A Dead Man Speaks Read online

  Obsidian

  An imprint of Genesis Press, Inc.

  Publishing Company

  Genesis Press, Inc.

  P.O. Box 101

  Columbus, MS 39703

  All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical, or other means, not known or hereafter invented, including xerography, photocopying, and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, is forbidden without written permission of the publisher, Genesis Press, Inc. For information write Genesis Press, Inc., P.O. Box 101, Columbus, MS 39703.

  All characters in this book have no existence outside the imagination of the author and have no relation whatsoever to anyone bearing the same name or names. They are not even distantly inspired by any individual known or unknown to the author and all incidents are pure invention.

  Copyright© 2006 by Lisa Jones Johnson

  ISBN-13: 978-1-58571-531-2

  ISBN-10: 1-58571-531-x

  Manufactured in the United States of America

  First Edition

  Visit us at www.genesis-press.com or call at 1-888-Indigo-1-4-0

  Dedication

  I would first like to dedicate this book to my sister Stephanie J. Marioneaux whose enthusiastic response to my earliest manuscript provided me with the impetus to continue on what ultimately proved to be a long and winding road. Along that road I also received invaluable support and encouragement from my parents, William B. Jones and Joanne F. Jones and from my brother Walter C. Jones, to whom this book is also dedicated. Finally, I dedicate this book to the “two Jarones” in my life, first to my husband Jarone Johnson, Jr., without whom I would not have been able to persevere in this endeavor and who is the love of my life and second to our son Jarone III, the light of both of our lives.

  Acknowledgments

  I would first like to acknowledge my agent, Lisa Davis. Her unflagging enthusiasm, tireless work and invaluable insight have made this book possible. I truly appreciate her dedication and her ability to persevere, without which, this book may not have been published. I would also like to acknowledge Marie Brown who was the first agent to take a personal interest in my work and who first introduced me to Lisa Davis. I would also like to acknowledge the support that has been given by one of my closest friends, Raphael R. Carty who read the book in its earliest form and has always been an enthusiastic supporter of this project. Finally, I would like to acknowledge the excellent work of all of the editors and staff at Genesis Press in bringing this book to print.

  CHAPTER ONE

  New York 1987

  The acrid smell of burning coke was everywhere. Seeping into the soft, plush furniture, burrowing into the silky carpet and the smooth walls. It stinks, but I didn’t mind ’cause there was nothing like it. Opened up the mind, made a man forget himself, and God knows I needed that. Her hand rubbed my cheek. Tiny, soft hands.

  My mind drifted back over the evening. It had only been a few hours earlier, but now it seemed like an eternity…Wall Street faces flowed past me, my colleagues, my friends…my enemies.

  “Congratulations, Clive…great work, stupendous fourth quarter.”

  My enemies surrounded me, whispering words of praise, silently wishing that I’d fall. I wanted to close my mind on everything and walk away from my life. But I couldn’t, one more deal, that’s all, just this last one, and I’d be free. For good.

  I noticed him watching me, envy creeping around the corners of his eyes. Maneuvering his way over to me as if he’d been holding back, waiting for the moment to drop it. “We need to talk…”

  I looked through him, a short dark squirrel of a man, with wide-set eyes and a large nose, his wrinkled, bald head made him look older than his forty years. His body quivered with anxiousness as he sidled closer to me. I wondered for the first time, how I’d ever brought him in, why I’d ever trusted him. “Not now…”

  “But Clive…”

  “We’ll talk tomorrow…”

  “Tomorrow may be too late…”

  “Why?…”

  “It’s just that…well I got a call, from…” And he lowered his voice.

  “Not here.” I interrupted. My enemies surrounded me. I couldn’t afford even one slip, one minor indiscretion. Now I hissed angrily, more at myself for ever making myself vulnerable to his manipulation. “I told you we’d talk tomorrow.”

  “But what about later tonight…”

  “I’m leaving the city, I won’t have time.”

