Chester Himes - If he hollers let him go

Down in the lighted section by the central drive somebody ran out in front of me. I headed into him, missed him by a breath as he leaped away, made a screaming left turn toward the harbour road, but not quite tight enough, and dented my fenders fore and aft against the protective posts.

A P.E. train was coming toward the crossing and I didn't have time to shift. I got across ahead of it so close I heard it ping against my rear bumper as it swivelled the rear end out of line. I had to fight it out of a ditch, felt it lurch crazily beneath me, pulled it right into the harbour road on one thin prayer.

I hadn't turned on my lights and at the first turn a big, fastmoving Diesel cutting a long bend on the wrong side almost ran me down. I reached down and switched on the bright lights, noticed that fog was settling on the night, turned on my fog lights, and stood my stocking foot on the gas as if I was weighing myself. The snaky road came up over the hood, bent, straightened, and came up again. Behind, motor roar spilled like a P-38. The hood squatted so low it looked as though the crankcase would rub.

I started to brake for a left turn into Figueroa, saw a truck coming, and knew I couldn't make it, kept on over to Alameda. Outside of Wilmington a siren blew for me, but I didn't even slow. All I could think of was flight, desperate, cold-headed flight.

I came into the jog beyond the refineries where the P.E. tracks crossed again so fast I couldn't make the bend, went down the tracks, jumped into the gulley, heard water splash, came out on the road down on the floor, hanging to the wheel for dear life. I thought for a moment I'd wrecked it that time, but when I stepped on the gas it took life again.

Then I caught a stretch of open road, watched the needle climb. The speed cooled me slightly and the Buick drove itself. Thought came back into my mind, made me calculate. I looked at the gas. The needle was on '1'; I knew that'd give me three with the two reserve-three gallons. I could get some gas. Then I remembered suddenly that I didn't have any money. Finally I realized I couldn't use my car anyway; the cops would be on the lookout for it; they'd get the description and the licence number from the yard.

Scare hung over me like a cold grey shroud, but I knew I was thinking straight. I knew I had to get out of California before daylight, go somewhere and hide until I got healed up. Las Vegas, maybe. All kinds of strange Negroes had gone to Las Vegas; I could hide there in one of those whorehouses for a time without attracting any attention. After that I'd go east, to Harlem, maybe, take another name, and start life over. Because I knew I couldn't beat that rap that Madge had hung on me.

But first I'd have to get some money. I had about a hundred and ninety-odd dollars in my room. That was as far as I'd let myself think. I'd keep on the dark side streets, do about thirtyfive. I kept down to Fiftieth, turned left back to Untility Fan, came into Long Beach by the cannery, turned left again to Fifty-fourth, right to Central, right on Central to Fifty-first, left over to San Pedro. I was about to turn down Wall when I suddenly realized I'd better call first.

I turned around, drove back Fifty-first to the barbecue joint just before Central, parked half a block up the street, got out, and walked the rest of the way in my stocking feet. Before I went in I took a gander up the street, then peeped inside through the window. The place was filled with a lot of noisy, laughing, half-drunk people, men and women, all coloured. I braced myself and went in, kept on through to the phone booth at the rear. People turned and looked at me. One woman giggled, and another cracked, 'What run over him?' but the guy with her said, 'Tend to yo' own damn business.'

Ella Mae answered my ring. 'Look, I'm in trouble-' I began, but she cut me off.

'Is that you, Bob?'

'Yeah, listen-'

'Don't come home,' she said in a whisper. 'The police are here-' Her voice broke off. I heard a scuffle. In the background I could still hear her telling me not to come home, but yelling now. Then a man's voice said, 'Listen, Jones, the best thing you can do-'

I hung up, hurried out of the joint without looking to right or left. So the L.A. cops were already looking for me; that meant I'd have to keep out of public places. I began feeling pressed, trapped, conspicuous. I turned around, started to go back to the filling station at Fifty-fourth and try to get some gas on credit, then remembered that my ration book was at home. Every time I passed a car I drew up into a knot inside. I felt as though I were driving around a hook-and-ladder truck.

Finally I remembered a woman I knew who lived on Crocker. She worked in private family but was off on Thursday nights and she might be home. She had a couple of roomers, but they'd either be asleep or out and I had to take that chance.

I drove over to Crocker, pulled up far enough in the driveway beside the house so the car couldn't be spotted from down the street, got out, and knocked at her window. There was no answer at first and I knocked again. A female voice said, 'Who is it?'

'It's me, Bob, Hazel,' I lisped. 'I'm in a little trouble and I want to use your phone.'

'You don't sound like Bob,' she said sceptically. 'What's the matter with your voice?'

'I got some teeth knocked out,' I lisped.

'Oh!' Then she said, 'What kinda trouble? You ain't stole nothing, have you?'

'No, I hit a peck with my tyre iron,' I lied. 'The police are looking for me.'

She was silent for a moment. 'All right, come around to the back door.'

I went around the yard, felt the cool damp grass on my stocking feet. She opened the door into the kitchen without turning on the lights. In the darkness she was just a big vague shape.

'I oughtn'ta be doing this,' she grumbled. 'No telling what kinda trouble you might be getting me into.'

'I won't be long,' I promised.

'You know where the phone is.' Then after a moment she asked, 'You ain't killed nobody?'

'No, he's not bad hurt.'

She paused for a moment to look at me in the darkness, then asked, 'What you doing with all them bandages on your head? Somebody beat you up?'

'The police.' I lied.

'Oh!' She started away, stopped. 'Don't bother 'bout the door when you go out.'

The phone was in the kitchen, I dialled Alice in the dark. She answered the phone herself; she had an extension in her room and always answered calls after midnight.

'It's Bob,' I lisped. 'I'm-'

She cut me off immediately. 'If you're drunk, Bob, I don't want to talk to you. We waited dinner for an hour-'

'I'm not drunk,' I cut her off. 'I got some teeth knocked out. I'm in trouble. And I'm in a hurry-'

'What sort of trouble?' Her voice was sharp, anxious.

'I got in a jam at the yard,' I lisped, talking low so Hazel wouldn't hear.

'Talk louder,' she said. 'I can't hear you.'

'I got in some trouble at the yard,' I said, talking louder. 'I got messed up with that white woman I had the argument with and she's charging me with rape-'

'Rape!' Her voice was shocked, incredulous.

'Look, I can't explain now. I'm in an awful hurry,' I said. 'The police are looking for me. I didn't do it-you know that-but I'll have to explain when I see you.'

'Oh, Bob, you would have to get into something like that,' she said. Her voice sounded tearful.

'I tell you I haven't done anything,' I said impatiently. 'But nobody will believe it. Right now I've got to get away. What I want is to get whatever money you have on hand-and your car. I can't use mine and I can't go home to get any money-the police are there. I'll drive over to Western and-'

'But if you haven't done anything, why do you have to run away-'

'I told you, they're charging me-'

'But this sounds foolish. No one can just be charged- What can they do?'