We're back outside now. I wish I hadn't let Charles talk me into it. We're all standing around a mud puddle. The only light we have comes from Charles porch light. I'm using the side of my shoe sole to cut little ditches so that water from the big puddle runs over into a little puddle. Thomas leans against his daddy's new Olds on the other side of the puddle. Charles is talking to him.
"We need a fast car tonight. One with a good top end."
"My daddy checks the odometer," says Thomas. "He doesn't like me going out of town. I know how he feels about his Olds. It's our family car, Charles. Besides it's low on gas, and it's new. Not a car to be going to fight niggers in."
Maybe I should second-guess this trip to Fresno. Sounds like a mess of trouble to me. I'm not sure taking to Charles is going to be worth it. Eugene comes over, stands beside me.
"We'll disconnect the odometer," says Charles. "You're just making excuses."
"Let's take the old Hudson over there," says Thomas pointing to the garage where Lenny's car is parked. "We never take yours anywhere. You foot the bill for a change."
Charles smiles a little. "I like your attitude, Thomas. Maybe I haven't been holding up my end of this. And that Hudson. If there's one thing that a Hudson's good for, it's fighting niggers."
"If we'll be fighting niggers, we won't need any wimps along either." It's Wayne putting his two cents in. He's off to my left sitting on the hood of his dad's Plymouth with his feet on the bumper. I can just barely see Wayne's eyes in the dark. The porch light is shinning on the right side of his face. He peals splinters off a piece of wood with a pocketknife, throws them out in the middle of the puddle. He looks at me while he talks, but think he must be talking about Eugene.
"I don't know about this fighting colored people," says Eugene. "I didn't sign up for that."
"You don't know for sure that we'll be fighting coloreds," is what Thomas says. "There's lots of things to do in Fresno. We may meet a car load of girls at Stan's Drive-In and end up all getting laid."
"Shit. I can get laid here in Chowchilla," and now it's Melvin working on Thomas. He's standing next to Thomas, leaning against Thomas' car. Stands about to his shoulder. He takes a drag and flips a glowing cigarette into the middle of the puddle. It goes out with a spit. "That's why we're going to Fresno. To fight niggers. If anybody here's chickenshit, he better go home now." He has his hands in his pockets, just looking at the ground, kicking mud in the puddle. "I don't give a shit how big or little he is, if he's not willing to fight, he's not going with us."
"We'll be fighting niggers alright," says Charles. "But there's no need to worry, Eugene. We can take care of you. My Hudson doesn't have any gas in it either, Thomas. But gas is just not a problem. There's little pockets of natural gas all over the countryside. And we've got an Oklahoma credit card."
"How come we're going to fight colored people, Charles?" I ask. "I thought you and Thomas liked coloreds the way you buddy up to Chelsey."
"Chelsey's a special nigger," Charles tells me. "He's a white nigger. I'll have to educate you on Chelsey. He's not a nigger you want to fight either, unless you have suicidal tendencies."
I look over at Eugene. Ask him real quiet like, "How'd you get mixed up in this?"
He leans over close to me. "Easy," he says. "I thought we were going rabbit hunting."
"Sometime I'll have to tell you about rabbit hunting with Charles."
"You'll get a kick out of this, Bobby," says Charles. "Lenny was the best nigger fighter in the state."
"You asking him along?" says Wayne. "Goddamn, Charles. I'm not concerned about Eugene. But, Bobby? He can't hold up his end of his own dick."
*
We siphoned a little gas out of Herb Coleman's red tractor for Charles' Hudson, and Charles has just pulled onto the main street of Fresno's colored district, moving slow. "Okay, this is it," he says. "Let's make it good. We won't get another chance." Up ahead are these low flat-top buildings like I've seen in western movies, all looking like they could use a bucket of paint. Not many cars parked on the street. One car doesn't have any tires and the hood is hanging off a fender.
"Niggers keep coming in and out of those buildings like bees at a hive," says Melvin. He's leaning up over the backseat, and I feel his breath on the back of my neck. "Come on, Charles. Let's get 'em."
I'm sitting in the front seat between Charles, who's driving this Hudson, and Thomas riding shotgun. Eugene's in the backseat sitting between Melvin and Wayne.
