Echoes of a Distant Summer (75 page)

As Elroy rushed to Turner’s side, he could feel there was something wrong with the scene, but he couldn’t put his finger on the source of the feeling. Turner’s dark brown face stared sightlessly up at the ceiling. He had been shot in the chest at close range; there were powder burns on his uniform. Elroy closed the man’s eyes and felt a deep sadness. Turner was one of the original officers, a senior man who had continued to encourage him to stay on the force. It was his recommendation that caused Elroy to be selected for the new unit.

As he passed the sergeant, Tyree asked, “How long you been here? We didn’t hear no shots! We were supposed to be the first ones in here! What happened? Where’s King Tremain?” He knelt beside the body and took Turner’s limp hand in his own.

“Turner was all right for a colored,” Thurmondson said as he ignored Tyree’s questions. He lit a cigarette and as he exhaled he said, “He knew his place, not like some of you niggers.”

There was something in his tone which caused Elroy to turn toward him. He found himself staring into Thurmondson’s pistol. He realized
then that he and Tyree were going to be killed just like Turner and it would be blamed on Tremain. He should have known from the very moment he set foot into the room. Thurmondson was one of the sergeants who had been very vocal and active against the new Negro unit. He was uniformly disliked by all the Negro officers. Muffled gunshots erupted in the parking area but through the walls they sounded like someone was beating on a distant kettledrum.

Thurmondson smiled broadly. “Sounds like your three nigger pals have gone the same way that Turner went, huh?” Tyree made a sudden move and Thurmondson’s pistol discharged. The bullet spun Tyree around and drove him back to the wall. The pistol swung back in Elroy’s direction. Thurmondson was distracted by the sounds of more shots originating from the parking area. He kept his gun on Elroy, but he backed up to the doorway and glanced down the hall.

“Maybe your boys weren’t successful,” Elroy chided. “Maybe there’s a few of them lying on the floor now with bullet wounds!”

Thurmondson stepped back into the room and growled, “The only reason I don’t kill you now is I’ve decided to save you for Harmon Mueller. Take your gun out of your holster slowly. Grab the handle by your fingertips. That’s it! Now lay it down on the ground. Good, now step back. Harmon hasn’t forgotten that beating you gave him at the Polo Grounds. He wants to kick your ass before he kills you and I’m going to watch!” Thurmondson began to guffaw loudly. He was still laughing when a tall, brown-skinned man in a Stetson and a double-breasted overcoat appeared in the doorway behind him. The man had a big forty-four-caliber Magnum revolver in his hand.

Although Elroy had never seen him before, he knew immediately that the man in the doorway was King Tremain. He nodded to him and said, “How do you do?”

Thurmondson’s pistol didn’t waver as he snorted, “You don’t think I’m going to fall for that trick, do you? Anyway, anybody who would help you is dead by now!”

King Tremain answered, “You better say joe, ’cause you sho’ don’t know!” Thurmondson swiveled but King fired two shots before he finished his turn. The slugs knocked Thurmondson sideways across the room, spinning him so that he fell to the floor on his face. King walked over and put another bullet in Thurmondson’s back then turned his gaze upon Elroy. “Yo’ name Elroy?” he asked.

Elroy nodded but said nothing. His hand trembled as he thought about his own .38 revolver that was still lying on the floor close to his feet. His eyes strayed to the gun.

King warned, “Don’t do it, son. I don’t want to kill you. Them white boys done killed enough colored coppers this day. I don’t want to add no more colored men to their count.” He watched as Elroy relaxed and stepped back from his gun. King knelt and exchanged guns with Thurmondson. He pressed Thurmondson’s finger around the revolver’s grip. He stood and casually wiped off the pistol then checked the magazine. He pulled back the slide and chambered a round. There was a moment of silence then he said, “Seems to me like these boys been plannin’ this little deal for a while and they was intendin’ on doin’ all of y’all! ’Course, they wasn’t figurin’ on me really bein’ here! They was just gon’ blame yo’ deaths on me!” King held up the pistol he had taken out of Thurmondson’s hand. “Yep, this is one of mine. My wife must’ve given it to them to set me up.” He laughed; it was a cold sound without humor.

Why King’s wife would set him up was a mystery to Elroy and the truth was, he didn’t care to solve that mystery. He just wanted to get out of the building with his life. He heard King’s chilling laughter again and asked, “What are you going to do with me?”

King stepped out of the way of the door and said, “You’s free to go. If you want to live, you best skin on out the back. If you goes out the front, you gon’ have a mess of explainin’ to do about the dead white cops that’s in this buildin’. Yo’ three buddies was killed with one of my guns, but I done all the white boys with one of their own hog legs. I figure it come out about equal.”

Elroy walked over to where Tyree had fallen and saw that he was still breathing. He turned to King and asked, “My buddy’s still alive. Can I carry him out of here with me?”

