“Lord, no,” was the only wasted breath that Etta had. “LaMarque! Call the emergency number. Tell’em a white man’s been shot here at the house.”
She bent down to Raymond and lifted his head. With her ear to his mouth she checked his breathing. Then she stared hard into his face as if she were willing her life into his.
She turned to me and said, “You better git, Easy.”
“Etta, let me explain.”
“Go on, Easy.”
It was a hard dismissal. I wanted her to forgive me, to tell me that it was okay. But she had turned her attentions to her man’s deep wounds.
“Daddy!” LaMarque screamed as he came running up to the scene.
When he yelled again Etta stood up and pointed her finger in his face. “Hush!” she commanded. He wilted and she asked, “Did you call emergency?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“They sendin’ a ambulance?”
“Uh-huh.”
“Good. Now run get me the first-aid box.”
LaMarque took off, avoiding looking at his father’s still body.
“Etta,” I said.
“Go on from me now, Easy,” she warned.
“Etta, let me take him to the hospital.”
“You done taken him enough now, Easy. Ain’t today bad enough wit’out you killin’ my husband too?”
“What do you mean?”
“Get away from me, Easy Rawlins. Get outta here.”
41
I left in Mouse’s car. I had to leave, to hide the weapons.
Along the streets the traffic was light, but there were lots of folks out in front of their houses and stores. People were talking to each other with rapt attention on every corner. I saw more than one woman crying. Children walked listlessly, on the whole, not playing or laughing out loud.
The world was in sorrow, it seemed. Was Mouse’s death so powerful? Did everybody feel it when a brave gangster died?
Maybe it was that I hadn’t looked around me lately. Maybe a deep sadness had entered my community but I had been too busy being a workingman; a company man.
On the corner of Pico and Genesee there were three white men and one white woman standing at the bus stop, listening to a transistor radio that one of them held up.
I took the heroin from the glove compartment and went up to my house.
The front door to my house was open.
Inside, Feather was crying in Bonnie’s arms. Jesus stood next to them holding one of Feather’s favorite dolls.
“Easy.” Bonnie had looked up. There was no smile on her face for me.
“Daddy, Daddy,” Feather cried. She limped over to me and I lifted her into my arms.
“Jackson here?” I asked my son.
He shook his head to say no. His voice lost again. Lost again. Everything was lost.
“What’s wrong?” I asked out loud.
“Haven’t you heard?” Bonnie asked me.
I was as mute as my son.
“Kennedy. He’s been shot. He’s dead.”
“What?”
I staggered across the floor with Feather and slumped down on the couch. I buried my head in Feather’s chest too sad even to cry. Bonnie came to hold us and so did my son. My lungs were burning and my throat was sore from choked tears.
I lifted my head and noticed that there was blood on my little daughter’s dress.
“What’s this?” I said. “What’s wrong with you, baby?” My voice was high from the strain.
“It’s from your ear, Daddy,” she said. “Wha’ happened?”
As if on cue Pharaoh yelped down at our feet.
“Frenchie!” Feather cried. “Frenchie.” She pulled away from my arms and hugged the dog on the floor.
I was too sad to be angry at the damn dog. I sat there thinking that he must have jumped into the car while I was helping Mouse. He’d probably hidden under the seat where I had put the gun and knife.
Gun and knife.
“Bonnie?”
“Yes, Easy?”
“Can you drive?”
“Yes.”
I gave her the keys and Primo’s address. I told her about the gun and knife under the seat.
“Take the kids out to his house. He’ll know what to do.”
“What about you, Easy?”
“I’m tired,” I said. I still had unfinished business with Philly Stetz. I didn’t know if he had sent Beam to kill me or not. I didn’t know if he wanted the heroin or if he knew my address. I did know that I didn’t want my children in the crossfire and so I sent them to Primo.
“Daddy.” Feather had tears in her eyes. “Can’t you come with us?”
“Later, honey.”
“Can’t I keep Frenchie, though?”
Being so weak themselves I think that children understand weakness better than adults. I couldn’t say no to her then.
“Okay. Yeah, okay.”
At the door Jesus was the last to leave.
“Did you take the money out of my closet, Dad?”
“No.”
“It’s gone.” He looked at me with his solemn eyes.
Jackson Blue.
I turned on the radio and the TV. Both of them droned on and on about the assassination. I didn’t understand a word of it but the sad sounds of grief resonated in my heart. My best friend was wounded somewhere, maybe he was dead. It was my fault and I couldn’t even go to him and tell him that I was sorry.
I don’t know how much later it was when the doorbell rang. I took the pistol from my pocket and went to the moth hole in the drapes next to the window. Then I went to the door and flung it open quickly. I jammed my cocked .38 into Rupert’s nose and said, “You get killed comin’ around here, fool.”
Rupert wasn’t a fool. He wasn’t afraid either.
“I got sixty-seven hundred thirty-five dollars in this here briefcase,” he said.
“You cain’t spend it where you goin’, brother.”
“It’s yours,” Rupert said. “Mr. Stetz sent it.”
I noticed then that Rupert’s face had been battered, broken, and bruised. It was lopsided and swollen.
“Could I come in?” the big wrestler asked.
“No.” I stepped back and held the gun lower.
Rupert handed the briefcase to me but I shook my head and then gestured at the ground.
“Put it down,” I said. And, when he complied, “What’s it for?”
“It’s a’cause’a Mr. Beam.”
“What about him?”
“Mr. Stetz send Mr. Beam with this here money to give you. But then when he tried to kill you—”
“How do you know that?”
“I was in the warehouse. Mr. Beam didn’t know that. I was there for Mr. Stetz.” Rupert rubbed his hand over his ruined face and I knew that the beating he got was for working with Beam.
“You saw what happened?” I asked.
Rupert’s nod was cautious.
“An’ you didn’t do anything?”
“I was there to watch. That’s all. Mr. Stetz didn’t tell me to do nuthin’ else.”
Now I understood why Rupert showed no fear of me and my pistoclass="underline" he was already filled to the brim with the fear of his boss.
I wanted to kill him. I really did. Behind me Walter Cronkite was almost ready to cry. Mouse was dying somewhere.
“Come on in,” I said to Rupert. “Come on.”
I turned off the TV. I would have poured a stiff drink if there was one in the house.
I waved at a seat with my gun. Rupert sat.
I laid the gun down next to me on the couch with my hand nearby.
“How’d you find my house, man?”
“Mr. Stetz made a call to the police. He axed a man down there t’get it. You know.” Rupert winked and cocked his head to the side.
It was that easy. One call and Stetz could get information that I’d have to sweat blood for. I’d gone way over to the deep end of the pool.
But I didn’t care.
“You know why Sallie and Beam tried to kill me?” I asked, feeling the superiority of my close-at-hand gun.