that led to Melvin’s door. A young sparrow swooped down and grabbed one of the insect’s hind legs. The tug-of-war between them was adrama of the highest order. This was life and death in its rawest, most naked form.
After half a minute of struggle the sparrow let go of the roach’s foot, hopped over the bug, and pecked at its head. The roach scuttled halfway into the overgrown lawn, where its nemesis clamped its beak on his leg again. They seemed to be of equal strength, but the sparrow had youth on its side where the huge cockroach gave the impression of old age.
The fight made me nervous. I wanted to protect the roach.
The roach made it a few more millimeters into the brush. The sparrow was flapping its wings furiously.
I might have moved to scare the bird off but I heard the door coming open behind me.
“Rawlins?” a familiar gruff voice said.
I didn’t want to turn away from the drama but I had my own struggles to be concerned with.
Melvin was maybe five-nine, four inches shorter than I, but we weighed the same. He wasn’t so much fat as bulky, with a squashed face, lovely doe-brown eyes, and powerful hands. He was wearing blue-striped boxer shorts and a gray T-shirt with a dozen tiny tears across the front. His basic brown hair had a few more strands of gray than at our last encounter. The unruly mop was getting longer and he hadn’t brushed it yet that day. The only concession he had made to civility was to step into a pair of dilapidated brown slippers.
“Mornin’, Melvin.”
“How’d you know where I lived?” he asked.
“Guy named Gilly used to make bottled water deliveries in this neighborhood. He’s a friend of a friend who knew I knew you. You’re famous among the brothers, Mr. Suggs. The only white cop we know of that would never call us a nigger.”
He glowered at me. “Why are you here?”
“I heard you were in some kind of trouble.”
“What the hell does that have to do with you?”
“My source told me that you were facing jail time if you didn’t resign.”
“Who said that?” Suggs asked the question as if the notion was ridiculous.
“Roger Frisk.”
Suggs’s shoulders dropped half an inch and his mouth went slack.
“I don’t believe it.”
“I never lie to you, Melvin. You’re my favorite cop.”
“So? What do you want?”
“I was thinkin’ maybe we could help each other out.”
“How can you help me?”
“My father told me when I was a boy,” I said, “ ‘Ezekiel, when you’re in trouble the first thing you look for is somebody that wants to help you. Because that want alone is half the way home.’ ”
Suggs was built like an oaf but that rough exterior was blessed with a razor-sharp mind. He knew that I represented at least a chance at hope.
He grunted and snorted like that old cockroach might have done while rooting through the garbage. There was a predator yanking at his leg and he needed a miracle no matter where it came from.
“Come on in, Easy,” he said. “You know the doctors are saying that too much sunlight might give you cancer.”
11
Suggs’s living room was in shambles. It consisted of a blue sofa, a dark red stuffed chair, and a four-foot-square coffee table that was light brown and frosted, like a maple-glazed cake doughnut. There were half a dozen white boxes from Chinese takeout on that table. On the other side of the room, across from the blue sofa, was a portable TV on a folding pine chair just like the temporary setup my daughter and I had the night before. There were socks and shoes, T-shirts and underwear, newspapers, books, and even a .45 revolver strewn upon the tan carpet.
A thin layer of dust covered everything and there was a sour tang on the air.
“Have a seat, Easy,” Suggs said.
Walking to the red chair, I heard the carpet crunch under my feet.
“You want me to make you some instant?” the gruff cop offered.
“No thanks, Melvin, I already had my jolt this morning.”
I sat down and put my hands
After half a minute of struggle the sparrow let go of the roach’s foot, hopped over the bug, and pecked at its head. The roach scuttled halfway into the overgrown lawn, where its nemesis clamped its beak on his leg again. They seemed to be of equal strength, but the sparrow had youth on its side where the huge cockroach gave the impression of old age.
The fight made me nervous. I wanted to protect the roach.
The roach made it a few more millimeters into the brush. The sparrow was flapping its wings furiously.
I might have moved to scare the bird off but I heard the door coming open behind me.
“Rawlins?” a familiar gruff voice said.
I didn’t want to turn away from the drama but I had my own struggles to be concerned with.
Melvin was maybe five-nine, four inches shorter than I, but we weighed the same. He wasn’t so much fat as bulky, with a squashed face, lovely doe-brown eyes, and powerful hands. He was wearing blue-striped boxer shorts and a gray T-shirt with a dozen tiny tears across the front. His basic brown hair had a few more strands of gray than at our last encounter. The unruly mop was getting longer and he hadn’t brushed it yet that day. The only concession he had made to civility was to step into a pair of dilapidated brown slippers.
“Mornin’, Melvin.”
“How’d you know where I lived?” he asked.
“Guy named Gilly used to make bottled water deliveries in this neighborhood. He’s a friend of a friend who knew I knew you. You’re famous among the brothers, Mr. Suggs. The only white cop we know of that would never call us a nigger.”
He glowered at me. “Why are you here?”
“I heard you were in some kind of trouble.”
“What the hell does that have to do with you?”
“My source told me that you were facing jail time if you didn’t resign.”
“Who said that?” Suggs asked the question as if the notion was ridiculous.
“Roger Frisk.”
Suggs’s shoulders dropped half an inch and his mouth went slack.
“I don’t believe it.”
“I never lie to you, Melvin. You’re my favorite cop.”
“So? What do you want?”
“I was thinkin’ maybe we could help each other out.”
“How can you help me?”
“My father told me when I was a boy,” I said, “ ‘Ezekiel, when you’re in trouble the first thing you look for is somebody that wants to help you. Because that want alone is half the way home.’ ”
Suggs was built like an oaf but that rough exterior was blessed with a razor-sharp mind. He knew that I represented at least a chance at hope.
He grunted and snorted like that old cockroach might have done while rooting through the garbage. There was a predator yanking at his leg and he needed a miracle no matter where it came from.
“Come on in, Easy,” he said. “You know the doctors are saying that too much sunlight might give you cancer.”
11
Suggs’s living room was in shambles. It consisted of a blue sofa, a dark red stuffed chair, and a four-foot-square coffee table that was light brown and frosted, like a maple-glazed cake doughnut. There were half a dozen white boxes from Chinese takeout on that table. On the other side of the room, across from the blue sofa, was a portable TV on a folding pine chair just like the temporary setup my daughter and I had the night before. There were socks and shoes, T-shirts and underwear, newspapers, books, and even a .45 revolver strewn upon the tan carpet.
A thin layer of dust covered everything and there was a sour tang on the air.
“Have a seat, Easy,” Suggs said.
Walking to the red chair, I heard the carpet crunch under my feet.
“You want me to make you some instant?” the gruff cop offered.
“No thanks, Melvin, I already had my jolt this morning.”
I sat down and put my hands
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