'Pete. My friend Pete.'
'Pete, huh?' Mason chuckled. He wandered over to my left and before I could turn toward him I felt the hard knot of his fist explode against the side of my head. I was on the ground again.
'Get up,' Miller said.
I got up again.
'So where was you and your peter drinkin'?' Mason sneered.
'Down at a friend's on Eighty-nine.'
Mason moved again but this time I turned. He just looked at me with an innocent face and his palms turned upward.
'Would that be an illegal nightclub called John's?' Miller asked.
I was quiet.
'You got bigger problems than busting your friend's bar, Ezekiel. You got bigger troubles than that.'
'What kinds troubles?'
'Big troubles.'
'What's that mean?'
'Means we can take your black ass out behind the station and put a bullet in your head,' Mason said.
'Where were you at five o'clock on Thursday morning, Mr. Rawlins?' Miller asked.
'I don't know exactly.'
Mason had taken off his shoe and started swatting the heel against his fat palm.
'Five o'clock,' Miller said.
We played that game a little while longer. Finally I said, 'Look, you don't have to beat up your hand on my account; I'm happy to tell you what you wanna know.'
'You ready to cooperate?' Miller asked.
'Yes, sir.'
'Where did you go when you left Coretta James' house on Thursday morning?'
'I went home.'
Mason tried to kick the chair out from under me but I was on my feet before he could.
'I had enough'a this shit, man!' I yelled, but neither cop seemed very impressed. 'I told you I went home, and that's all.'
'Have a seat, Mr. Rawlins,' Miller said calmly.
'Why'm I gonna sit and you keep tryin' to knock me down?' I cried. But I sat down anyway.
'I told ya he was crazy, Bill,' Mason said. 'I told ya this was a section eight.'
'Mr. Rawlins,' Miller said. 'Where did you go after you left Miss James' house?'
'I went home.'
No one hit me that time; no one tried to kick the chair.
'Did you see Miss James later that day?'
'No, sir.'
'Did you have an altercation with Mr. Bouchard?'
I understood him but I said, 'Huh?'
'Did you and Dupree Bouchard have words over Miss James?'
'You know,' Mason chimed in. 'Pete.'
'That's what I call him sometimes,' I said.
'Did you,' Miller repeated, 'have an altercation with Mr. Bouchard?'
'I didn't have nuthin' with Dupree. He was asleep.'
'So where did you go on Thursday?'
'I went home with a hangover. I stayed there all day and night and then I went to work today. Well'—I wanted to keep them talking so that Mason wouldn't lose his temper with the furniture again—'not to work really because I got fired Monday. But I went to get my job back.'
'Where did you go on Thursday?'
'I went home with a hangover …'
'Nigger!' Mason tore into me with his fists. He knocked me to the floor but I grabbed onto his wrists. I swung around and twisted so that I was straddling his back, sitting on his fat ass. I could have killed him the way I'd killed other white men in uniforms, but I could feel Miller behind me so I stood straight up and moved to the corner.
