Streets of Fire (24 page)

Ben stepped out into the poolhall. It was empty now, all the players gone.

‘Look at that, now,’ Gaylord said disgustedly. ‘’Nuther one them demonstrations coming down Fourth Avenue. All they do is ruin business.’ He shook his head. ‘I can’t figure it out, why these colored folk wants to be mixed up with the white people.’ He looked at Ben wonderingly. ‘It just don’t make no sense to me. You know why? ’Cause white people, they don’t ever look like they’re having any fun.’

TWENTY-SIX

Ben headed across the street toward his car. At the end of the avenue, he could see the firemen darting frantically around their engines. Some were busily unspooling yards of thick hosing, while others rushed to uncap the few hydrants which dotted the streets around the park. For a moment he stood in the middle of the avenue and stared at them wonderingly. Then suddenly he heard voices in the distance behind him, turned and saw the first demonstrators come over the hill. The few stragglers who were still on the avenue rushed down the side streets, and for a moment Ben stood alone, his body frozen between the unmoving lines of firemen and police and the dark, slowly rising wave that continued to flow smoothly over the hill.

He glanced down the avenue. Luther was peering at him, his hand cupped over his eyes to protect them from the harsh afternoon light. Only a few feet away Breedlove and Daniels stood together, staring at him too, and for an instant, Ben had the sensation that everyone’s attention was focused intensely upon him, the firemen and police who stood motionlessly in the summer air, his fellow detectives, Breedlove and Daniels on one corner, the Langleys on the other, even McCorkindale, perched on top of one of the fire trucks that blocked the end of the avenue like a blood-drenched wall.

Finally, Luther’s voice broke the air, as his short, stubby arm motioned to Ben frantically.

‘Get out the way!’ he shouted. ‘Get on down here!’

Ben did not move.

‘Get on down here!’ Luther called wildly, his voice barely audible in the distance.

Ben stared at him without moving, his mind hurling through a thousand calculations.

‘Ben!’ Luther screamed. ‘Hurry up! Get on down here with us!’

Ben stood in place. He could hear the engines of the school buses as they started up, then the sirens after them, and from behind, the chorus of gently singing voices that swept toward him from what seemed like an entirely different world.

‘Get on down here, now!’ Luther shouted. ‘Hurry up! You’re in the way!’

But still he could not move. He saw the long gray lines of the patrolmen grow taut, saw their polished black boots wink in the bright summer air. Then the atmosphere filled with the glint of scores of camera lenses as a small army of reporters turned them toward the hill. They seemed to fire at him silently, in white flashes, and he felt that he was trapped on some bizarre and unforgiving front, a man between the lines. He knew that Luther was still calling to him, but he could hear only the steady drum of the marchers as they continued to flow by the hundreds over the gently curving hill. Their singing swayed in the air, slow and rhythmic, and as their line of march moved steadily toward the tensely waiting squads of firemen and police, he felt himself suddenly and inescapably lost in the middle of it, floating helplessly, as if the earth had turned to air beneath his feet. In the distance, he could see Coggins clapping and singing as he headed down the hill, but he seemed less a person in his own right now than simply part of the dark line which continued to roll toward him. He turned away, glancing down the hill once more. He could see Luther staring at him motionlessly, no longer calling to him or waving him forward, but simply peering at him speechlessly, as if unable to take him in. For an instant he felt his body move down the hill toward Luther, then stop, turn around, and move in the opposite direction, toward the marchers. He’d only gone a few paces before he stopped again, and remained stopped, as if waiting for yet another signal. When it came, he spun around quickly and rushed down one of the side streets, his legs pumping more and more rapidly until they finally brought him to his waiting car.

The sound of sirens was still ringing in the air when Ben pulled up to the small wooden guardhouse at the factory gate.

The guard walked slowly over to the driver’s side and leaned in.

‘Sounds like all hell’s breaking loose downtown,’ he said.

‘Yeah,’ Ben said dully. ‘Listen, I wanted to ask you a few questions about Bluto.’

‘Okay,’ the guard said. ‘Want to set in the car or is it getting too hot for you?’

‘It’s too hot,’ Ben said as he opened the door and stepped out.

‘I got a little patch of shade over here,’ the guard said. He pointed to a small rectangle of shadow which stretched out from the guardhouse.

