Bad Boy Brawly Brown (6 page)

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civil rights workers, but they dead. And them white men kilt ’em?

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They gonna see a white judge for tea and they mamas for dinner that 2

night.”

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“How the hell you figure that?”

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“I know what I know, Easy. I know what I know.”

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“Man, you don’t know shit.”

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The tall man cocked his head and grinned at me just as if he was 7

saying,
Got ya.

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Sam Houston always made me angry. It was the way he took 9

everything he heard, saw, or read and made it seem that he was the 10

expert. If you came up to him and said that you put up a new cinder-11

block wall, he’d start lecturing you on the way to build a foundation 12

and the type of drainoff that you’d need. He hadn’t lifted a finger, but 13

now he’s going to tell you what it was you did wrong.

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And far too often he was right.

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Sam was tall, as I said, but added to that, he had an extremely 16

long neck. His skin had the texture of medium-brown leather with 17

gray highlights and his eyes were great googly things that rolled 18

around dramatically no matter what he was saying or, less often, lis-19

tening to.

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“I’m tellin’ ya, Easy. All you got to do is read that newspaper and 21

the whole world falls right into place.”

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“Yeah? How’s that?”

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“You own a car?”

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“Uh-huh.”

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“What year?”

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“ ’Fifty-eight Pontiac,” I said.

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“So if you push it over fifty, it’s rattlin’, right?”

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How did he know that?

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“Now,” Sam went on, “Craig Breedlove broke five hundred S 30

miles per hour in his car, on the Salt Flats. You doin’ the shimmy at R 31

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fifty while he’s solid-state at five hundred. That’s where you are. The 2

white man got cars fifty years in the future and you ain’t hardly out 3

the Dark Ages.”

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I nodded. I could have asked what kind of car he was driving. I 5

could have asked how fast he could go. I could have broken his long 6

neck. But instead, I nodded and got the first of the two things I 7

wanted at Hambones.

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Sam turned around and said, “Clarissa! Bring Easy some’a them 9

braised short ribs!”

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“Okay,” said a taciturn young woman wearing pink shorts and a 11

pink blouse. She had a green ribbon holding back her straightened 12

hair.

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“So, Easy,” Sam said. “What you doin’ here?”

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Sam didn’t let many people eat at his counter. You went back 15

there and ordered for sit-down or take-home. But he didn’t want you 16

loitering around and obstructing his view. Most men who tried to 17

start a conversation with Sam were told, “Sit your ass down, man. I 18

ain’t got time to fool with you. This here’s a business.”

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The fact that he could stare and shout down most of his clientele 20

was saying quite a lot. Because the men that patronized Hambones 21

were not to be pushed.

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Before answering Sam’s question, I looked out along the walls.

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There were three men and four women. Each of the men had a girl-24

friend, and one of those girlfriends had brought a friend along. That 25

extra woman had on a red dress that must’ve fit her when she was a 26

size or so smaller. I think that it probably looked better, however, 27

straining against her womanly form. She was looking at me and I felt 28

that fever again. Her gaze didn’t move me, though. I wasn’t looking 29

for any more love than Bonnie Shay could deliver.

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I didn’t know any of the men but I could feel their violence.

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Hard men in dark suits and white shirts with dirty collars and small
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cigarette holes down the breast. Felons, murderers, and sneak thiefs, 1

too. I never understood why Sam surrounded himself with so much 2

danger.

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“Oh, nuthin’,” I said, answering Sam’s question.

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“Uh-uh, Easy. You got to do better’n that now. I ain’t seen you in 5

two years. Odell done told me that you got a job workin’ at the Board 6

of Education, that you moved to West L.A. and bought a house. You 7

got to need somethin’ if you gonna cross all’a them lines to come 8

here to me.”

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“Here you go,” the pink-clad girl said, placing a heaping plate of 10

short ribs in front of me.

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“What’s wrong wit’ you, girl?” Sam asked angrily.

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“What?” Clarissa complained.

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“Go get him some greens an’ corn. He ain’t no animal just 14

gonna tear at the meat. He needs him a balanced meal.” Sam shook 15

his head in disappointment and his waitress pouted.

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“You want collard or turnip greens, Easy?” Sam asked me.

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“Collard.”

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“Yeah, man, me too. You know them turnip greens is
bitter.
” He 19

sang the last word to accent his distaste. Sam Houston was a Texan 20

all the way down to his socks.

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“You know a young man name’a Brawly Brown?” I asked when 22

Clarissa had slouched her way back to get my vegetables.

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Sam pulled out a bottle of Tabasco sauce from under the 24

counter. I opened it and doused my dark meat and gravy.

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“Bad boy Brawly Brown,” Sam said, and sighed. “Mm, mm, mm.

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Now that boy is trouble an’ he don’t even know it.”

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“You know him, then?”

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“Oh yeah. Brawly got a chip on his shoulder, ants in his pants, 29

eyes twice as big as his stomach, and a heart just drippin’ right off his S 30

sleeve. If it could be too much, then that there’s Brawly.”

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“So he’s like a big kid?” I asked in a deferential tone.

