So I watched empty streets that day. Every once in a while I’d see a couple of children on bicycles or a group of young girls going to the store for candy and soda pop. I sipped vodka and napped and reread Mouse’s letter until I knew that there was nothing I could do. I decided to ignore it and if he ever asked I’d just look simple and act like it never got delivered.
By the time the sun went down I was at peace with myself. I had a name, an address, a hundred dollars, and the next day I’d go ask for my old job back. I had a house and an empty bottle of vodka that had made me feel good.
The letter was postmarked two weeks earlier. If I was very lucky Etta had already taken Mouse back in.
When the telephone woke me it was black outside.
“Hello?”
“Mr. Rawlins, I’ve been expecting your call.”
That threw me. I said, “What?”
“I hope you have some good news for me.”
“Mr. Albright, is that you?”
“Sure is, Easy. What’s shaking?”
It took me another moment to compose myself. I had planned to call him in a few days so it would seem like I had worked for his money.
“I got what you want,” I said in spite of my plans. “She’s with—”
“Hold on to that, Easy. I like to look a man in the face when we do business. Telephone’s no place for business. Anyway, I can’t give you your bonus on the phone.”
“I can come down to your office in the morning.”
“Why don’t we get together now? You know where the merry-go-round is down at Santa Monica pier?”
“Well, yeah, but…”
“That’s about halfway between us. Why don’t we meet there?”
“But what time is it?”
“About nine. They close the ride in an hour so we can be alone.”
‘I don’t know… I just got up…”
“I am paying you.”
“Okay. I’ll get down there soon as I can drive it.”
He hung up in my ear.
Chapter 8
There was still a large strech of farmland between Los Angeles and Santa Monica in those days. The Japanese farmers grew artichokes, lettuce, and strawberries along the sides of the road. That night the fields were dark under the slight moon and the air was chill but not cold.
I was unhappy about going to meet Mr. Albright because I wasn’t used to going into white communities, like Santa Monica, to conduct business. The plant I worked at, Champion Aircraft, was in Santa Monica but I’d drive out there in the daytime, do my work, and go home. I never loitered anywhere except among my own people, in my own neighborhood.
But the idea that I’d give him the information he wanted, and that he’d give me enough money to pay the next month’s mortgage, made me happy. I was dreaming about the day I’d be able to buy more houses, maybe even a duplex. I always wanted to own enough land that it would pay for itself out of the rent it generated.
When I arrived the merry-go-round and arcade were closing down. Small children and their parents were leaving and a group of young people were milling around, smoking cigarettes and acting tough the way young people do.
I went across the pier to the railing that looked down onto the beach. I figured that Mr. Albright would see me there as well as anyplace and that I was far enough away from the white kids that I could avoid any ugliness.
But that wasn’t my week for avoiding anything bad.
A chubby girl in a tight-fitting skirt wandered away from her friends. She was younger than the rest of them, maybe seventeen, and it seemed like she was the only girl without a date. When she saw me she smiled and said, “Hi.” I answered and turned away to look out over the weakly lit shoreline north of Santa Monica. I was hoping that she’d leave and Albright would come and I’d be back in my house before midnight.
“It’s pretty out here, huh?” Her voice came from behind me.
“Yeah. It’s all right.”
“I come from Des Moines, in Iowa. They don’t have anything like the ocean back there. Are you from L.A.?”
“No. Texas.” The back of my scalp was tingling.
“Do they have an ocean in Texas?”
“The Gulf, they have the Gulf.”
“So you’re used to it.” She leaned on the rail next to me. “It still knocks me out whenever I see it. My name’s Barbara. Barbara Moskowitz. That’s a Jewish name.”
“Ezekiel Rawlins,” I whispered. I didn’t want her so familiar as to use my nickname. When I glanced over my shoulder I noticed that a couple of the young men were looking around, like they’d lost someone.
“I think they’re looking for you,” I said.
“Who cares?” she answered. “My sister just brought me ’cause my parents made her. All she wants to do is make out with Herman and smoke cigarettes.”
“It’s still dangerous for a girl to be alone. Your parents are right to want you with somebody.”
“Are you going to hurt me?” She stared into my face intently. I remember wondering what color her eyes were before I heard the shouting.
“Hey you! Black boy! What’s happening here?” It was a pimply-faced boy. He couldn’t have been more than twenty years and five and a half feet but he came up to me like a full-grown soldier. He wasn’t afraid; a regular fool of a youth.
“What do you want?” I asked as politely as I could.
“You know what I mean,” he said as he came within range of my grasp.
“Leave him alone, Herman!” Barbara yelled. “We were just talking!”
“You were, huh?” he said to me. “We don’t need ya talking to our women.”
I could have broken his neck. I could have put out his eyes or broken all of his fingers. But instead I held my breath.
Five of his friends were headed toward us. While they were coming on, not yet organized or together, I could have killed all of them too. What did they know about violence? I could have crushed their windpipes one by one and they couldn’t have done a thing to stop me. They couldn’t even run fast enough to escape me. I was still a killing machine.
“Hey!” the tallest one said. “What’s wrong?”
“Nigger’s trying to pick up Barbara.”
“Yeah, an’ she’s just jailbait.”
“Leave him alone!” Barbara shouted. “He was just saying where he was from.”
I guess she was trying to help me, like a mother hugging her child when he’s just broken his ribs.
“Barbara!” another girl shouted.
“Hey, man, what’s wrong with you?” the big one asked in my face. He was wide-shouldered and a little taller than I; built like a football player. He had a broad, fleshy face. His eyes, nose, and mouth were like tiny islands on a great sea of white skin.
I noticed that a couple of the others had picked up sticks. They moved in around me, forcing me back against the rail.
“I don’t want any problem, man,” I said. I could smell the liquor on the tall one’s breath.
“You already got a problem, boy.”
“Listen, all she said was hi. That’s all I said too.” But I was thinking to myself, Why the hell do I have to answer to you?