“We all gonna be there,” Tree said, clasping Angry’s shoulder. “We’ll show ’em. The Germans, the rednecks, and our own people.”
“Our own is the most important,” Angry said. “You understand what we sayin’, Captain?”
“I think they call that making history,” I said.
“That’s right. And we’re gonna make it, or die trying.”
“That’s a heavy price to pay,” I said.
“No it ain’t, Captain. Livin’ like a mule, that’s a heavy price. You got me out of prison, and I owe you for that. Now I can die like a man or live like one. If I make it through this war, I’ll settle down here in England. White people here ain’t so crazy, if you know what I mean. No disrespect meant to you, Captain,” Angry said.
“I know. Understood,” I said. “And Rosemary Adams seems like a good woman. You know her husband is dead?”
“Yeah. Tree wrote that in the letter. They read our mail and I think that got me a few extra lumps, but I didn’t care. I feel good now. Goin’ home to the Six-Seventeenth, see Rosemary, and go to war. Life looks a damn sight better from where I’m sittin’ now.”
“Me too,” Tree said. “I got the best damn gunner in the battalion back. The Nazis are gonna wish they never heard of the Six-Seventeenth, right, Angry?”
“Damn straight, Tree.”
CHAPTER THIRTY — NINE
It was late afternoon by the time we pulled into Hungerford. Doc Brisbane was in his surgery and confirmed Angry had two broken ribs but said they weren’t the worst he’d seen. He taped up Angry, changed the dressings on Tree’s wounds and mine, told us to stop getting injured, and sent us on our way.
We were all hungry, and when I offered to stand for dinner and pints at the Prince of Wales, Angry and Tree didn’t need their arms twisted. I found Kaz, and was surprised to see Big Mike waiting in the bar. After introductions, we got a table. Big Mike pulled me aside as we were about to take our seats.
“Billy,” he said in a whisper. “I found out Cosgrove is okay, he’s going to make it. They got him in that rest home at Saint Albans, but it’s all hush-hush. He wants to see you. Just you, alone, was the message. Colonel Harding said the visit would do him good.”
“Thanks, Big Mike,” I said. “I’ll drive up tomorrow.” Cosgrove probably wanted details about the case, to be sure nothing about the Millers had been compromised. I wondered if Harding was in on it. I usually complained about the army keeping me in the dark, but this was a secret I’d rather not have been burdened with.
“Billy, you owe us a story,” Kaz said as we sat. “You never finished the story of what happened with Basher.”
“Yeah, Billy,” Big Mike said. “Last we heard Basher dumped a bucket of dirty water on Tree, but doused the boss at the same time.”
“Man, seems like months ago we were telling that story, Billy,” Tree said. “Time to wrap it up.”
“We need to bring Angry up to speed?”
“Tree tells that whole damn story every couple of weeks,” Angry said. “Glad you got most of it out of the way. Be a pleasure to hear someone less long-winded tell it for a change.”
“Okay,” I said, taking a long drink of ale. Stories are thirsty work.
Basher had kept quiet for a week or so after getting chewed out by Deputy Superintendent Emmons. Tree and I thought it was over, but that was because we were dumb kids. Basher was watching us, biding his time, waiting for his revenge. Mr. Jackson warned us to be careful, and so did Dad. But we thought we were smarter than them all.
After work I’d head over to Earl’s Garage where Tree worked. We’d talk, and I’d help him so his boss wouldn’t get mad. Tree was a good mechanic, and he taught me a lot about engines that summer. Basher brought his car in once to get the oil changed, and he watched Tree the whole time. I thought it was odd that he did that, since he wasn’t a regular customer. I told Dad about it that night, and the next day I found him down in Mr. Jackson’s office.
“Son, we both think Basher’s up to something. You and Tree need to lay low for a while,” Dad said.
“Best if you two don’t hang around together so much. White boy and a Negro boy can only be trouble,” Mr. Jackson said. “It’s not your fault, it’s just the way things are.”
“Is that what you think, Dad?” I wondered if Dad was getting pressure from his boss, or if he really believed that.
“I think Mr. Jackson knows what he’s talking about. It’s the smart move. Let Basher find something else to get all riled up about.”
“Okay,” I said, not willing to argue with two fathers.
“Billy,” Dad said. “Don’t soft-soap me.”
“No, really, I get it. We make a convenient target. And Tree would get the worst of it, so I understand.” They were relieved. The first thing I did after work was to run over to Earl’s and tell Tree.
“Yeah, Pop read me the riot act this morning,” Tree said. “What are we gonna do?”
“I don’t know. I have enough money once I get paid this week to buy the Indian Scout. But it needs work. I thought I could do it here.”
“You can,” Tree said. “Earl said it was okay, long as you help me out. He’s not a bad guy.”
“But what if we get caught?”
“They can’t stop you being a customer of Earl’s, can they? Are that’s what you’d be. Sort of.” It was with that twisted logic that we began to deceive our fathers, which was not a minor transgression in either of our households.
I bought the Scout, wheeling it in at night to Earl’s to avoid any chance of being seen. I’d sounded out my dad about getting a motorcycle, but Mom heard and before he had a chance to give his opinion, she’d weighed in. He went into his study and shut the door on us both. I kind of doubted he’d say yes, but he never said no, either.
Things were going well. Basher was leaving us alone, even on the few times Tree came to see his dad at work. I’d gotten a used oil pump and installed it, and was planning on working on the brakes next. My thinking didn’t really go much beyond that.
One day, as I was about to finish up at work, Basher brushed by me, giving me a hard elbow in the ribs. He grinned as he and two other cops made for their squad car. He was happy, and Basher was only happy when other people weren’t. I ran to the garage, and found Basher taking a statement from Earl. The place had been robbed, a window broken to gain entry, and a crowbar taken to the cash register. They’d gotten fifty bucks in cash.
And my 1922 Indian Scout.
They had Tree in the squad car, and wouldn’t let me near him. Earl swore Tree was a good kid and had had nothing to do with it, but they thanked him for his cooperation and drove away. There was only one thing to do.
Dad was working a homicide down on Fulton Street; he’d been in the station that day and told me to tell Mom he’d be home late. I jumped a streetcar and looked around until I saw the police cars. The coroner’s wagon was just taking the body away and Dad was talking to two beat cops. I waved until I got his attention.
It wasn’t pretty. Disturbing your dad at work to tell him you’ve been lying to him is never a good idea. When your dad is a homicide detective with a fresh corpse, it’s truly a horrible idea. The fact that he’d warned me about Basher meant that I had to endure the iciest glare ever. When Dad got mad, he got loud and yelled a lot. When he got really mad, he got quiet as the veins bulged on his neck.
He dispatched a couple of bluecoats over to Tree’s house, telling them to make sure Basher did everything by the book. When I asked him what he meant, his look went from stern and angry to weary, as if he didn’t want me to hear what grown men were capable of.
“Son, they’re going to find the money and your bike on the Jacksons’ property. That’s what this is all about. It’s what Mr. Jackson and I tried to tell you. This isn’t kid stuff. This is real life, the way it happens when you go up against guys like Basher without a plan.”