"Wait'll the street clears a little," Charles says. "Good god! Niggers everywhere. Don't you just hate those sonsabitches? They multiply just like rabbits. Okay, let's do it. I'll go slow." He hits the horn so the street clears a little. "We don't want to kill any of 'em out here in public. Everybody pick out a nigger and chew on him. You'll have to piss 'em off if you want a fight. Watch for cops, Eugene."
I don't know what to do. I'm looking for something to be busy at, sitting here in the middle. Glad I'm not by a window.
"Lean on over in front of Thomas," Charles tells me. "Pick out a big buck for yourself."
I guess I'll get my chance. And here we go. Charles sounds the horn again and a few of them scatter. One old man with a bad leg jerks into a run for a few steps till he clears the road. Just as we get to the crowd that's separating for us, Charles slows.
"Hey, motherfucker, how about a fight?" Charles asks this big black colored man with bushy hair and a little gray at the temples. A surprised look is all Charles gets back.
Oh shit! I think, I can't believe it. That black sonofabitch is a grown man. And huge. Charles can't want to fight him. But the colored guy just backs up, walks to the curb like he's afraid. "What you got, boy? Knives and chains?" he shouts at Charles.
Thomas looks at this fat colored kid. He's big but couldn't be over twelve. "Hey, asshole. You want to fight?" asks Thomas.
"Na, sah. I surely don't," he says back, just like Thomas asked him for the time and he didn't have a wrist watch.
I see one that's tall and thin, about my age. He's good looking, has his hair parted on the left and enough brown grease to pack a set of wheel bearings. He has the best-looking colored girl I've ever seen following about a half step behind him. She has on a red silk dress so tight she has to shimmy to get any walking motion and enough loose jewelry to out rattle a snake. Seeing her, I get my courage up, so I lean over in front of Thomas.
"Hey, mister, you want to fight." I didn't mean it like that, but it just comes out sort of respectful. I hear Eugene laughing in the backseat and Charles cusses.
"Hell yes, I want a fight," says that good-looking colored guy. "I got a girl here too. You want a piece of ass? Ten bucks, baby face. The best ass in town. The best a honky ever had. I'll bust your face while she busts your balls."
I sort of sit back not knowing what else to say. I know I'm going to catch it for what I just said, but I can't take my eyes off all that chocolate skin in a red dress.
Then Wayne jumps into it. "You can keep the girl cause she's got the clap. I want you, motherfucker. I want to bust up your face just because you think you're such a hot looking piece of stinking shit. Come on, asshole, get a car, out in the country, right now, you and me, pretty boy. You and me and all the rest of the niggers you can round up."
"Hey, Clorisa. Look. It's Tom Sawyer. What a trick you could turn on him, honey. Look at the red hair and freckles. He's already hot for you, baby."
I'm aiming to keep my mouth shut since I'm already in so much trouble, so I turn around to look at Melvin who has a live one on his side. Charles has slowed a little, so this colored guy makes a run for Melvin. Melvin sticks his head out the window, then stands up so, above the waist, he's outside the car.
"Slow down, Charles. This nigger wants some action right now and I have just what he needs. Come to me, nigger, I want you real bad. Slow down, goddamnit. Let him catch up."
Charles slows some more so he gets close enough that they take a wild swing at each other but only crack knuck
les. Another one runs up behind and pounds his fist in the middle of the trunk, makes a big thud, even rings a little.
"Hit the gas," says Thomas. "They're everywhere. Let's get out of here."
Charles hits the breaks instead, and Melvin almost falls the rest of the way out the window. "Whoa," he says, still hanging onto the door handle. Eugene has hold of his belt loops, pulling hard. Charles has us going about thirty in reverse and the coloreds are scattering like a flock of chickens.
"Come on, you black sonofabitches, get a car. We'll wait on you," shouts Melvin, then he crawls back in. "Pull over, Charles. This nigger's coming back. He wants to fight as bad as I do. I can see it in his eyes."
"We'll get swarmed," says Charles He slows a little further on when we reach some trees and houses. "We've got to get them to chase us. I don't like the odds right now."
"Damn it, Charles, I said stop. I tell you, that one's coming back."
"I know he's coming back, but he's not in a car."
"I don't think so," says Thomas, looking through the back window. "He just walked into a bar."
"He went into the bar to get some more niggers. I tell you he's coming."