Ben followed the guard over to the wall of the guardhouse, and the two of them leaned idly against it. A large truck turned into the drive, and the guard walked out to it, spoke to the driver, then waved it through.

‘When was the last time you saw Bluto?’ Ben asked him when he returned to the guardhouse.

‘That would have been on Sunday afternoon, I think,’ the guard said. He watched the truck as it made its way to the enormous warehouse a few hundred yards away.

‘He was killed that night,’ Ben said. ‘Probably between eight and one or two in the morning, the coroner says.’

The guard’s eyes snapped over to him. ‘Is that so?’

‘Do you remember about when it was you saw him?’

The guard thought for a moment. ‘Well, I saw him a few times on Sunday. I’ve got a twelve-hour shift on the weekend.’

‘When does it begin?’

‘Noon.’

‘So you were here until around midnight.’

‘Until exactly midnight,’ the guard said. ‘I don’t try to beat the company. I’m not like that.’ He looked back toward the truck, his eyes focused on the large cloud of dust that tumbled up from behind it. ‘We’ve been having some things disappear off the lot,’ he explained. ‘I got to keep my eyes open.’

Ben nodded quickly. ‘And during that twelve-hour shift, you said you saw Bluto several times?’

‘Yes, sir, I did.’

‘Could you tell me when that was, exactly?’

The guard thought a moment. ‘Well, I walk the grounds when I first get here,’ he said. ’I have me a cup of coffee, then I walk all over the place, you know, to check things out.’

‘And you saw Bluto then?’

‘Yeah,’ the guard answered. ‘He was sitting up on that little ditch, the one above the pipe.’ He shook his head. ‘He was sort of curled up, you know. Had his knees crunched up against hisself.’

‘Did he say anything?’

‘Said, “Howdy, boss.” That’s all.’

‘He didn’t say anything else?’ Ben asked insistently. ‘It doesn’t matter what it was. Just anything at all.’

The guard tugged at the brim of his cap. ‘Said, “Looks to be pretty, don’t it?”’ He smiled. ‘The weather, that’s what he was meaning. He always had something to say about the weather. I don’t think he knew about much of anything besides rain and shine, you know?’

‘Did he say anything else?’

‘I just kept walking,’ the guard said, and that was it.’

‘When did you see him the next time?’

‘Well, that must have been around six, I guess,’ the guard said. ‘That’s when I go looking around again.’

‘Where was Bluto then?’

‘In the pipe,’ the guard said. ‘I heard him carrying on down there. So I sort of peeped over the edge of that little gully and took a look.’

‘What was he doing?’

‘Sanging, that’s all,’ the guard said. ‘He loved to sang, that old boy.’

‘And he was in the pipe?’

‘Sitting in there by hisself, that’s right,’ the guard told him, ‘just a-sanging away.’

‘Did you speak to him?’

‘No.’

‘Did he say anything?’

‘I don’t figure he saw me,’ the guard said. I just took a quick little peep at him. I didn’t say nothing.’ He shrugged. ‘It was real hot that day, even after it got late, and so I wasn’t in no hurry to stand out there by them pipes and have a talk with Bluto.’

Ben took out his handkerchief and wiped his neck and face. ‘No, of course not,’ he said. ‘But you saw him again, right?’

‘Yeah, I did,’ the guard said. ‘Now this was later. ‘Bout nine at night. He come wandering right through the front gate, big as you please. It ’bout knocked my eyes out.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Well, he never come through the front gate before,’ the guard said. ‘He ain’t allowed to do that.’

‘How does he get in?’

‘They’s a place cut in the fence,’ the guard explained matter-of-factly.

‘Where?’

‘Right near the pipe,’ the guard said. ‘That’s how Bluto always comes and goes. He don’t use the front gate. It ain’t allowed.’

‘Except this last time,’ Ben said.

‘That’s right,’ the guard said. ‘This last time he just come right up. Says, “Well, boss, I’m going to town. Got to get back pretty soon, though.” Says, “I’m a-getting married.”’

‘Married?’

‘Plain as day, that’s what he says.’

‘Had he ever said anything like that before?’

‘Not to me, he hadn’t.’

‘Did you ever see him with a woman?’

‘Bluto? No, I never seen him with much of anybody,’ the guard said. ‘Matter of fact, I asked who the girl was. He said he didn’t know yet. So I said, “Well, where is she?” And Bluto, he just said, “She’s coming later,” and that was the last of it. He went right out the gate.’

