence were too much for them, he guessed.
Negroes on the other hand, seemed to be doing well in some quarters. Motown’s success was growing. Berry Gordy moved his headquarters to the Donovan Building on Woodward Avenue in the middle of downtown Detroit.
Now here was a Black company in the same neighborhood with the titans of the city. White people would s
ee Black men wearing nice suits and driving fancy cars and Black women coming to work in offices like their White counterparts.
The Guard and other radical groups were also doing well. Many people tried to get in The Guard but Yusef was very selective and still very worried about moles. They had added some members but not nearly as many as they might have.
The Guard’s activities were becoming more sophisticated. They still dealt in civil disobedience but they also began to undermine the establishment’s financial institutions as well.
To Robert, this was a fancy name for fraud but he went along with it in the name of the cause. Bank scams; check kiting and out and out robbery kept the coffers full. He got a small cut of the funds, as did they all.
Yusef also used the money to buy weapons, black market explosives and to influence local politicians. These funds helped change a city council vote on zoning and saved a Black neighborhood.
Yusef was particularly happy these days. The White people were leaving the city and soon, Blacks would have a clear majority. They’d take over Detroit, D.C., Baltimore and other cities and turn them Black. And then America would have to bargain with the brothers for power. He could see the end of the revolution and it was beautiful.
Robert’s other life was at his former home where he checked in regularly on his unborn child and wife.
Denise and Theresa made him feel guilty each time he showed up and as Denise’s belly grew, she had only to look at him to break his heart.
Abraham was noticeably absent when Robert came by. The Tigers were in first place and his excuse was that he was needed at the stadium. Robert knew this was a lie but it kept conflict out of his visits and that was a blessing.
So it was no shock to Abraham when two uniformed cops visited the family saying they wanted to talk to Robert. But the family didn’t know where their errant son was. Robert had never given them his new address fearing just this kind of situation.
Abraham was embarrassed that everyone on the block saw a police car outside of his home. Robert knew the cops had come to question him about the murder of Ned Young.
They had not come with an arrest warrant, only with the flimsy need “to ask a few questions.” If he had been home, there’s no telling what the officers might have done.
Even though the riots had made cops more wary, they still had their violent ways. Maybe he would have been taken for a ride downtown for questioning that would never happen. For once, he was glad that he’d left home.
A Grand Jury was looking into Marcus’ death as well as other riot deaths. Theresa and Abraham had applauded this action and thanked God.
Robert wasn’t fooled. The White man was just putting the finishing touches on the cover-up just like Kennedy and King. When all was said and done, there would be no one held accountable. Still, he secretly harbored hope that someone would be arrested and it would all be over.
Robert and Linda were following Vince around town this day. Vince was with Bohan and one of the new recruits, a tough, sharp-edged woman named Bernia.
Robert and Linda watched the trio as they talked to some young kids outside of a high school. Bohan was an incendiary speaker and he held the crowd in his hand. Meanwhile, Vince and Bernia stood in the audience and led him on.
“So what you gonna do?” asked Bohan. “Now that the white man is afraid of us, are we going to just say ‘good’ and go back to drinking whiskey, shooting dice and taking White people’s shit? That’s what our fathers would do. But we’re the new generation and it ain’t happening! We have an obligation to our children to discourage White people of the notion that they can ever take anything from a Black man and walk away without a foot in their flat asses!”
The kids laughed and clapped for Bohan. But it was not the ones who enjoyed the speech that Vince and Bernia watched. In the crowd, there were several young men and women who just nodded their heads and listened. These were the probable future Guard members, the ones who were not moved to easy emotion but understood the message, the ones with inner rage.
“When is Yusef gonna drop this shit,” said Linda with frustration. “We been on him for a long time and we ain’t got nothin’.”
“We got something,” said Robert. “We just don’t know what it is yet.”
“What we got?” asked Linda sounding like an innocent child.
“Who is he calling from them pay phones all the time?” asked Robert. “He always looks suspicious when he does it. So who’s getting the calls?”
“His mama?” said Linda jokingly.
“His mama is dead,” said Robert. “Or at least that’s what he said. And whenever we’ve followed him on foot, we lose him because he shakes us. Why is he so good at that? It’s like he’s worried about something more than being followed. That’s why we each have a car today. We’re gonna find out where the hell he’s going.”
