Nobody Said Amen (21 page)

But the hush in the stifling room was torn only by Jimmy’s mocking voice. “Not unmindful,” he cried, “that right here in your city you have a sheriff’s deputy who is not qualified to be a sheriff’s deputy!”

Preach, Jimmy! Tell it! The room roared with laughter and passion:
Go! Go! Go!

Now Jimmy’s voice fell, inviting the confidence of the rapt crowd. They strained forward to hear. “You know,” he said almost casually. “Once when I was arrested up in Leflore County, a white official told me, ‘If a white policeman shoots a Negro, you have a racial crisis. But if a Negro policeman shoots a Negro, you don’t have a racial crisis.’” He stopped. For a long moment there was complete silence in the room. Then Jimmy’s throaty voice spat out the words: “And that’s why they hired Bronko!”

A single breath seemed to suck through the audience, and then was expelled with a sigh.
“Yes! Oh, yes!”

No one in the hall even noticed that the policemen had arrived, pausing at the door and unsheathing their guns. A roar seemed to fill the space, a wild mixture of relief, laughter, scorn, and admiration. Tears stood in the eyes of the oldsters, unbelieving half-smiles on their lined faces. They watched this boy, this David, come to battle. And they cried.

When the room quieted again, Jimmy shifted his tack. “For years I’ve known that we aren’t the type of people who are scared. Our ancestors killed lions! They ate the meat of animals that would tear men apart! We’re the same people that fought on foreign soil in two wars and in Korea. We’re not afraid! We weren’t afraid to go over there and shoot people who never did the things to us that these white people in Mississippi have.” He was motionless, searching the wide-eyed faces of the youngsters who bunched along the walls. “Then why don’t we shoot the white folk here?” The voice stopped again, and he took a half step closer to the teenagers. He spoke softly to them, and they nodded gently. “Because in this movement we don’t hate. We love. Because even in Mississippi we’re Americans. Born here. Raised here. In this movement we are going to win by being nonviolent. Because the soil out there is enriched with the tears, the blood, the bones, and the sweat of our ancestors. We own this country much as anybody else. America is sacred to us. America is a land that we want to live in.”

His voice was vibrant with hope and full of wonder. He leaned toward the children and his young voice was joyous. “What’s happening today is real. Not something you’re reading about. It’s happening
right here
! You are doing things that people before you would not have dreamed of doing. You are
here
! You won’t say, ‘I heard about it.’ Or ‘Somebody told me.’ You’ll say: I was right there! I saw it! My feet were in that place when history was made!”

The room erupted, shouts of
“Yes!”
ricocheting off the old walls until Jimmy raised his hands for silence. “Tomorrow,” he said, “our feet are heading for freedom! Tomorrow our feet are walking off massa’s land and they’re not walkin’ back until we get the vote and justice comes to those fields. Bible says a man is worthy of his hire. We been worthy for three hundred years, and we are tired of waiting.” His aching arm came slowly up from his side, and he pointed at the threatening figure of Bronko. “And no paid killer, black or white, is gonna turn us around!”

Bronko stood transfixed. His eyes were frightened now as the lurching, shouting crowd surged from the rear toward the podium. Mendelsohn could only stare. As if in a nightmare, the room quieted, and all he could do was watch helplessly as Stanley Bronko’s hand closed on his heavy service revolver and yanked it from its holster. With two shaking hands he lifted it and aimed at the man who was debasing him. “I’m going to kill you, you mother—”

“Drop your gun, Bronko!” As the startled deputy wheeled to see, the explosion of Lonergan’s .45 crashed through the room. Bronko’s surprised eyes stared at his erupting chest and the gun fell from his lifeless hands. Without a sound from his open mouth, he tumbled headlong into the aisle.

Mendelsohn checked his watch. It was nearly one o’clock in the morning when Sheriff Haley concluded his questioning. “Don’t leave town, Mack. You too, Lonergan. There’ll be an autopsy hearing, and the FBI says they want to have a sit-down with you both.” Jimmy sat facing his desk, almost too exhausted to raise his head. Lonergan, still flushed with the electricity of the shooting, stared straight ahead, his eyes holding on the sheriff’s angry face.

“Come on, Jimmy. It’s time to go home.” Mendelsohn offered him a hand and helped him to his feet. All Mack’s vitality seemed depleted. The sheriff shook his head in disgust. “Get him out of here. He’s brought nothing but trouble since he arrived. Now I’m going to have to deal with the whole goddam U.S. government and one more story about the violence-prone Mississippi policemen in your Commie magazine.”

