Thomas Cook: Streets of Fire

‘By killing Martin Luther King,’ Ben said.

Jolly released a high, piercing cackle. ‘They be a terrible uproar over that, now,’ he said. ‘Ain’t no Chief going to still be around when the smoke clear on that one.’ He shook his head. ‘And that little shit Daniels, he think he going be Chief after that.’ His face curled into a snarl. ‘He ain’t got enough sense for that. He don’t even know how to show respect. He like them Black Cat boys. He hate Bearmatch.’ He lifted his head grandly. ‘But I loves Bearmatch. I knows what it need the most.’

Ben said nothing.

‘Relief,’ Jolly said loudly. ‘A little relief that a man can get from a drink of whiskey and a gal.’

‘You killed Doreen,’ Ben said.

Jolly smiled. ‘Done for me.’

‘Did Douglas rape her, too?’

Jolly scowled. ‘The ole fat boy done that,’ he said, ‘not Douglas. He don’t need no little girl. He got a good-looking woman for his own self.’ He waved his hand. ‘’Sides, Doreen already dead when Bluto climbed on her. Douglas say, “She want you, boy. She your wife. Go ’head.”’ He shrugged. ‘That Bluto, he never was worth nothing to me till right then.’

Ben said nothing. He could see it all as if it were a film unrolling in his head. He saw Doreen’s small body shudder as Bluto ravaged her, then Bluto’s own body slump forward as Douglas fired the pistol a few inches from his head.

Jolly smiled coolly. ‘We took off that ole ugly ring and stuck it in the girl’s dress,’ he said. He leaned back slightly. ‘Now see what I mean, I didn’t have to tell you that. But I wants you to know that I ain’t kept nothing back. You and me, we works together.’ He drew a single envelope from some papers on his desk and slid it toward Ben. ‘This for you,’ he said. ‘I ain’t greedy.’ He smiled knowingly. ‘This be nothing to you down the line.’ He shoved the envelope a little further across the desk. ‘But you can take it anyway.’

Ben did not move. ‘Langley was only half the deal,’ he said, ‘The other half was King.’ His hand crawled toward the tire iron. ‘Are you going to try again?’

Jolly smiled. ‘The folks in Bearmatch, they think he can give them what I do,’ he said. ‘But they wrong ’bout that. He come in and whoop them up, then he fly off to the next place. But me, I here forever.’

Ben could feel his fingers as they touched the steel rod at his back. ‘Are you going to try again?’ he repeated.

Jolly said nothing.

‘You missed him this time,’ Ben said.

Jolly grinned. ‘But they’s always another one. And the Chief, he ain’t out yet.’

Ben drew the tire iron from behind his back and slapped it loudly in his hand. ‘Leave King alone,’ he said resolutely.

Jolly smiled cheerfully. ‘Why? You gon’ do it your own self?’

Ben lifted the tire iron and heaved it toward the mirror. It crashed into it only a few inches above Jolly’s head, sending a shower of glass over him, filling his lap, gathering on the shoulders of his smoking jacket like a thin layer of sparkling snow.

‘I don’t know how all this is going to turn out,’ Ben said in a hard, utterly determined voice, ‘but I’ve come to tell you this. Whatever happens to King, happens to you.’

Jolly’s body jerked left and right as he slapped the glass from his jacket. ‘Douglas!’ he screamed. ‘Douglas!’

Ben reached across the desk, grabbed the wide lapels of the smoking jacket and pulled Jolly forward. ‘Whatever happens to King, happens to you,’ he repeated. Then he dragged him over the desk and tossed him sprawling onto the floor. ‘I don’t have time to argue with you,’ he said in a voice that had suddenly grown strangely calm in its iron resolution. ‘I just have time to stop you.’

FORTY-SIX

The first bluish light of dawn was only beginning to filter into the air when Ben made his way back downtown. He passed the old ballfield where he’d first glimpsed Doreen Ballinger’s tiny hand, and then on along the littered road which bordered the Gaston Motel. Part of the motel itself was still smoldering, and in the morning light, Ben could make out the remains of Room 30, its charred interior and blasted walls. State troopers stood in ranks before the ruins, their rifles slung over their shoulders like dead animals, their shoulders hunched wearily as they stared about, their eyes nervously combing the trees and neighboring buildings for snipers. All around them the metal frames of burned-out cars rested in a strange silence which was broken only by the first awakening birds.

Once at headquarters, he placed the envelope on Luther’s desk, then told him all he knew.

‘I don’t know if all this is enough to arrest Jolly and his people,’ he said, ‘but whoever takes over Bearmatch should be told about it.’

Luther sat exhausted behind his desk, his face still soiled from the battle at the motel.

‘Maybe you should take it over, Ben,’ he said. ‘Maybe the people over there’ll trust you.’

Ben shook his head, then took out his badge and laid it down on Luther’s desk.

Luther stood up quickly. ‘I know how you feel, Ben,’ he said. ‘But we could use you for a few more days.’

‘No.’

‘But they’re planning a big demonstration this morning, and …’

‘No,’ Ben repeated. ‘No more.’

As he left headquarters for the last time, Ben realized that he had one more duty still left to him. He got in his car and drove toward Bearmatch. Long lines of Negroes were moving down the broken sidewalks toward the Sixteenth Street Baptist Church, but they seemed hardly to notice him as he sped by them, moving steadily but slowly toward the heart of Bearmatch.

Mr Ballinger was sitting quietly on his front porch when Ben got to the house. He did not move as Ben got out of his car, then walked through the tiny gate and up the rickety front steps.

‘I was wondering if I could talk to your daughter for a few minutes,’ Ben said.

‘She ain’t here,’ Mr Ballinger said.

‘I drove by the place she works,’ Ben said. ‘I didn’t see her around there.’

‘She ain’t at work. She’s with the rest of them. They all going downtown.’

‘You mean for the demonstration?’ Ben asked.

Mr Ballinger nodded. ‘She gone for that, yes, sir. She probably at the church by now.’

‘Thank you,’ Ben said as he turned and walked back to his car.

Scores of people were already flowing down the steps of the church when Ben got there. He stood where he had stood so often before, but now he was almost alone, except for the state troopers. The Langleys were gone and Daniels and Breedlove were dead. Only McCorkindale remained, lazily leaning against a telephone pole as he watched the procession pass him slowly on its way to Fourth Avenue.

Several minutes passed before Ben spotted Esther coming down the stairs. He moved toward her quickly, joining the crowd as it surged down the street, the people singing now and clapping hands.

‘I wanted to tell you a few things,’ he said quickly as he stepped up to her.

She turned to him, surprised. ‘You better go off, now,’ she whispered vehemently. ‘You shouldn’t be around here.’

‘I know what happened to Doreen,’ Ben said.

Esther’s eyes widened.

‘It was Roy Jolly,’ Ben said. ‘He made a deal with some people in the Police Department. Doreen saw him make it’

Esther’s eyes glistened in the bright sunlight. Her body trembled slightly, then stiffened. ‘All right,’ she said, ‘you told me. Now you better be gone from here.’

He did as she asked, melted away from her, but continued forward with the crowd, keeping pace with the line of march until they flowed over the hill at Fourth Avenue. He could see ranks of state troopers and firemen as they stood in a thick line at the bottom of the hill, blocking off the business district of the city. For an instant he stepped out further from the crowd and let it flow on without him. Then, suddenly, he began walking again, slowly, steadily, only a few feet from the great moving bulk of the march. He could see the Chief as he stood at the bottom of the hill, his small eyes peering at the approaching crowd. When they were near enough, he lifted his megaphone and shouted to them.