Working for Joppy’s friend was the only way I saw to keep my house. But there was something wrong, I could feel it in my fingertips. DeWitt Albright made me uneasy; Joppy’s tough words, though they were true, made me uneasy. I kept telling myself to go to bed and forget it.
“Easy,” I said, “get a good night’s sleep and go out looking for a job tomorrow.”
“But this is June twenty-five,” a voice said. “Where is the sixty-four dollars coming from on July one?”
“I’ll get it,” I answered.
“How?”
We went on like that but it was useless from the start. I knew I was going to take Albright’s money and do whatever he wanted me to, providing it was legal, because that little house of mine needed me and I wasn’t about to let her down.
And there was another thing.
DeWitt Albright made me a little nervous. He was a big man, and powerful by the look of him. You could tell by the way he held his shoulders that he was full of violence. But I was a big man too. And, like most young men, I never liked to admit that I could be dissuaded by fear.
Whether he knew it or not, DeWitt Albright had me caught by my own pride. The more I was afraid of him, I was that much more certain to take the job he offered.
The address Albright had given me was a small, buff-colored building on Alvarado. The buildings around it were taller but not as old or as distinguished. I walked through the black wrought-iron gates into the hall of the Spanish-styled entrance. There was nobody around, not even a directory, just a wall of cream-colored doors with no names on them.
“Excuse me.”
The voice made me jump.
“What?” My voice strained and cracked as I turned to see the small man.
“Who are you looking for?”
He was a little white man wearing a suit that was also a uniform.
“I’m looking for, um… ah…,” I stuttered. I forgot the name. I had to squint so that the room wouldn’t start spinning.
It was a habit I developed in Texas when I was a boy. Sometimes, when a white man of authority would catch me off guard, I’d empty my head of everything so I was unable to say anything. “The less you know, the less trouble you find,” they used to say. I hated myself for it but I also hated white people, and colored people too, for making me that way.
“Can I help you?” the white man asked. He had curly red hair and a pointed nose. When I still couldn’t answer he said, “We only take deliveries between nine and six.”
“No, no,” I said, trying to remember.
“Yes we do! Now you better leave.”
“No, I mean I…”
The little man started backing toward a small podium that stood against the wall. I figured that he had a nightstick back there.
“Albright!” I yelled.
“What?” he yelled back.
“Albright! I’m here to see Albright!”
“Albright who?” There was suspicion in his eye, and his hand was behind the podium.
“Mr. Albright. Mr. DeWitt Albright.”
“Mr. Albright?”
“Yes, that’s him.”
“Are you delivering something?” he asked, holding out his scrawny hand.
“No. I have an appointment. I mean, I’m supposed to meet him.” I hated that little man.
“You’re supposed to meet him? You can’t even remember his name.”
I took a deep breath and said, very softly, “I am supposed to meet Mr. DeWitt Albright tonight, any time after seven.”
“You’re supposed to meet him at seven? It’s eight-thirty now. He’s probably gone.”
“He told me any time after seven.”
He held out his hand to me again. “Did he give you a note saying you’re to come in here after hours?”
I shook my head at him. I would have liked to rip the skin from his face like I’d done once to another white boy.
“Well, how am I to know that you aren’t just a thief? You can’t even remember his name and you want me to take you somewhere in there. Why you could have a partner waiting for me to let you in…”
I was disgusted. “Forget it man,” I said. “You just tell him, when you see him, that Mr. Rawlins was here. You tell him that the next time he better give me a note because you cain’t be lettin’ no street niggahs comin’ in yo’ place wit’ no notes!”
I was ready to leave. That little white man had convinced me that I was in the wrong place. I was ready to go back home. I could find my money another way.
“Hold on,” he said. “You wait right there and I’ll be back in a minute.” He sidled through one of the cream-colored doors, shutting it as he went. I heard the lock snap into place a moment later.
After a few minutes he opened the door a crack and waved at me to follow him. He looked from side to side as he let me through the door; looking for my accomplices I suppose.
The doorway led to an open courtyard that was paved with dark red brick and landscaped with three large palm trees that reached out beyond the roof of the three-story building. The inner doorways on the upper two floors were enclosed by trellises that had vines of white and yellow sweetheart roses cascading down. The sky was still light at that time of year but I could see a crescent moon peeking over the inner roof.
The little man opened another door at the other side of the courtyard. It led down an ugly metal staircase into the bowels of the building. We went through a dusty boiler room to an empty corridor that was painted drab green and draped with gray cobwebs.
At the end of the hall there was a door of the same color that was chipped and dusty.
“That’s what you want,” the little man said.
I said thank you and he walked away from me. I never saw him again. I often think of how so many people have walked into my life for just a few minutes and kicked up some dust, then they’re gone away. My father was like that; my mother wasn’t much better.
I knocked on the ugly door. I expected to see Albright, but instead the door opened into a small room that held two strange-looking men.
The man who held the door was tall and slight with curly brown hair, dark skin like an India Indian, and brown eyes so light they were almost golden. His friend, who stood against a door at the far wall, was short and looked a little like he was Chinese around the eyes, but when I looked at him again I wasn’t so sure of his race.
The dark man smiled and put out his hand. I thought he wanted to shake but then he started slapping my side.
“Hey, man! What’s wrong with you?” I said, pushing him away. The maybe-Chinese man slipped a hand in his pocket.
“Mr. Rawlins,” the dark man said in an accent I didn’t know. He was still smiling. “Put your hands up a little from your sides, please. I’m just checking.” The smile widened into a grin.
“You could just keep your hands to yourself, man. I don’t let nobody feel on me like that.”
The little man pulled something, I couldn’t tell what, halfway out of his pocket. Then he took a step toward us. The grinner tried to put his hand against my chest but I grabbed him by the wrist.
The dark man’s eyes glittered, he smiled at me for a moment, and then said to his partner, “Don’t worry, Manny. He’s okay.”
“You sure, Shariff?”
“Yeah. He’s just a little shaky.” Shariff’s teeth glinted between his dusky lips. I still had his wrist.
Shariff said, “Let him know, Manny.”
Manny put his hand back in his pocket and then took it out again to knock on the door behind.
DeWitt Albright opened the door after a minute.
“Easy,” he smiled.
“He doesn’t want us to touch him,” Shariff said as I let him go.
“Leave it,” Albright answered. “I just wanted to make sure he was solo.”
“You’re the boss.” Shariff sounded very sure of himself; even a little arrogant.