Read Bad Boy Brawly Brown Online
Authors: Walter Mosley
put his hand on her shoulder and she crumpled against his chest.
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“Is this your son we’re talkin’ about?” I asked.
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“Brawly,” she said, nodding.
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“He was workin’ for me out at the lots up till a couple’a weeks 9
ago,” John said.
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Alva shed silent tears that rolled down John’s dirty T-shirt as if it 11
were made of wax paper.
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The woman’s grief and her man sharing it moved me out of my-13
self for a moment. In that instant I saw myself, fevered and mindless, 14
reveling in these good people’s pain. But the vision passed and for a 15
long time I forgot that I’d even had it.
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“Where’d he go?”
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Alva’s hard glare was daunting but I didn’t look away.
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“That’s why we need your help, Easy,” John said. “He moved out 19
and she’s afraid —
we’re
afraid — that he might be in trouble.”
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“How old is Brawly?” I asked.
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“Twenty-three, but he’s young for his age.” The tenderness in her 22
voice was rare.
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“Twenty-three! How old are you?”
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“I had him when I was sixteen. Aldridge was the age Brawly is 25
now.”
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“Excuse me for askin’, honey, but you don’t look nowhere near 27
thirty-nine.”
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Even through that rock-hard perfection a little vanity found a 29
chink. A smile flickered on her lips and then died.
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“Why you think he’s in trouble?” I asked. “I mean at twenty-31 R
three he could just be out havin’ a good time.”
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“No, Easy. Not this boy,” John said. “He broods. He did good in 1
high school but then he got in trouble and dropped out. Now he’s in 2
wit’ a bad crowd and Alva’s worried.”
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“So you want me to find him?”
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Alva sat up. The pain in her face almost made me turn away.
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“Yes,” she said. “And maybe, somehow, help us to get him back 6
home.”
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“I’ll do what I can. Sure.”
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“Oh,” she uttered, and I did look away.
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“What kinda crowd you talkin’ about?” I asked John.
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“They call themselves urban revolutionaries or somethin’.”
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“Say what?”
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“The Urban Revolutionary Party,” Alva said. She was sitting 13
erect. Any show of weakness had been wiped away. “They also call 14
themselves the First Men.”
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“Who are they?”
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“They say that they’re freedom fighters but all they want is trou-17
ble,” she said. “Talkin’ about the church and civil rights, but when it 18
comes down to it they only want violence and revenge.”
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“Prob’ly communists,” John added.
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“He left some pamphlets they made,” Alva said. “I’ll get them for 21
you.”
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She went through a door opposite the one John and I had en-23
tered.
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“You got to do this right, Easy,” he told me when she was gone.
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“How you mean that?”
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“Brawly got to come outta this safe.”
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“How I’m supposed to promise you that if he’s runnin’ around 28
with thugs? You know yourself it’s better not even to look for ’im. Ei-29
ther he’s gonna outgrow it or it’s gonna row him under. That’s the S 30
way it is for all young black men.”
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He knew I was right.
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Alva came in with four or five cheaply printed pamphlets clutched 3
to her breast.
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“Here they are.” She made no attempt to hand them over.
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“Can I take them?” I asked.
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She swayed backward slightly. Finally John took them from her.
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“Here,” he said, handing the crumpled leaflets to me.
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“What do you want from me, Alva?” I said loud and clear.
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“I want you to find Brawly.”
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“That’s all? If he’s with these people here, you or John could go 11
do that for yourselves.”
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“I want you to talk to him, Easy,” she said. “If he saw us, he’d be 13
even angrier. I want to know that he’s okay and maybe, if he would 14
listen to you, maybe . . .”
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“Where he is is easy,” I said. “But what he’s doin’ an’ how he’s 16
doin’ takes a closer look. I’ll look him up, then come back here and 17
tell you what I think. If he’s willing to listen to reason, maybe I’ll 18
even bring him home.”
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“We gonna pay you now, Easy.” John held up his hand as if he 20
were defending himself from attack.
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“Invite me an’ the kids and Bonnie over for dinner and I’ll be 22
paid in full.”
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John laughed. “Still the same, huh, Easy?”
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“If it work, don’t fix it.” It felt good trading words with my friend.
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“Alva,” I said then. “I need two more things from you.”
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“What?”
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“First I’ma need a picture of Brawly. And next I wanna know 28
what your husband got to do with this.”
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“Nuthin’,” she said. “Aldridge don’t have nuthin’ to do with this.
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Why?”
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“I don’t know. You’re the one that brought him up. You and 1
John.”
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“He said it.” She sounded like a guilty student answering to a 3
strict teacher. “I only meant about Brawly.”
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“You think he mighta gone to his father’s house?”
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“Never.”
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“I thought you said he was a good father? That he raised 7
Brawly?”
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“Brawly ran away from Aldridge when he was fourteen. He went 9
to stay with my cousin; she was livin’ up in Riverside then. Some-10
thing happened between him and his father and he ran away. I don’t 11
think that they’ve seen each other since then.”
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“Brawly lived with his cousin? Why didn’t he come to you?”