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“He’s just too much, that’s all, Easy. One day he come in here 3

sayin’ he’s gonna sign up in the army an’ be a paratrooper over in 4

Asia somewhere. Gonna make him some good money and then go 5

to college on the GI Bill. Next week he wandered the wrong way 6

down the street, now he’s a revolutionary. He wanna tell me that I’m 7

just a slave workin’ for my white master. Can you imagine? Boy look 8

like a butterball come in here, eat my food, and insult me.”

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Clarissa brought up a big plate full of greens with bits of salt pork 10

in them. The collards gave off a sharp vegetable odor laced with a 11

hint of vinegar.

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“No, I don’t get it, Sam. This here is the best damn food I’ve 13

eaten in many a day. Many a day.”

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I wasn’t lying, either. When you get soul food right, it feeds the 15

spirit. And my spirit was flying with those greens and ribs.

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“Okay, Easy. You done et for free and I answered your questions.

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Now what you here for?”

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“Brawly’s mom wants to see him. She called on me and I come 19

here to you.” I saw no reason or profit in lying to Sam.

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“So you know about the First Men?” he asked.

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I nodded because my mouth was busy chewing.

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“I don’t have much patience for all this vigilante communist 23

bullshit,” Sam said. “If they come in here after me, I got a shotgun 24

blow ’em all away.”

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“Why’d they come after you, Sam? I thought it was white people 26

they couldn’t stand.”

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“They like all the other ignorant people down here, Ease. They 28

hate colored more’n they hate white. They see a black cop or school 29

principal, they say that that man’s a traitor to the race and deserves to 30 S

die. They come around askin’ for donations, an’ some people out 31 R

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here is scared enough to cough it up. But you know they only askin’

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black people.”

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“Protection?” I was surprised.

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“Not really. I told ’em no an’ they just grumbled. But you know 4

they on the edge of organized crime, they on the edge.”

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“How do you mean?” I asked.

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“One or two of ’em come in here,” Sam said. “Sometimes with 7

Brawly and sometimes not. I can tell by the way they lean close and 8

whisper that they plannin’ things. Not lunches for chirren like they 9

say. No. They got plans that go by the dark’a night.”

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“I see,” I said.

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I had enough of food and talk for a while. I wanted to think 12

about it all, and Sam wasn’t the kind of man to let you stand there 13

quietly.

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“Thank you, Mr. Houston,” I said, straightening up. I saw 15

Clarissa in the back, past Sam. She was looking at me.

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“They got meetins every evenin’ ’bout six,” Sam said.

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“Say what?”

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“The First Men. They give talks just about every night.”

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“Uh-huh.” I gave Clarissa a glance and she looked down, pre-20

tending to be doing something. “Thanks for your help, man.”

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/ I DECIDED TO GO DOWN
to the First Men’s storefront and see what it was that they were about. Sam 3

had his point of view and I was sure that he had told me the truth as 4

far as he saw it; but truth, as my uncle Roger used to say, is just one 5

man’s explanation for what he thinks he understands.

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The Urban Revolutionary Party was flanked by a beauty shop 7

and a general-supplies five-and-dime. The front wall was just a big 8

window but it was covered over by a large black curtain. In the cen-9

ter of the curtain was a yellow circle that had the silhouettes of a 10

book and a spear stitched into it. The front door was locked and 11

there wasn’t anyone moving around inside, so I went to get gas at the 12

Tunney station a few blocks away. While they were washing my win-13

dows and adding a pint of oil, I made a call on their pay phone.

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“Hello?” a tiny voice answered.

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“Hi, Feather.”

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“Hi, Daddy. Where you?”

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“Down over near John’s house, baby. I have to go to this meet-3

ing, so I probably won’t get home till after you’re in the bed.”

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“How come?” There was so much pain in her plea that I almost 5

gave up on Brawly and went home.

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“I’ll come in and kiss you when I get in, baby. Don’t worry.”

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“Can I have hamburgers?”

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“Sure. Just tell Juice.”

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“Okay,” she said, forgiving me all my mistakes and flaws.

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“Did Bonnie leave for the airport?” I asked.

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“Uh-huh.”

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“But Juice is there taking care of you?”

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“Yes.”

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“Good. I love you, honey,” I said.

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“I love you too, Daddy.”

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“Bye.”

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She hung up and I felt loss that went all the way back to my 18

childhood.

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I
DIDN’T WASTE THE TIME
while waiting for the First Men to get 22

going. I went to a small diner on San Pedro and studied for the 23

classified building supervisor’s exam. That was the next step up the 24

ladder for me. Studying made me feel as though I still had a foot in 25

the workaday world that Feather needed me to be a part of. She 26

needed every day to be the same as the day before and needed some-27

thing to say when her friends and teachers asked what her daddy did 28

for a living. I became that man for a couple of hours while waiting 29

for night to come on.

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Somewhere in the middle of my third cup of coffee I remem-2

bered the dead man. That hump of skin and bones straddling the 3

threshold of Isolda Moore’s home. His form jumped into my mind 4

and I held it there, looking to see if I should be thinking something 5

about it.

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I didn’t feel a thing. Not concern for my fellow man who was 7

murdered or fear for my own safety. I didn’t kill him and I doubted if 8