“Well, I think we ought to give up,” said Linda. “We could be working on hitting that Jew store with the others.”
Robert turned to her with a serious face. “This man might have caused Marcus’ death. If there’s any chance to find that out, I’m gonna do it.”
Linda flashed an ashamed look. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I didn’t mean to-— I’m sorry.”
“No problem,” Robert said and he gave her a smile. She returned it and she looked so sexy that he felt that immediate need to compliment her and get a dialogue started in that direction. Instead, he asked something that had been on his mind since the night at Cal’s.
“So why are you working at that janitor service?” asked Robert. “That’s a shitty way to make money for the cause.”
“I ain’t supposed to talk about it,” said Linda. “But I really can’t because I don’t know.”
“Well, maybe it’s better you didn’t,” said Robert. He hoped this would prompt her to tell him more, but it didn’t.
Robert turned and kept watching as she put her hand on his shoulder warmly. He noticed that whenever he was aggressive or strong that it seemed to turn her on. She rubbed his back a little and he was reminded that he had not had sex in a while.
“I don’t like that Bernia,” said Linda. “She’s always looking at me funny.”
“You think she’s a dyke?” Robert asked.
“Seems like one to me,” said Linda then she made a disgusted noise.
“Maybe she sees something in you,” Robert joked.
“That ain’t funny,” said Linda. “My cousin is like that and I stopped speaking to her, nasty bitch.”
“Sorry,” said Robert.
They watched for a while longer then the trio left the gathering after taking time to talk to the serious faces in the teen crowd.
Vince, Bohan and Bernia walked down the street and had lunch at a little rib shack. Robert and Linda took this opportunity to move their cars closer to them.
When they got back, they saw Vince walk to a pay phone and place a call. When lunch was over, Vince split from the other two then went on by himself.
“Okay,” said Robert. “Let’s get on him. Every time he heads to the Westside. There’s two main ways to get there from here. You take Six Mile and I’ll lay in at Seven Mile. One of us should pick up on him. If you find him, follow and then come back with what you see.”
Linda agreed and they each set off. Vince traveled the east side ducking into alleys and generally making sure he wasn’t followed and then he jumped on a westbound bus. By the time he got to Woodward, Robert was a mile or so ahead of him.
Robert waited on Seven Mile waiting for the bus to come by. This area was very White and Jewish and he stood out. Luckily for him, there was a car wash nearby. Robert hung out with some of the other Blacks at the wash and waited. When he saw Vince go by on a bus he hopped back into his car and followed.
Vince got out at Greenfield and headed north toward Eight Mile. Robert left his car in Detroit and crossed the avenue that separated the city from the northern suburbs.
Vince seemed nervous and Rober
t couldn’t tell if it was guilt or fear from being out in whitey land. He kept a distance from Vince, knowing that two Black men too close together would be seen as a danger.
Robert watched Vince duck behind a trampy looking motel. The Black prostitutes who worked the northern part of Detroit took their White johns into such places.
Robert waited and then he followed. He found the back of the place clear. He checked the individual windows.
Suddenly, he saw a police cruiser coming his way. The back of the motel faced another street and he was exposed. The traffic was going so fast that he hadn’t worried but the cop car was cruising slowly like they always do.
“Dammit,” he cursed. His heart started to beat faster and he told himself to calm down.
Robert dropped down behind some garbage cans and held his breath. This was it, he thought. He’d be caught and jailed or worse. He thought about Denise and the baby and saw her telling him again that he was wrong for what he was doing, that he was putting himself in unnecessary danger.
Robert peeked between the cans and saw the police cruiser come his way. He was prepared to run for his life but the car stopped and finished executing its turn and moved on.
Robert waited for a while and then stood up. He continued to check the rooms, peeking around drawn blinds and shades.
And then he heard the Temptations and voices from a room. But the voices were not conversational; the couple was in the throes of passion.
Robert went to the window where he heard the sounds coming from and tried to get a look inside. Vince must have climbed in the window through the back, he thought.
Robert struggled to see around the blind that had been drawn. He saw two bodies writhing on the bed and the voice of a woman grunting and moaning. On a little table, he saw a small radio from which the Temptations’ voices came. Why had Vince come way out there to get laid? He thought.
Dark Town Redemption Page 18