Part 4 (1/2)

'You married?' he asked.

I shook my head. 'Still in the field.'

'I been married thirty-two G.o.dd.a.m.ned years,' he said. 'Got the best G.o.dd.a.m.ned finest woman in the world. Got three boys in the Marines. And G.o.dd.a.m.nit, every time I come into this G.o.dd.a.m.ned joint I don't find nothing but empty tables.' I thought for a moment he was going to bang on the table and complain to the management, 'You work at Consolidated?' he asked suddenly.

I shook my head. 'I work at Atlas.'

'That G.o.dd.a.m.ned stinking joint!' he said. 'The Navy nad to take over that G.o.dd.a.m.ned yard before they could get any work done. That is the G.o.dd.a.m.nest, laziest, prissiest, undermanned, prejudiced s.h.i.+pyard--' He cursed out Atlas until my steak came, then he looked at it and said, 'That looks pretty good. They must be getting some better beef out this way now.' Until his steak came he cursed out the West Coast beef.

We ate silently. I'd never eaten steak that tasted so good. When I'd finished I got up, paid my bill, said, 'See you,' and left. He didn't say anything; but I felt all right about it.

I decided to go back by Figueroa, and when I turned into it a couple of white sailors thumbed me and I stopped to give them a lift. They were very young boys, still in thei1 teens, scrubbed-faced and slightly tanned. The three of us sat in the front seat; the one in the middle put his arm behind me to make room. For a time we went along without talking, then I asked, 'What's you guy's names?'

'Lester,' the one in the middle said, and the other one said, 'Carl.'

'What's yours?' Lester asked, and I told him, 'Bob.'

'You work in a s.h.i.+pyard?' Carl asked.

'Atlas,' I told him. 'I'm a sheet-metal worker.'

'I worked a while up at Richmond--Richmond No. 1, Kaiser's yard,' he said. 'I'm from San Francisco.'

'I was up there once,' I said. 'I like Frisco, it's a good city.'

The boy in the middle hadn't said anything, so I asked him, 'Where you from, Lester?'

'Memphis,' he said. 'You ever been there?'

I gave him a quick side glance; then I chuckled. 'No, I never been to Memphis,' I said. 'I'm from Ohio--Cleveland.'

'I bet you'd like Memphis,' he said as if he really believed it.

'Maybe,' I said. 'But I'll never know.'

He grinned. 'You like Los Angeles, eh?'

'Just between you and me,' I said, 'Los Angeles is the most over-rated, lousiest, countriest, phoniest city I've ever been in.'

That was one thing we all agreed on. They liked my car and we talked about cars for a time as we skimmed along the wide straight roadway. The boy from Frisco said, 'Of course if I had my way I'd take a Kitty.'

I said, 'Who wouldn't?'

We pa.s.sed a couple of girls jiggling along in thin summer dresses and the boy from Memphis whistled.

I said, 'I bet you wouldn't take it if she gave it to you.'

'What you bet?' he said, and they both blushed slightly.

I got a funny thought then; I began wondering when white people started getting white--or rather, when they started losing it. And how it was you could take two white guys from the same place--one would carry his whiteness like a loaded stick, ready to bop everybody else in the head with it; and the other would just simply be white as if he didn't have anything to do with it and let it go at that. I liked those two white kids; they were white, but as my aunt f.a.n.n.y used to say they couldn't help that.

When we got closer to town and saw more women on the Street we started a guessing game about every one we pa.s.sed, whether they were married or single, how many kids they had, whether their husbands were in the Army, if they played around at all. All the elderly women they called 'Mom.' We had a lot of fun until we came to a dark brown woman in a dark red dress and a light green hat carrying a s...o...b..x tied with a string, falling along in that knee-buckling, leaning-forward, housemaid's lope, and frowning so hard her face was all knotted up. They didn't say anything at all. I wanted to say something to keep it going, but all I could have said about her was that she was an ugly, evil-looking old lady. If we had all been coloured we'd have laughed. like h.e.l.l because she was really a comical sister. But with the white boys present, I couldn't say anything. I looked straight ahead and we all became embarra.s.sed and remained silent for a time. When we began talking again we were all a little cautious. We didn't talk about women any more.

When we neared Vernon Avenue I asked them where they were going and they said down to Warner's at Seventh and Hill. I took them down and dropped them in front of the box office. They thanked me and went off. I kept over to San Pedro and turned south. It was two-thirty when I got home. Henry had already left for work and Ella Mae had taken the baby out for a sunning.

I took a shower, shaved, put on slacks, sport s.h.i.+rt, and sandals; got my .38 Special out of the bottom bureau drawer, checked to see that it was loaded, went out, and got in my car and drove over to Central to get some gas. I put the gun in the glove compartment and left the car in the station for Buddy to check over while I strolled down past the Dunbar Hotel.