  He rocked back on the sides of his shoes, the way he always did when he was angry, but knew better than to say anything, pleading, almost begging me to listen to him, to give him the dignity he thought he deserved. “But they want to increase their position, and we’d have to make the trade tomorrow morning—”

  “So then just do it.” I turned my back on him, leaving a trail of whispers behind me.

  I slipped into my car, the creamy leather seats enfolding me as I whizzed down the expressway…the smell of the ocean filled the car…an aphrodisiac, teasing my senses. I thought about her waiting for me…opening the door…And then I saw her face, the light green eyes clouded against her golden, taffy-colored skin, the thick mop of dark, curly hair framing her face. How often had I held her, how often had I seen her lips part in that same half-teasing, half-defiant smile…

  “Hi…”

  I grabbed her, wanting to make love to her before I told her. But she smiled playfully, pushing me away. “Look what I got.”

  She pulled out a gram of icy, white coke, licking the edge of the paper hungrily. “To celebrate.” Would she still want to celebrate when I told her that I’m leaving, but not with her? All the years between us, but I still can’t do it; I still can’t surrender my soul to her. Would she understand this time, too?

  “Here, Clive. It’s good…” A sucking noise. The dull light glinted against the pipe, trembling ever so slightly. She must really be fucked up.

  “Almost as good as the first time…remember…”

  That’s what she always said. Ssssssssssssss, a nice long one. My eyes shut tightly, letting the feeling curl over me like a woman’s touch, soft, seductive, and always so deadly.

  “I’m gonna get some champagne.” She leaned down over me, kissing me slowly. I could taste the coke on her lips. Her hand rubbed my cheek. Tiny, soft hands.

  My eyes followed her small body weaving out of the room, down the hallway, and into the kitchen. I closed my eyes again, going over every detail of my plan in my mind for the hundredth or maybe thousandth time; I’d lost track now. Every step sharpened by time and urgency. One more week, and I’d have the final payment and my freedom from a life that was no longer mine.

  I was finally starting to relax; the blow was starting to kick in. It always took longer when I was tensed up, but now the tingly feeling was rushing through me. A sharp, searing pain was suddenly tearing through my back, ripping the breath out of me. I doubled over. It felt as if someone had taken a thousand knives and exploded them in me. And it was all a blur, except for blood everywhere: on my chest, covering my hands, the white carpet, and the room’s empty.

  And I realize, I’d been fuckin’ shot…somebody’s…but now the room was spinning. I knew this was it. The dark curtains were enveloping me and then the light…like the light at home, soft…beckoning…taking me to the place I thought I’d forgotten. And then I smiled, I understood now, all the years, all the money…the lies, but you could never escape, it would always pull you back…

  CHAPTER TWO

  Hendersonville, Mississippi 1957, Clive: Four Years Old

  “How’s my little Clive?” Daddy scooped me up as if I were a bundle of soft rags.


  I laughed and buried my head in his warm chest, which smelled of tobacco and sweat. He lifted me up so high. Sitting right there on top of his shoulders, I was ten feet tall. I looked into his face, dark brown, and smooth as stone. The kind I’d throw in the muddy puddles of water out back. And when Daddy laughed, it was that big laugh that I knew even God must hear…shaking the sides of the house.

  Until we’d hear Ma’s voice, always the same. “Lorenzo, put him down! Clive, I tol’ you to stop horsin’ ’round in the mornin’ with your father.”

  Ma almost never smiled. In fact, I can’t remember when she ever smiled, except maybe in church when the preacher got going. But that was only on Sunday. The rest of the days she was just a tall, thin woman with a long, hard line where the smile should be on her face. I don’t think she was really sad, maybe just mad. Especially when she’d touch me with her hard, red hands.

  Ma worked at a big place in town, sewing buttons on hundreds of dresses. So when she got home at night, usually after it was already dark, she’d bang around in the kitchen making dinner for Daddy and me. She hated doing it. And then she’d eat, without saying a word.

  “If he gits sick, I’m the one who’s gotta stay home and take care a him, and here you’re like to freeze him to death, put him back in the bed.”

