22
Them relaxed, rich hotel guests went buck wild. Poured out the doors like cattle. Hunting for taxis: to Union Station, the Valley. Anywheres but here. Uncle Balthazar gathered the staff in the break room, tolt us to keep calm, stay professional. Assure the guests they was safe long as they stays inside the Dunbar.
Didn’t work.
The customers that was left hurried over to the House of Style. Crowded ’round the radio. The mayor was making an announcement. The fugitive, Theotis Palsey, sent a warning to all the radio stations and newspapers in town. Promised murder and destruction to a long list of folks: the mayor, the chief, everybody in the phone book. The radio guy read the outlaw’s message:
“To Mayor Stankey and my former friends at City Halclass="underline"
I have been thy steadfast ally and defender.
Have done labors for thee lesser men could not stomach.
I counted thee as my brothers,
Brothers in the fight against the encroachments
of a repugnant race.
But ye hath betrayed me
And killed my dear brother.
Ye hath sown the wind
And ye shall reap the whirlwind.
Mark me: the shadow of death
Is upon thee.
Ye shall not escape.
Yours in Eternity
The Living God the Redeemer of Zion.”
23
Streets was deserted from the river to the ocean. Cop cars, bumper to bumper. Beat cops prowling alleys. Dragnets laid acrost the city. The thin blue line swelling everywheres.
Theotis was a ghost. Seeping through the holes in the net. By the start of my morning shift Tuesday, two more murders was alleged in his tally. White folks. A old white lady, home alone, raped, beat, and stabbed to death on Miracle Mile. A few hours later, a banker, shot to death, ten blocks south of there. Changing a tire.
The Redeemer of Zion wasn’t just killing colored folks no more.
24
Uncle Balthazar canceled the Will Mastin show around noon. The Memo, the Last Word, Club Congo, Murrays, and the Basket Room canceled they Christmas shows too.
Soon as my shift ended, I flew down to Pink House. I had to find Angel. I banged on the door, begged Madam Sweet to let me know where my Angel was staying.
“You tell that thieving bitch if she step her ugly feets ’round here, I got a .22 slug with her name writ all over it!” Madam Sweet yelled through the door.
25
I raced home. Maybe Angel had stopped by. I got crazy wondering when I would see her again. A couple blocks from my crib, I seen a gathering. Gave me a sick feeling. I got closer and seen cops stringing tape acrost the alley. I squeezed in close enough to see a body wedged between two dirty row house walls. The sheet thrown over it failed to cover the victim’s blood-streaked hair. The bloody fringes of her dress.
I pushed in under the police tape. Ran to the body, pulled back the sheet.
There was my Angel. Her teeth broke out, scattered acrost her chest like glass busted out a window. Her forehead was bashed. She had been stabbed. Her red dress was pulled up. She was naked from her tits to her feets, with a red line curved acrost her neck, where she had been slashed.
The sight of her burned my eyes. Seem like the garbage and the weeds and the peoples in the alley was hot coals rather than folks and things. The nosy crowd flicked flashlight beams acrost the body.
I couldn’t sleep that night. I paced through every corner of the crib. Like I could walk away a million miles of pain just by turning ’round and ’round.
26
Only staff without families was allowed to work the next day, Christmas Eve. Uncle Balthazar tried to make me go home, but I insisted on staying. I wanted to be out. Hunting the killer.
27
Around eleven a.m., our skeleton crew met in the break room. Miss Chimes was determined to deliver a load of food and toys to the needy. Especially to the mission off Santa Barbara, and the Salvation Army on 5th. Uncle Balthazar was against it. “We’ve exposed our family to too much risk already,” he said.
Miss Chimes allowed it was true. Wasn’t having it anyway. She dropped a quarter in the cuss jar and said, “I’m not letting this evil fuck steal my Christmas.”
I dropped a quarter in behind her. “Fuckin’ right,” I said.
Uncle Balthazar finally agreed to it, but only after Miss Chimes told Officer Kimbrow he could escort her.
28
Officer Kimbrow showed up at two. The plan was to get done before sundown. I loaded the gifts. Couldn’t shake the notion the killer was watching us.
Officer Kimbrow taped a mug shot of the suspect, Theotis Palsey, on the dash. ’Fore we left out, the officer had second thoughts. Tried to get Miss Chimes to let him go alone. She reached into the pocket of her smock and pulled out a tiny .22. “Look what Santa brought me,” she said.
“Cute,” Kinbrow said. “You know how to work that popgun?”
“Watch and learn,” Miss Chimes said.
I asked Officer Kimbrow if he had another firearm lyin’ around. Case of a gunfight. Miss Chimes laughed out loud. Said I was too young to get turnt loose on the street, crazy, armed, lovesick, and inexperienced. She searched among the gifts, pulled out a Louisville Slugger.
Ash wood.
Jet black.
Hard as iron.
I gave it a couple of test swings and climbed in the cab.
Our route took us down Central, from 51st to 5th.
29
Streets was deserted, but I wasn’t scared no more. Was ready to fight or die. If Officer Kimbrow and Miss Chimes was willing to risk they lives in a Christian act of love, why not me? I was doing an act of love too. Avenging Angel, my murdered girlfriend.
30
We’d made fifteen stops by the time we turnt the corner on 5th Street — heart of Skid Row. We was passing an alley when Officer Kimbrow noticed a rusting Buick twenty yards in. The hood was raised and a burly Black cop was leaning over it doing something with the engine.
The wreck was on blocks. No other cops, colored nor white, was in the area.
“What the hell?” Officer Kimbrow backed up. Nosed the truck into the alley. Rolled to a stop, unholstered his Magnum. Opened his door and eased one foot into the alley. Half in, half out the cab, he leveled his pistol. Said, “Turn around slowly, officer. Let me see your hands.”
The cop spun.
Shot Officer Kimbrow right through the windshield. Splatter washed acrost the cab. Kimbrow grabbed his throat, gasping. Blood spurting through his fingers. Slipped behind the open door, shielding hisself. Miss Chimes fumbled for her gun. Fell out the door, on top of Officer Kimbrow, firing as she landed. The Black cop ran toward us, Miss Chimes’s bullets thumping acrost his chest.