“Those is the facts. Any event that inspires happiness and civic unity is a target. Etna Pettipeace was kilt on June 19, Juneteenth; Marietta James was kilt on the Fourth of July; Magnolia Teal was kilt on September 24, the day Joe Louis stopped Baer in four. Last night, again after a Joe Louis fight, LaDora Ragland got kilt.
“The ringer in the bunch is Paulina Crabtree. She was kilt on August 22, a curious choice for your run-of-the-mill murdering simpleton. August 22 is obscure, neither a local nor a national holiday. But those historically in tune, like I is, knows August 22 marks the arrival of the last slave ship on American shores — Mobile, Alabama, August 22, 1859. Now how many folks knows that?
“That’s how I knew the killer was a Black man; a Black man with deep knowledge of Black history; a Black man with a deep hatred for Black life, for himself, and for Black womens in particular.
“I developed detailed profiles of likely suspects — all noted Central Avenue intellectuals. My list topped twenty souls. Only two suspects stayed uppermost on my list, both graduates of Black colleges. Two brothers. Theotis Palsey, notorious con man, wife killer, and rapist. That’s the cat you photographed at Zimmerman’s. Ten years ago, he ran a bullshit church west of the Furlong Tract named the Holy Temple of the Living God the Redeemer of Zion. Meaning himself.
“He began his killing there. First his teenage bride. Then two girls in the choir. Theotis is supposed to be rotting in county prison, but he ain’t. He escaped from a maximum-security cell back in March. While he was on the lam, he put out a statement blaming Black womens for his incarceration. The colored girl killings started three months later, in June.
“His younger brother, Cleotis, is a disgraced former vice cop. He was a proud henchman for Chief Hemingway before he was indicted for raping a colored girl in custody two summers ago. Once Cleotis got canned, his connections landed him a plush job as a tax assessor for the city. The extortion con works like this: Using city records, Cleotis identifies a mark, some mom-and-pop struggling to make the rent. Theotis sneaks out of hiding, shows up at the business. Flashes a tin badge and phony documentation alleging the victims are tax cheats. Those that don’t pay get beat up or worse.
“I realized these colored crooks couldn’t operate without protection. And the protection racket points to the top. To our trigger-happy chief, all the way to our sleaze bag mayor, Fineas Stankey.”
Officer Kimbrow laid his briefcase on the table, snapped it open, and pulled out two large envelopes. On top was one addressed to the mayor. The next one to Chief Hemingway. Each envelope contained photographs I took of Theotis Palsey, dressed in fake cop clothes with his dime-store badge, shaking down shopkeepers. But the killer snaps was took by Officer Kimbrow hisself.
Cleotis and the chief, on a quiet street ’cross town in the white neighborhood of Leimert Park. They was took the night of the LaDora Ragland murder. The men was photographed in the back of the chief’s Packard, laughing like school kids. There was a note in each package that read.
Enclosed are photos of brothers Cleotis and Theotis Palsey, the criminals bringing blackmail and murder into our community. These violent felons are well-known to you and their crime spree has been executed under cover of your authority.
If these extortions and killings don’t cease — and immediately — our agents will be compelled to publish copies of this damning evidence of your complicity in robbery and murder, in communities you are sworn to protect and serve.
Beware.
We are following you, we are watching you. Should you fail to heed this warning, copies of these files will be sent to every media outlet in the southland — both white and colored — and the consequences for you and your cronies are certain to be dire. Fatal to your careers and, most likely, your lives.
The note was signed, The Universal West Coast Protection Committee.
I’d never heard of any Protection Committee. Officer Kimbrow shrugged and said, “I’m it.” He musta seen I was confused. He picked his next words careful.
“I’ve started a small detective agency on Vernon. I calls it Central Security and Detection. I’ve rented office space and applied for my license. My agency has initiated its first civil action today. Charging the city with corruption, extortion, and complicity in murder. If my suit goes through, you’ll certainly be called to testify, Theus. Can you stand up in court and tell the truth of all you have photographed and seen?”
When I didn’t say nothin’ Officer Kimbrow got nervous. “Come on, son,” he said. “You can do it. Steadfastness and courage are all we have.”
Testify? Court? Didn’t know what the hell he meant by that crazy talk. I nodded anyway.
“So, if called, will you testify?” he said.
I thought a minute. “Mmm. No suh,” I decided.
19
That meeting with Officer Kimbrow got me upset. Scared too. I promised myself I wouldn’t never talk to him again. That night, I was lyin’ in my crib tending to the shiner that punk-ass thug put on me. I heard a knock at the door. I hustled out of bed and fount a butcher knife in the kitchen.
When my front door banged again, I jerked it open. Ready. Standing on my doorstep was the lady in yellow, now a beauty in pink.
I liked to keeled over.
She smelled like roses.
“I followed you home a couple of times, cutie. Hope you don’t mind,” she said, strolling in. “I was too shy to knock.”
She seen my beat-up face. My eye shining like a coal. Said, “Oh my, Theus. Your gorgeous face! Who did this to you? Come here, darling.” She kissed my wounded eye. “There, that should fix it.”
We chatted a bit — the murdered girls, the heat — then she said, “Say, Theus, I heard the Dunbar is hosting concerts Christmas week to New Year’s. Bessie Smith, Chick Webb — top stars. The Will Mastin Trio is headlining Christmas Eve. If you ain’t busy, I was wonderin’... you think we could go out on a real date? Mix in with that glamorous crowd? I’ll pay.”
I couldn’t say yes’um quick enough. She told me I couldn’t pick her up at Pink House no more ’cause Madam Sweet put her out. She’d hired a room somewheres west of Figueroa. On the night of our date she’d just walk to 9th, down the street from Pink House. We could take a taxi to the Dunbar from there.
She got halfway down the walk before I ran to stop her. “Excuse me. Miss?”
She turnt. Smiled. “Something I can do for you, prettyman?”
“I don’t know your name.”
“My name? It’s embarrassing to say out loud, but... my name is... Angel. Angel LaBrie.”
20
Officer Kimbrow’s evidence must have arrived on Chief Hopalong’s desk early Monday morning. On Mayor Stankey’s desk too. Like Kimbrow figured, they thought the photos and all was from somebody white. In the chief’s afternoon press conference, he mentioned, for the first time, the murders of Negro girls taking place along the Central Avenue corridor. Dogged police work, he said, had brought the monsters who did the killings to light.
A dragnet was set to snare the wrongdoers — two brothers, Cleotis and Theotis Palsey. One a corrupt county official, the other, a bloodthirsty homicidal fugitive. No Angelino was safe. Updates on the investigation would be forthcoming. Neither the mayor nor the chief mentioned their involvement in the crimes.
21
Next morning at daybreak, LA Vice tracked the Palsey brothers to an abandoned horse farm in Compton. Surrounded it. The brothers was ready. Started shooting, battled more than an hour. Two officers kilt. The LAPD set the farm afire. Cleotis got burnt to a crisp but his murdering brother got away. There was a citywide alert: Theotis is crazy, armed, and deadly. Vowing vengeance. Womens and girls in extreme jeopardy.