  “But, Ma, I wanna get up…”

  “Sarah, the boy’s not a baby anymore…”

  “And he’s not growed yet either.” Without saying another word, she’d walk back into the tiny bedroom, muttering something to herself.

  Me and Daddy smiled, sharing our private joke. Daddy wrapped me up in a blanket. The big red one that had MILLERS DRY GOODS on it. It had a big hole in the bottom, so Daddy tucked it up under me and carried me over to the leaky furnace. “Ready, partner?”

  “Yep!”

  “Let’s see what we can git outta her.”

  He rared way back and gave the heater a big kick. The heater made these grunting, gurgling kinds of noises, just before one big wheeze, and then a blast of warm dry air.

  “Guess she’s in a real good mood today, feels pretty hot.”

  Daddy took my hands in his huge ones, and we stood over the heater together. The heat was tickling me, running all up under my hands, shoving away the last little bits of cold. And I didn’t even care that Ma never smiled at me.

  CHAPTER THREE

  1962

  “Sssshhhh!!!!”

  “Aw shut up, Clive. You always bossin’.”

  “Look, if you don’t shut up, somebody’ll hear us.”

  “Well I don’t care. Don’t think this’s such a good idea anyway. What if—”

  I shoved Jesse in the ribs to be quiet. Fat Mr. Arbunk was heaving across the street. He stopped for a minute and looked over in our direction, squinting in the early morning sun. I motioned for Andy and Jesse to get closer so he couldn’t see us behind the magnolia bushes. Mr. Arbunk scratched his wormy lookin’ head, tilted it toward us, then scratched his butt. Andy snickered. I glared at him. We had to keep real quiet. We curled up further under the bush so the only thing you could see was green leaves and big, droopy, white Magnolia flowers.

  But I wasn’t looking at them; my eyes were fixed on the object of this intense secrecy. Across the street, next to the creaky post office. The gleaming new playground. A slide—the biggest piece of shiny steel I’d ever seen. Just waitin’ for me to glide down at a hundred miles an hour. And the swings with the red leather seats, dangling lazily in the wind. Surrounding what had to be the closest thing to heaven I’d ever seen, was a nasty-looking black wire fence with WHITES ONLY stamped on it.

  The playground was empty. It was early Saturday morning, so none of the white kids were up yet. Just as I planned it. Post office wasn’t even open. And except for Mr. Arbunk who’d disappeared down a narrow alley, the town’s main street was completely empty.

  Further down the same street was the other playground: the swings completely broken, the slide not even worth lookin’ at, much less using. And the dirty, rusted fence that surrounded it had COLORED ONLY plastered across it. The first time I saw their playground, I knew I was gonna use it. I just had to get my troops in line. That’s what I called Jesse and Andy when we played war with the Jeffers boys. I was always the general, and Jesse and Andy were my troops, so I guess I just got used to thinkin’ of them like that.

  I motioned for them to follow me. Finger pressed against my lips telling them to BE QUIET! They were a little chicken. I really had to keep them in line. But this was the best thing we’d done yet. It was worth everything.

  I whispered, “Okay, jus’ follow me.” I looked to the right, then the left. The big clock in the square toned seven times. I froze. Jesse and Andy scurried back to the Magnolia bush. Disgustedly, I motioned for them to get back over here.

  They crawled out slowly, looking around. Then, they reluctantly followed me across the street. I don’t know how many times I’d thought about this. Climbing over the black fence. Hoisting myself over the top. I was a pirate, capturing the prize ship. “C’mon, last one in’s a rotten egg!” I ran over to the slide. And just about jumped up the ten steps to the top. Looking down over the town, I was the king.

  Whoosh. The wind sung around my ears, whipping across my head. “C’mon, Andy, get your big, fat butt over here. Jesse’s got you beat!”

  “You worry ’bout yourself. I’m right behind y’all!”

  Andy clunked up the steps of the slide, plopping down on the cold steel and flying down after me. Again and again. I don’t remember how many times. But every time I did it, I was on top of the world; and nobody, not Ma, not nobody could stop me now.

  “Why you little pickanninnies! What the hell you doin’ in there?!!!!”