‘And what time did you say this was?’

‘I’d put it right at nine o’clock.’

‘Did you see him come back?’

‘Yeah, I did,’ the guard said. ‘It was only about an hour later.’

‘Around ten?’

‘’Bout then,’ the guard said. He smiled. ‘And, my God, did that ole boy look happy.’

‘He came through the main gate?’

‘No, he didn’t,’ the guard said. ‘I figure he caught the way I looked at him when he done that before.’ He shook his head. ‘No, he didn’t use the gate no more. I guess he must have come back through the fence.’

‘Where did you see him?’

‘When I made my final rounds,’ the guard said, ‘I always say goodnight to him before I go home. That’s what I went over to the pipe for.’

‘Was he in the pipe?’

‘He was sort of cleaning it up,’ the guard said. ‘Straightening things out. He was sanging, too.’

‘Did he say anything?’

‘Said, “Hey, boss, what you think about my new TV?”’ the guard told Ben with a chuckle. ‘Somebody’d probably wanted that ole thing toted off, so they fooled him into thinking it’d work without no electricity or anything like that.’

‘And that’s the last you saw of him?’

‘That was it.’

‘Did you see anyone else around?’ Ben asked. ‘I mean, a girl maybe?’

The guard laughed. ‘A girl? What would a girl be doing around Bluto?’

‘The one he was talking about marrying,’ Ben explained.

The guard waved his hand. ‘Oh, that was just Bluto’s way of saying things. He didn’t have no sense when it come to talking to people.’

Ben straightened himself slowly. ‘That hole in the fence,’ he said. ‘The one he used. Where is that?’

‘Right close to the pipe,’ the guard said. ‘You want to go look at it?’

‘Yeah.’

The guard turned and pointed to the southeastern corner of the lot. ‘Right out there,’ he said. ‘You can’t miss it if you walk along the fence.’

‘Thanks,’ Ben said as he stepped out of the shade of the guardhouse and headed out across the flat dirt field.

It took him only a few minutes to pass beyond the still littered drainpipe and find the hole in the fence. It looked as if it had been made long ago with a pair of industrial wire-cutters. The tips of the severed fence were rusted over, and the hole had been widened over the years as Bluto’s large body had passed in and out of it. The ground around it was smooth and grassless, and a narrow footpath could be seen as it snaked from the opening back to the ditch and its exposed drainpipe. Ben allowed his eyes to move up and down the path. He could not imagine Doreen having ever walked down it. He leaned against the fence, then he pulled himself up again and walked along the trail to the edge of the ditch. He could see the drainpipe below him, and as he stood, staring into its dull gray eye, he tried to put the events in some kind of chronological order. Bluto had left the plant through the front gate at around nine. By then he’d come up with the idea of a wife. At ten, he was cleaning his place, as if in preparation for her arrival. A few hours later, both he and Doreen Ballinger were dead.

Ben lowered himself onto the stony ground, his eyes still staring into the cement cave of the drain He tried to imagine what must have gone on there at some time between nine and midnight only a few days before. ‘She’s coming later,’ Bluto had told the guard, and it seemed to Ben that this meant that he had expected someone to arrive of her own free will, a woman for whom he had cleaned what amounted to his house, trucked home a battered television, and for whom he had seemed to feel in his own childish way an unparalleled delight. ‘She’s coming later,’ Ben repeated in his mind. But had he expected her to come by herself, or be delivered to him by someone else and placed into his hands, like a prize?

TWENTY-SEVEN

The few people who were seated inside Smiley’s Cafe turned instantly toward Ben as he stepped through the door. They seemed frozen in place, stunned into a strange and utterly motionless silence.

‘I’m looking for Esther Ballinger,’ Ben said quietly as he closed the torn screen door behind him.

‘She’s out back,’ said the small man behind the counter. He wiped his hands on the soiled apron which hung from his neck. ‘What you want with her, boss?’

‘It’s police business,’ Ben said. ‘About her niece.’

The man glanced questioningly at the others as if unsure of what to do next. ‘Well, I guess you ought to see her then,’ he said finally, his eyes darting away from Ben’s. ‘Just go on round back. She out there throwing away the garbage.’

Ben turned and walked out immediately, then headed around the corner of the building to the alley which ran behind it. He could see Esther at a large wooden bin. She was breaking down a large assortment of cardboard boxes, then tossing them into the bin.