I felt tall, handsome, keen. I was bareheaded and my hair felt good in the sun. A little black girl in a pink draped slack suit with a thick red mouth and kinky curled hair switched by. I smelled her dime-store perfume and got a live-wire edge.

Everything was sharper. Even Central Avenue smelled better. I strolled among the loungers in front of Skippy's, leaned against the wall, and watched the babes go by. A white woman in a Ford roadster with the top down slowed for the traffic and a black boy called, 'h.e.l.lo, blondy!' She didn't look around.

Tia Juana pulled up in his long green Cat and parked in a No Parking zone. He got out, a short, squat, black, harelipped Negro with a fine banana-skin chick on his arm, and went into the hotel, and some stud said, 'Light, bright, and d.a.m.n near white; how does that n.i.g.g.e.r do it?'

A bunch of weed-heads were seeing how dirty they could talk; and a couple of prosperous-looking pimps were standing near by ignoring them. Some raggedy chum came from the barber shop across the street where they had a c.r.a.p game in the rear and said that Seattle had won two grand. The coloured cop grabbed him for jay-walking and started writing out a ticket; and he was there trying to talk him out of it: 'You know me, man, I'm ol' Joe; everybody know ol' Joe--' Everybody but that cop, that is.

It was a slick, n.i.g.g.e.rish block--hustlers and pimps, gamblers and stooges. But itdidn't ruffle me. Even the solid cats in their pancho conks didn't ruffle me. It wasn't as if I was locked up down there as I'd been just yesterday. I was free to go now; but I liked it with my folks.

A couple of my boys came up. 'You still on rubber, man?' one wanted to know.

'That's right,' I said.

'Say, run me out to Hollywood, man.' It was twelve miles to Hollywood. I laughed.

'Don't pay no 'tention to that. n.i.g.g.e.r, man,' the other one said. 'That n.i.g.g.e.r's mad. Lemme take a sawbuck, man. I got a lain hooked down here and all he needs is digging.'

'That's right,' I said. 'Try a fool.'

They grinned. 'You got it, Papa.' They went off to find another one.

My people, I thought. I started to get a drink, then glanced at my watch. It was a quarter to four. I hurried over to the parking lot, got my car, circled into Central, and began digging. It was just four-thirty when I pulled up before the entrance to the parking lot at Atlas s.h.i.+p.

I got out, walked over to the gate where the copper shop let out. My boy was one of the first ones through. I was thinking of him as 'my boy' now. I followed him, wondering how I could work it if he caught a P.E. train. But I got a break; he waited on one side of the street until a grey Ford sedan slowed for him and climbed in. I sprinted back across the street, got in my car, and dug off just as one of the yard cops was coming over to move me. I muscled in ahead of a woman driver three cars behind the grey Ford; kept the position until we came to Anaheim Road in Wilmington, then pulled up to one car behind and stayed there. I thought about my riders; they were burning, I knew.

The next instant I'd forgotten them. It felt good following the guy, knowing I was going to kill him. I wasn't at all nervous or apprehensive. I thought about it like you think about a date with a beautiful chick you've always wanted to make; I just had that feeling that it was going to be great.

The grey Ford had five riders besides the driver. At Alameda Street it turned north into Compton, and two of the riders in back got out, leaving my boy alone. When it stopped before a house in Huntington Park I rolled up and parked right behind it. My boy got out, said something to the fellows in the front seat, and the car moved off. He glanced idly at my car, took two steps towards the house, then wheeled about and stared into my eyes. His eyes stretched with a stark incredulity and his face went stiff white, like wrinkled paper. He stood rigid, half turned, as if frozen to the spot.

I reached into the glove compartment and got my gun, then I opened the door and got out into the street. I wasn't in any hurry. They'd probably hang me, I knew, but I'd already accepted that, already gotten past it. He turned quickly and started up the walk toward the house, walking stiff-jointed, his shoulders high and braced and his back flattened like a board. When he got to the steps a homely blonde woman opened the door from the inside and two small towheaded kids squeezed past her legs and ran toward him.

He pushed the children back through the door with a rough, savage motion, then whispered something sharply to the woman. She snapped a quick frightened look toward me and her mouth opened as if to scream. She let him in and slammed shut the door and I could hear it being bolted from the inside.

I stopped. I didn't have to kill him now, I thought. I could kill him any time; I could save him up for killing like the white folks had been saving me up for all these years.

Out of the corner of my eye I saw two old ladies coming down the sidewalk with loaded shopping bags, giving me frosty looks. It didn't occur to me that my boy might stick a gun out the front window and blow off the back of my head. I felt cool, untouchable, indifferent. I thought perhaps he might be calling the police, but it didn't worry me. When the two old ladies came opposite me I gave them a wide, bright smile and said in my best manner 'It's a beautiful day, isn't it?'

I left them standing dead still on the sidewalk, twisting their scrawny necks about to stare at me with outraged indignation as I climbed into my car and dug off.