“There weren’t supposed to be any policemen in the hall far as I can remember. Is that how you remember it, too, Sheriff Haley?” Mendelsohn paused at the door. “It doesn’t matter. I’ll tell the FBI all about it. They said they would wait for us outside to make sure Jimmy got home okay.” He turned and looked at Lonergan. “You can’t be sure there’ll always be a vigilant policeman like Officer Lonergan to cover his back.”

Nefertiti buried her head, pulling the pillow tight against her ears. But the ring, ring, ring went on like a hammer hitting an anvil. Ring, ring, ring. She shuddered and then surrendered, snaking her arm to the trembling phone.

“It’s Dennis.” She rubbed sleep from her eyes and squinted to read the clock by the bed. Dennis? She growled into the receiver. “Do you know it’s four o’clock? In the morning?”

“Course I know. Wasn’t important I wouldn’t be calling. You awake, Titi?”

“Awake? Yeah, Dennis. I had to wake up to answer the phone. What’s the problem? You didn’t get my package? I told Bronko—”

“Don’t know what you’re talking about. No package I know about. No. This is about Bronko.”

“Why are you telling me? He works for you.” She frowned. “Bronko in trouble?” There was silence.

“Bronko’s dead.” She sat bolt upright, staring at the clock face in the darkness. This time yesterday he was leaving her bed. “Bronko is dead?”

The sheriff’s voice was chilly. “Yes. And we have to talk. I’ll be there in an hour. Make some coffee.”

Ted Mendelsohn got up early that Monday. The clamor and reverberation of the organizing meeting and its riotous ending had robbed him of any hope for rest. The image of Bronko’s hand pulling out his gun had kept appearing as he stared into the dark, longing for sleep. His skin felt chilled in the damp dawn and he pulled on an old sweatshirt. A somber Rennie was in the kitchen, pouring water into the ancient percolator. She put it on the stove and sat down heavily in the single kitchen chair. The old woman looked at Mendelsohn over her cracked glasses.

“You ever see anything like that?” Her voice was sorrowful and quiet. “All my years ain’t never seed a man shot dead right in front of me. Tore up. Like a big rag doll. Layin’ dead not six feet from my Sharon.” Tears clouded her glasses and she took them off, drying her eyes with a stove towel. “What that child gonna remember, Ted? And Jimmy Mack could just as easy been layin’ dead, too.” Her chin lifted and an uninvited smile suddenly brightened her damp eyes. “But you ever hear speechifying like that? Lordy! ‘You were there! No one ever have to tell you. You were there!’ That boy possessed, Ted! You saw it. I saw it. And Godamighty, Eula saw it. Man she loves most in the world ’bout to die. And he almos’ got taken away by that Bronko. Passes understanding.” She got heavily to her feet. “You want some coffee?”

“No coffee for me. I have to meet Jimmy at the Freedom House before the walkout starts.” Mendelsohn took the trembling woman into his arms. “Sometimes man proposes and God disposes, Rennie. We both saw man’s best and worst last night. And sometimes it does pass understanding.” He released her and she patted his chest in embarrassment. Mendelsohn paused at the door. “I don’t imagine Sharon’s going to remember much about last night, Rennie. It happened so fast.”

She nodded. “Hope that’s so. You tell James he did good last night.”

At the Freedom House, he read the
Clarion
: NEGRO LABOR ORGANIZER SAVED BY HEROIC ACTION OF LOCAL WHITE SHERIFF’S DEPUTY. Wordlessly, Mendelsohn held it up to Jimmy, his stomach growling, and picked up the telephone to call New York. “How the hell do I explain all this to Max?”

Jimmy said, “Before you call in your story, you ought to know a few things. That ‘local white hero’ who shot Bronko was one of the two who beat Dale and me at the station house. He’s the guy who ordered Bronko to throw us out of there when they were done.”

“Why are you telling me this?”
“Because Bronko was the only witness to the beatings, and Lonergan knew it. And those two hated each other’s guts. I saw it that night after the beatings. My guess is he was probably worried that this nigger cop would use it against him given the opportunity.”

Mendelsohn remained silent, holding the receiver. Jimmy finished his coffee. “Now the opportunity is gone. The black rogue cop is dead, and Law-and-Order Lonergan is alive and very well.” He cocked his head and regarded the reporter. “Probably in for a promotion. You find that interesting?”

“Yes. But Bronko was this close to killing you. And Lonergan saved your life, Jimmy.”

