Read Online Black Betty by Walter Mosley - Free Book Online
Authors: Walter Mosley
Tags: Fiction, Literary, General, Mystery & Detective, Private Investigators, Literary Criticism, Mystery Fiction, American, Los Angeles (Calif.), African American, Rawlins; Easy (Fictitious character), Private investigators - California - Los Angeles, African American men, African American men - California - Los Angeles
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turned to cash. So I brought her an idea that got her to smile—even at me.
I owned a large lot of property down in Compton and I had an option to buy even more. Clovis gathered the assets of Freedom’s Trust to buy an adjacent lot and then we all got together a proposal to build a shopping mall called Freedom’s Plaza. There’d be a supermarket, an appliance store, and a dozen smaller shops owned and patronized by black people.
We had the plans drawn up and all the permits we needed. I had gone deeply into debt to do my part, but I knew that you had to spend money in order to make it. Everything had been moving fine up until that morning. It had been a slow process, so I was hurting, but I never imagined that our permit would be disallowed.
“What’s gonna happen to the property if they go through with this?”
“City’ll foreclose for the development and pay us whatever the land is worth.”
“But we’re in debt over the plans and all those fees and taxes,” I said. “The undeveloped price won’t even half cover what we owe.”
“That’s the chance we took, Mr. Rawlins,” Clovis said as if she was talking about a ten-dollar bet laid with Georgette. “We got to pay for the plans and the lawyer—and the management fees.”
“Management fees? You expect me to pay you for losin’ my money? I don’t have no money left.”
“You got them buildin’s, Mr. Rawlins. If you sold off a couple’a them you could pay what you owe an’ still have some money in your pocket.”
“What?” I reached for the edge of the desk, and at that same moment the front door opened. I didn’t need to turn around to know that the heavy footfalls were Tyrone, Clavell, Grover, and Fitts—Clovis’s younger brothers. I knew Renee had gotten on the phone to call them. Whenever Clovis needed their help they were just waiting for the call—all four of them.
“You heard me, Mr. Rawlins.”
“I wanna talk to Mofass about this.” A hum had started at the base of my skull. The heat in that room turned into hatred for them.
“You talk to me, Mr. Rawlins. I’m the one run this here office. I’m the one you gotta talk to.”
I stood straight up out of my chair, knocking it over. Then I turned on my heel, walked straight past those big men and right out of the door.
The hot Santa Ana wind hit my face like a wall. Sweat was coming down my legs by the time I reached the trunk of my ’56 Pontiac. Dickhead’s sawed-off was still there. I broke it open and replaced the spent cartridge. Two blasts would wound everybody in the room, after that they were mine. I reached for the box of ammo in case I needed to reload. It was lying in the corner of the tire well. When I picked it up I saw Feather’s little rubber Tweety-Bird doll jammed underneath. She’d been looking for that doll for two weeks. Three different nights she went to sleep crying because her Tweety was lost and scared somewhere and nobody would feed him. For a second I forgot my anger and felt the flash of joy sure to be on her face when I returned the oil-stained toy.
“Rawlins.” The smug voice was Fitts. He was at the front of the car.
I peeked out over the open trunk and asked, pleasantly, “Yeah?”
“I just wanna tell you that you better be leavin’ Sis alone, man. An’ I ain’t fuckin’ wichya.”
Fitts was young and hale. No matter how much he tried to make his face into a scowl he just looked like a little boy. Smooth skin and round eyes.
I put the gun down and closed the trunk.
“You don’t have to worry ’bout me, man,” I said. “I’m the one who got to worry.”
Fitts didn’t know what to say to that.
I went around the boy-faced man and got into the driver’s seat. Fitts was staring at me through the open window, a look of confusion on his face. He watched me as I pulled away, his brothers coming around, gathering up in a group around him like wolves and dogs do.
The thought of that boy exhausted me. He didn’t have the
I owned a large lot of property down in Compton and I had an option to buy even more. Clovis gathered the assets of Freedom’s Trust to buy an adjacent lot and then we all got together a proposal to build a shopping mall called Freedom’s Plaza. There’d be a supermarket, an appliance store, and a dozen smaller shops owned and patronized by black people.
We had the plans drawn up and all the permits we needed. I had gone deeply into debt to do my part, but I knew that you had to spend money in order to make it. Everything had been moving fine up until that morning. It had been a slow process, so I was hurting, but I never imagined that our permit would be disallowed.
“What’s gonna happen to the property if they go through with this?”
“City’ll foreclose for the development and pay us whatever the land is worth.”
“But we’re in debt over the plans and all those fees and taxes,” I said. “The undeveloped price won’t even half cover what we owe.”
“That’s the chance we took, Mr. Rawlins,” Clovis said as if she was talking about a ten-dollar bet laid with Georgette. “We got to pay for the plans and the lawyer—and the management fees.”
“Management fees? You expect me to pay you for losin’ my money? I don’t have no money left.”
“You got them buildin’s, Mr. Rawlins. If you sold off a couple’a them you could pay what you owe an’ still have some money in your pocket.”
“What?” I reached for the edge of the desk, and at that same moment the front door opened. I didn’t need to turn around to know that the heavy footfalls were Tyrone, Clavell, Grover, and Fitts—Clovis’s younger brothers. I knew Renee had gotten on the phone to call them. Whenever Clovis needed their help they were just waiting for the call—all four of them.
“You heard me, Mr. Rawlins.”
“I wanna talk to Mofass about this.” A hum had started at the base of my skull. The heat in that room turned into hatred for them.
“You talk to me, Mr. Rawlins. I’m the one run this here office. I’m the one you gotta talk to.”
I stood straight up out of my chair, knocking it over. Then I turned on my heel, walked straight past those big men and right out of the door.
The hot Santa Ana wind hit my face like a wall. Sweat was coming down my legs by the time I reached the trunk of my ’56 Pontiac. Dickhead’s sawed-off was still there. I broke it open and replaced the spent cartridge. Two blasts would wound everybody in the room, after that they were mine. I reached for the box of ammo in case I needed to reload. It was lying in the corner of the tire well. When I picked it up I saw Feather’s little rubber Tweety-Bird doll jammed underneath. She’d been looking for that doll for two weeks. Three different nights she went to sleep crying because her Tweety was lost and scared somewhere and nobody would feed him. For a second I forgot my anger and felt the flash of joy sure to be on her face when I returned the oil-stained toy.
“Rawlins.” The smug voice was Fitts. He was at the front of the car.
I peeked out over the open trunk and asked, pleasantly, “Yeah?”
“I just wanna tell you that you better be leavin’ Sis alone, man. An’ I ain’t fuckin’ wichya.”
Fitts was young and hale. No matter how much he tried to make his face into a scowl he just looked like a little boy. Smooth skin and round eyes.
I put the gun down and closed the trunk.
“You don’t have to worry ’bout me, man,” I said. “I’m the one who got to worry.”
Fitts didn’t know what to say to that.
I went around the boy-faced man and got into the driver’s seat. Fitts was staring at me through the open window, a look of confusion on his face. He watched me as I pulled away, his brothers coming around, gathering up in a group around him like wolves and dogs do.
The thought of that boy exhausted me. He didn’t have the
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