King nodded and pointed to the third body. “Is that Riley Turner? Damn! The son of a bitch killed Riley! That’s a damn shame!”

“You knew him?” Elroy was surprised.

“Riley and me go way back, son. You got to carry him out of here too. He don’t deserve to burn in this place and I’m about to set fire to this dump!”

“What about the residents in the building?” Elroy demanded.

“They didn’t tell you? Ain’t no residents! This buildin’ been condemned! This was a setup from the git.” King went over and picked up
Elroy’s revolver. “You gon’ need this to get yo’ story right.” He handed Elroy his gun. “You and yo’ buddy best get yo’ stories together. They gon’ be a big investigation over this.”

“I know.” Elroy shook his head. “Because I’m alive, I’ll be a prime suspect.”

“You ain’t fired yo’ weapon, but that won’t matter if they really want you. ’Course, if I was to leave my guns here, it might take some weight off you. It would look like a shootout took place between yo’ boys and me. You could say you saw me shoot yo’ pal as I was escapin’. ’Course, you got to fire your weapon down the hall a couple of times to make it real. When they bring the other white cops up, just tell the truth: You don’t know how they died. Say you and yo’ unit got split up in the darkness. You never saw no whites but this sergeant and he was already dead when you got here. You carried yo’ buddies out the building just as it caught fire!” King laid his pistol back on the ground. “Go ahead and fire your gun down the hall to the left.”

Elroy raised his gun and fired four shots. He holstered his gun and asked, “Why are you doing this? Why are you trying to help us?”

“You’s part of that new permanent colored unit, the ones that’s allowed to carry guns, ain’t you?” Elroy nodded. King said, “We need more of you boys. Colored folks deserve the same protection as whites. Ain’t no reason why you boys shouldn’t have the same authority as them white boys. You is pavin’ the way for other colored folks. You doin’ somethin’ important. Just stay on yo’ toes and don’t let nobody do you. But if’en you wise, you gon’ quit workin’ for this particular police department and find yo’self a job policin’ somewheres else. They done killed every colored officer but you and yo’ buddy. And if you stay, they gon’ get you. Best get on out of here now, I’m gon’ start some fires.”

Elroy was in shock as he lifted Tyree up onto his shoulder. “Why are you going to burn the building?”

“To confuse the investigation. Ain’t no reason to give ’em a clear-cut path. So long, son.” King waved as he left the room.

Elroy staggered out of the room with Tyree on his shoulder. He adjusted the heavy weight of his friend and made his way hurriedly to the stairs leading to the back door. Once out in the open, even though there was a slight drizzle falling from the gray, overcast sky, the brightness of daylight shocked him. In the darkness of the basement, he had forgotten that it was the middle of the afternoon. He laid Tyree out
carefully. He had been shot in the shoulder. Elroy checked to see that he was breathing easily before he went back into the building after Turner. He saw King pouring the contents of a gasoline can along the baseboards of the corridor walls as he went back into the room where Thurmondson had been killed. The acrid, stifling smell of the liquid was already filling the hall. When he picked up Turner’s body, he noticed that Thurmondson had also been doused with gasoline. He hurried back down the hallway as fast as his burden would permit. He heard the first blasts of the gasoline igniting as he was leaving the building. The rain was falling heavily when he laid Riley Turner out on the cement pavement. Elroy headed off through the pelting rain to get some medical assistance. He hoped there wasn’t going to be a problem getting an ambulance. St. John’s Hospital, one of the few that served coloreds, wasn’t too far away. As he walked along the side of the building and felt the cold rain dripping down his collar, he realized that King was correct; he would have to quit because if he stayed on, eventually he would be killed. Another dream not just deferred but crushed. There was no doubt in his mind that the day had turned absolutely to shit.

That was the last and only time Elroy had ever seen his father. Two months after the death of Riley, Elroy got a job as a police officer in a small town with a large black population near Monterey and adjacent to the army base. He worked there until the early sixties, when San Francisco once more made an effort to hire black police officers.

Elroy straightened out his left leg, which had been beginning to cramp, and set it on the portable toilet. It was hard to find a comfortable position after spending endless hours in the van. He took a folded letter from his breast pocket. It was one of the last items in the file that Jackson had given him. He opened it and read it for perhaps the thousandth time.

Elroy folded the letter neatly and put it back in his pocket. It was amazing to him that King had written the letter seven years before he died. It was like he had seen into the future and known that Elroy would one day read these words. The letter answered questions that had been gnawing at Elroy for most of his life. His father had cared about him. He did have a real family. A family that was, if he chose, in his future. The letter was a slender thread connecting Elroy to the dream that he never knew.

Elroy heard the loud, coughing engine of an old truck pull up to the gate of the mansion. He stared through his scope as the truck chugged through the gate and pulled around to the side of the building. He watched as a gray-haired old woman was hustled from the truck into the house. He turned to his monitoring equipment and began adjusting the various dials. Within minutes he was picking up the sound of excited voices.