Jimmy stood up and stretched. “And two nights ago that pecker-head would have burned me alive if he had the chance.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Dale and I watched the whole Klan cross burning from the attic. The guy who brought the gasoline to burn down the Freedom House was Officer Lonergan. If somebody hadn’t shot up Lonergan’s truck, Dale and I would have been lost in the ashes.”

Mendelsohn stared at Mack. “And you call that interesting?”

“Yeah. What’s even more interesting is that, if Lonergan finds out there were two witnesses who saw him light the fire, he’s going to come looking for them.” The astonishment on Mendelsohn’s face made Jimmy grin. “You ever heard of the Mississippi whoo-who bird, Ted? Interesting bird. He flies in ever diminishing circles till he disappears up his own asshole.”

Mendelsohn had held the receiver in his hand for a long while, and now he carefully placed it back on the hook. A question surfaced that he had hardly acknowledged. “You don’t seem particularly happy that Bronko was killed.”

Jimmy frowned. “I’m not. He was just a colored man doing a shitty job to get along. A man like me has a certain sympathy for that. If you’re black and born in Mississippi, you know that man. He’s you. Back then. Now. Maybe tomorrow. You don’t get happy when he’s shot dead like a dog.” A wry grin started on his serious young face. “Besides, we only had one black cop in the whole Delta. Some black folks took a lot of pride in that, though they were embarrassed when he killed blacks for the Man. And now we’re back to square one. There’s no black cop in this Delta. Just white cops, like Lonergan, who can kill blacks for the Man.”

“And you think he will?”

“I think he will try.”

Lonergan closed the cruiser door and turned to Butler. He slapped his partner’s thigh and chortled. “I wasn’t out of bed yet when the phone rang.” He grinned. “It was Roland Burroughs himself! Your mayor!”

Butler turned off the ignition. “You’re shittin’ me?”

“No. Wanted me to know that my resolute action at the Communist meeting was exactly what this police force has been needing. Best public relations thing that’s happened to Shiloh in forty years. Wants me come to the White Citizens Council meeting Thursday night. His guest. Thinks the gentlemen at the Shiloh Club would enjoy meeting a Shiloh policeman who’s not afraid to do what’s got to be done.” He threw back his head and laughed. “Finally gonna let one of the Klan meet the country club boys!”

Butler grinned. “Leave your white sheet at home, buddy. He knows you got it. His guest! Those white glove types don’t invite us lower-order grunts for drinks ’less there’s a reason. What’s the reason?

“If it ain’t admiration, maybe it’s politics, partner. Be nice to me. I could be your next boss!”

“Dropping that Bronko bastard sure turned you on, pal. They gonna make you Pope?”

“You can kiss my ring, Butler.”

“And you can kiss my ass, Lonergan. When’s your truck gonna be fixed up? I don’t plan on being your chauffeur.”

Lonergan stretched luxuriously and lit a Camel from the crumpled pack in his breast pocket. “Preacher called, said he checked the trucks at Kilbrew’s and they’ll be ready tomorrow morning. The holy man is still pissed off that we didn’t take down that Communist whorehouse. Wants to know who shot out our tires for the Devil. I told him that it was probably Bronko. He said it was too many shots for one sniper. That was the preacher’s specialty in the Bulge in ’45. At least two guns, he said.”

“So what does the old bastard want us to do?”

“Burn out the Freedom House and all those Satan vipers, he said.

Burn ’em out or they’re gonna kill us. Find ’em.” He stared at Butler as he blew out a long stream of cigarette smoke. “The preacher’s a mean prick. We don’t want to be on his shit list, partner.”

“And?”

“And maybe we should find who ruined his party.”

The sun was just starting to touch the tops of the trees behind the deserted Fatback’s Platter when Dennis Haley parked in the clearing behind Nefertiti’s cottage. He scanned the yard and noted it was safely out of sight from the highway. He paused, listening to the cooing of a mourning dove back in the woods, then walked to the door and turned the knob. Hearing the rush of the shower, he grinned and stepped inside. He folded his long frame into the one easy chair and turned it to face the bathroom door. He was lighting a cigar when Nefertiti, with only a towel wrapped around her hair, stopped abruptly at the bathroom door.

Looking past the flame of his match, Haley lazily let his eyes move across the shining and sumptuous burnt sienna landscape of the woman.

She answered his stare without blinking, standing motionless. “You almost done, Dennis?” Her voice was flat. “Learned a long time ago that a boy with a hard-on can’t be kept waitin’ too long. Looks like you been waitin’ too long.”