  My heart literally jumped outta my stomach into my mouth. I don’t think I was ever so scared. Even when Ma went out back and got the switch, and I knew she was gonna lay into me. This was different ’cause this was the white man. Or the Ofay or the bogeyman like Daddy sometimes called ’em when they weren’t listenin. And everybody knew what the bogeyman did to you.

  “I said what the hell are you little coloreds doin’ there?!”

  My mind suddenly started working again. I ran around the slide and in between the swings with Jesse and Andy right behind me. There was another gate in the back—if we could just make it there before the white man got over there.

  “Just like a bunch of dumb negras. You really think you kin outrun me!” He heaved over to the fence, blocking the way, but I wasn’t giving up.

  I kicked him as hard as I could in the knee, yelling to Andy and Jesse, “Run!!!!”

  “Why you little…sheet! There’s negras in the white playground!” He shouted at the top of his mean squeaky voice. “There’s negras in the white playground!”

  Andy cried, and Jesse looked like he was about to start.

  “I tol’ you we shoundna…”

  Suddenly, the whole square was filled with angry white men. You’d a thought we’d killed somebody or something.

  Slap. A fat, white hand smacked me across my face as I tried to scamper away. Another white man had already nabbed Jesse and Andy.

  And the last thing I remember was thinking maybe this wasn’t such a good idea after all.

  * * *

  “Look at them little negras, just like little monkeys over there…”

  “Yeah throw ’em a chicken bone. You knows how negras likes chicken.” A loud, raspy laugh belched out of the dirty sheriff who sat in front of the jail as he whipped a greasy chicken bone through the bars.

  Me, Andy, and Jesse were huddled in a corner of the stinking jail. It smelled like piss and vomit. That’s ’cause in the corner was this drunk colored man. He must’ve thrown up in his sleep ’cause little pieces of dried vomit were stuck to his face and to the front of his torn shirt. They’d thrown us in here after they pulled us outta the playground.

  Andy and Jesse just kept crying the whole time and asking for their mamas
. I don’t know why, but I didn’t cry. I couldn’t. I guess I just knew that somehow we were gonna get outta this. I mean, they couldn’t keep us here forever. The colored man in the corner hiccupped and opened one eye, tipping dazedly over in our direction.

  Jesse wiped the tears off his cheeks and hissed to me angrily.

  “It’s all your fault…I tol’ you I didn’t wanna do it…I tol’ you. Now they gonna leave us in here…”

  Andy jumped and shoved me. “Yeah, now they’ll never let us see our mamas again!”

  I knew we’d get out, but I couldn’t think of anything to say to Andy and Jesse to convince them. I just hugged my knees against my chest and looked at the fat, drunk man in the corner snoring again.

  He sounded like a sick horse. The deputy sheriff pressed his pink face against the bars of the jail and cracked up listening to us. “Well, now I guess that’ll teach y’all darkies to stay in your place. Don’t you know you can’t do like white folks can?”

  The other sheriff spat some tobacco in our direction. A big wad of smelly, dark-brown tobacco landed right by my foot. “That’s the problem with the negra nowdays. With all them sit-ins and what not, they really startin’ to think they is equal to us.”

  Jingling his keys, the sheriff gnawed on his tobacco some more, waddled over to the jail and stood next to the deputy. His breath smelled like chitlins and sour lemonade. “It’ll be a cold day in hell ’fore any of yous ever have what the white man’s got. You remember that, stay in yo place and you be all right. But you start thinkin’ you can have what’s ours and only ours, and well…little negras, I guess you’ll just end up right where y’ar now. Under the got damned jailhouse.”

  * * *

  Right under the jailhouse alright, for playing in their playground. Or dead. They never did like us to play with their toys. I guess that’s why I’m sitting in a pool of blood now. My future, my plans, my life all ebbing out in a bloody mess around me. All for playing in their playground. And now the thoughts are rushing, and I hear the voices, but where is she, how could she leave me? Did she…No, I couldn’t believe that. It must be them. And the voices in my head that won’t stop, the spinning wheels of my past rushing at me like a thousand crazed horses…