district. Chances were they'd catch me before daybreak anyway.
I went back over everything that had happened, detail by detail. I could think about it now: it didn't make any difference at all. I felt very calm and reasonable. They were going to catch me and give me thirty years in prison. For raping a white woman I hadn't even tried to rape.
Then it burst wide open in my mind. I wasn't excited. I looked at it objectively, as if it concerned somebody else. I'd kill Johnny Stoddart and let them hang me for it. All they could ever do to me then would be to get even. I was going but I'd take him with me.
I opened the glove compartment, got out my pistol I'd put there Monday afternoon, snapped on the overhead light, looked to see if it was loaded. Satisfied, I put it back, snapped off the light, mashed the starter, turned on the headlights, I felt for a cigarette, didn't have any. I noticed that my hands were trembling, but I didn't feel nervous.
I went ahead to Central, turned south to Slauson, doing a slow twenty-five, observing all the traffic rules, stopping at the boulevard stops, putting out my hand when I turned. At Slauson I turned toward Soto, stopped at Soto for the red light.
A police cruiser pulled up beside me. The cop on the outside gave me a casual glance, saw that I was a Negro, and came to attention. He leaned out the window and said, 'Pull over to the curb, boy.'
For just an instant I debated whether to try to make a break, but I knew I didn't have enough gas to get away and there was no need of getting another whipping for nothing. I pulled over to the curb, cut the motor. The cops pulled up ahead of me, got out, and came back.
'Let's see your operator's licence,' one said.
I fished out my billfold, handed it to him.
He looked at it, turned the leaf and looked at my draft classification, then caught sight of Alice's picture. He showed it to the other cop. They grinned.
One turned his flashlight on me. 'Whew!' he whistled, then said, 'Get out!'
It wasn't until then I remembered about my pistol but it was too late to worry about that now. For an instant I hesitated, debated whether to try; then I thought What the hell's the use? got out, and stood beside the running board.
'Who you been fighting, boy?' one asked.
It startled me. I knew then that they didn't know I was wanted; they'd just stopped me because I was a black boy in a big car in a white neighbourhood.
'I was in an accident at the plant where I work,' I lisped.
'Where's your shop identification?'
'I left it at home.'
'What you doing out in this neighbourhood?'
'I was on my way home.'
He turned to the other cop. 'Let him go?' he asked.
The other cop shrugged.
The first cop flashed the light into the car, looked about the seats, pulled open the glove compartment, and brought out the pistol.
'Aha!' he said.
The other cop took me by the arm while the one with the flashlight locked the car ignition, rolled up the windows, and locked the doors. Then they got on each side of me, walked me back to the cruiser. One sat in the back with me; the other one drove.
They held me at the desk. Finally a lieutenant came out and looked at me. 'Aren't you the boy they want in Pedro for that rape at Atlas?' he asked.
I didn't reply. He slapped me.
'Answer when I speak to you,' he said.
I still didn't answer. He looked as if he was trying to decide whether to get rough with me or not, then turned impatiently to the cops who picked me up. 'What we got on him here?' he asked.
'Gun in his car,' the copper said.
The lieutenant turned to the desk sergeant, 'Lock him up and call Pedro. We'll let them have him first.' Then he stood there, looking important for a moment, and went out through a door.
The desk sergeant motioned the jailer to take me away. He took me back and locked me in a cell with a guy with a cut head. He lay on his bunk, moaning slightly. I imagined he was more scared than hurt. I stood there, leaning against the bars, not thinking about anything at all. Some time later, I don't know how long, the jailer came and took me out again, and two other policemen took me out past the sergeant's desk again and put me in a car and drove me down to San Pedro.
They put me in a cell by myself this time. It was a dirty grimy cell, stinking of urine, sweat, and filth. The cotton mattress was bare, stained in several spots, looked as though it might be crawling with lice. I didn't give a goddamn; I stretched out on it. I didn't think I'd ever sleep again.
CHAPTER XXII
I dreamed that when I came to Johnny Stoddart's house it was dark and I walked up to the door and pushed the bell then I rapped on the door panel and shouted, 'Western Union,' and a light came on inside and the door was unlocked and I put my left hand on the knob, pulled my gun with my right, and rode it in.
Johnny Stoddart's eyes popped and his face drained colour and he stood in rigid amazement all dressed up to go to work and over his shoulder I saw his wife coming from the lighted kitchen to see what it was all about. I put the gun to his heart and pulled the trigger three times, the sounds exploding in the house and echoing in the street, and the slugs knocking him back a little. He kept clinging to the knob of the door as he started going down, crumbling slowly to the floor as if he was squatting down and it was painful and finally his hand let loose the door- knob and his chest hit his knees and he pitched doubled-up at my feet.
I looked down at him and knew he was dead and felt a crazy exultation, as if I had conquered the world and gotten past, gotten through, wrapped up in the glory of immortality, as free, goddamnit, as Thomas Jefferson, aw, goddamnit, you had me, but I'm out now- out — I'm broken out, and now all you white sons of bitches can go to hell. It was all I could do to keep from emptying the gun into his body.
Then I saw the woman's face and it was stretched in vertical lines with the mouth opening and closing soundlessly as she stood in the kitchen doorway with her hands held rigidly in an odd pose in front of her and I turned and walked slowly back to the street and all inside of me felt swollen and bursting with joy as if I'd just hit a hundred-thousand-dollar jackpot. I wanted to run and leap and shout and roll in the goddamned street.
I walked past houses and felt good, fine, wonderful, and felt something heavy in my hand and looked down and saw the gun and without being aware of what I was doing sat down on the curb and took out my handkerchief and began wiping it carefully for fingerprints then thought of the white boy falling dead at my feet and all of a sudden just burst out laughing like hell.
The woman ran out into the street and began yelling, 'Murder! Murder! Murder!' in a high hysterical shriek and I jumped up and dropped the gun and started to run and the woman kept screaming, 'Police! Catch him! There he goes! Murderer!' and the voice pushed me on.
After a moment I heard footsteps behind me and looked over my shoulder and saw the biggest man I ever saw in the uniform of a Marine sergeant with rows of stripes and decorations on his chest and I turned and dove for his legs but he leaped over me and turned on the balls of his feet and I staggered to my feet and dodged him and ran around the corner and a dog came out of the shadows and started barking and in the distance I could still hear the woman screaming.
The Marine was trotting along behind me chuckling to himself and after we'd run about a block I stopped and wheeled around and swung at him and he caught my arm, twisted it behind my back and put a half-nelson about my throat and marched me down the street. I didn't struggle. I knew it wasn't any use. We came to an alley and he pushed me down it and stopped and turned me around to face him releasing his hold and I couldn't see his face but his breath smelled like a gin barrel.