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“That don’t have nuthin’ to do wit’ nuthin’, Easy,” John said.
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He’d come up next to Alva and put his arms around her. “That’s an-15
cient history.”
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“Uh-huh. I see. Well, if Brawly didn’t go to his father, how about 17
this cousin?”
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“No,” Alva said.
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“No what?”
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“He’s not with her.”
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“Excuse me, Miss Torres, but you don’t know where Brawly is.
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That’s why you called me.”
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“Back off, Easy,” John warned. “You got them pamphlets. We 24
told you where he’s been hangin’ out.”
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“Suppose he ain’t there? Suppose I cain’t get in there? Suppose 26
he stayin’ wit’ this cousin an’ sumpin’s wrong? You cain’t ask me to 27
do this an’ not tell me nuthin’.”
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Alva walked out again. She might have been angry but I didn’t 29
care.
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“Easy, you don’t know everything,” John said. “Alva’s had a hard 2
time, and this thing with Brawly really hurts her. It’s only been the 3
last few years that they been close again.”
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“I can’t help if you wanna tie me up from the git-go, man.”
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“Maybe I shouldn’ta called you then.” It was a dismissal.
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Alva had returned, again.
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“John,” she said. “He’s right. If I want his help, I have to give him 8
what he needs.”
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Saying that, she handed me a scrap of torn paper and an old pho-10
tograph of a six- or seven-year-old child. The boy’s hair was cut close 11
to the scalp. He was burly and had heavy features, which made him 12
seem pensive in spite of his smile.
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“What’s this?”
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“It’s a picture of Brawly and Isolda Moore’s phone number and 15
address.”
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“This Isolda’s your cousin?”
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The thought was so distasteful to Alva that she could only nod.
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“I thought you said that she lived in Riverside?”
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“She moved to L.A. a few years ago. She sent Brawly a card with 20
her number, but he never called it.”
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“Now what about this picture?”
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“What about it?” she asked.
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“You said that Brawly’s twenty-three.”
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“That’s the only picture I have. But it’s him. You’ll see.”
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“She’s right about that, Easy,” John said. “Brawly looks exactly 26
the same today. Only he’s bigger.”
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“You know any place that he might hang out just for fun?” I 28
asked.
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“Brawly like to eat,” John said. “All you got to do is look for the 30 S
biggest feed bag. He likes Hambones quite a bit. That’s right down 31 R
the block from them thugs he’s wit’.”
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“Find him for me, Mr. Rawlins,” Alva said. “I know I haven’t 1
been kind to you and that you don’t have any reason to want to help 2
me. I’m sorry that I didn’t treat you right before, but from now on my 3
door will always be open to you.”
4
That open door meant more than any money John could offer 5
me. In country terms it was worth the host’s weight in gold. If she was 6
willing to pay such a high price, I wondered what the cost might be.
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/ NOT TEN WORDS PASSED
between John and me on the ride back to the site. He was naturally a quiet man, 3
but this silence was sullen and heavy. There was something else on 4
his mind. But whatever it was, he wasn’t sharing it with me.
5
When I was driving off I could hear him shouting orders at the 6
ex-burglars.
7
The fever was still burning in me. For the first time I thought 8
that I might have had some kind of flu. I went down three blocks of 9
dirt road to the first paved street. There I pulled over to the curb to 10
catch my breath. The February air was chilly and the sky was still 11
blue. I was like a child, so excited that it was hard to concentrate on 12
anything but sensations.
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I knew that I had to calm down. I had to think. John called on 14 S
me because he knew that I had been among desperate men my 15 R
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whole life. I could see when the blow was coming. But I couldn’t see 1
anything if I didn’t relax.
2
I lit up a cigarette and took a deep draw. The smoke coiling 3
around my dashboard brought on the cool resolve of the snake it re-4
sembled.
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The pamphlet was mimeographed on newsprint, folded and sta-6
pled by hand. The Urban Revolutionary Party was a cultural group, 7
it said, that sought the restitution and recognition of the builders of 8
our world — African men and women. They didn’t believe in
slave
9
laws,
that is to say, any laws imposed on black men by whites, just as 10
they didn’t accept forced military service or white political leader-11
ship. They rejected the white man’s notion of history, even the his-12
tory of Europe. But mostly they seemed perturbed about taxes as 13
they applied to social needs and services;
the distribution of wealth,
14
the blurred purple words explained,
as it applies to our labor, and the
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dreams that we hardly dare to imagine, is woefully inadequate.
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I’d read similar ideas before. I had read a lot in my time. Most 17
of it white man’s fictions and his histories, too. I was a sucker for 18
history.
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A car drove up and parked while I was remembering what I’d 20
read about the plebes of ancient Rome. Two car doors slammed one 21
after the other, but I was busy wondering whether that ancient op-22
pressed people had some kind of pamphlets, or was it all word of 23
mouth?
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But when I heard “Step out of the car,” I was dragged back to the 25
present.
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The policemen had flanked my Pontiac. One of them had his 27
hand on his holster and the other actually had his pistol drawn. My 28