"He went into a bar to get a shotgun. When he comes back out we won't want any part of him." Two more blocks down the street, Charles pulls over, gets out to check the trunk lid. Starts cussing, gets back in, strange thing is, he has a smile on his face. "Niggers are more fun than a funeral. They're not afraid of anything. Maybe we should go back, take a chance on getting shot at."
"I don't think so," says Thomas. "I'm not voting for chancing it. I'm through with this colored stuff. Let's go to Stan's and see if we can find some girls."
"What do you think, Eugene?" Charles asks. "You want a fight or a piece of ass?"
"Oh, goddamn," says Wayne. "Why ask Eugene. The second biggest chickenshit in the car?"
Melvin is boiling too. "You mean that's it?" he says. "That's all there's going to be? You drag me all the way down here to fight niggers, I got one in the street waiting for me right now and we back off. That's it? Now you want to go to a goddamn drive-in to get a piece of ass?"
Eugene gives a little nervous laugh. "I don't know if I could handle a fight, and I don't think there's much chance of me getting a piece of ass at Stan's. I've never seen a car hop serve one on a tray, but I sure could eat a cheeseburger."
Even Melvin has to laugh at that. "Ah shit. Let's go get a piece of ass and a cheeseburger," he says. I can tell. Melvin feels better already.
"There's more niggers in Fresno. They're not all here in nigger town," says Charles. "We'll get another chance to fight. But as a consolation prize, we'll make a run through Fairmead on the way home."
I'm wondering what he means by that. Fairmead is a little town of colored people just outside Chowchilla.
"Who called that nigger, mister?" Melvin wants to know.
"It was a new Bobbyism," says Wayne. "Who in the hell else would be dumb enough to call a pimp mister?"
"You have to admit, it worked though. The pimp offered him the jackpot, a fight and a piece of ass for ten bucks."
"Bobby won it but sure wouldn't claim it."
"That's an old Bobbyism. 'Can't use a piece of ass.'"
"He was playing hard to get, holding out for that pimp to throw in a pack of cigarettes and a fifth of Jim Beam."
"Do you think he would have done it, if the nigger'd thrown in a load of watermelon?"
"How about a pint of brown hair grease?"
"A shoe shine?"
"What would it take, Bobby?"
"Bobby?"
*
We're sitting in the car at Stan's Drive-in with the radio tuned to Stan's Private Line, listening to dedications for the next song. The carhop just took my dedication to Bev. I hope she's home listening to KMJ 560. This place is big time. I've never seen so many lights in one place. It's laid out in a circle and cars are piled up three deep around it. Takes a while to get out if you're up front. We are in the middle.
"We could have used Leroy with the niggers," says Wayne. "He could have conned them into fighting us."
"Ya," says Melvin. "He'd a stole the black skin right off their back."
There's four girls in the car next to us on the right, and Melvin's been talking to them. Wayne's not much with the girls.
"Where you guys from?" this fat girl in the backseat wants to know.
"Santa Cruz," says Melvin, without even thinking. "We're in Fresno because we're going to Fresno State next year. Thomas here's got a full academic scholarship in astronomy. He's going to be an astronomer. He's got brains pouring out his ears. But what we all like to do most is surfing. We just mostly surf all the time."
"Where does he get stuff like that?" I ask Thomas.
"Lies come easier to him than the truth."
"So what are you good at," the driver asks Melvin, and the girls in the backseat start laughing.
"I've been waiting for you to ask me about that," says Melvin, and he pops the back door open, steps out and, sure enough, he's peaking in the window of their car, talking about things that I can't hear. Thomas pops his door open.
Melvin comes back, sticks his head a window. "Come on, you guys. These girls are eager."
Charles turns to Eugene and Wayne. "Bobby and I have something planned. So we're going to be leaving you for a while. Aren't we, Bobby? You guys go with these girls."
"Let me go too, Charles," says Wayne. "I don't want a girl. I'm up for anything you can throw at me."
"There's no place for three," Charles tells Wayne. "Could be a little dangerous."
"First I've heard of it," I say. "What the hell is this?"
"I promised you earlier we'd settle the problems between us. You game?"
"Where're we going?"
"How about it? It's either you or Wayne. We'll get something straight between us, like you were talking about earlier. Get a little action on the side maybe. You ready for it?" He gives me a gentle elbow.
I'm thinking about the time we were casing Mary's house and Charles put his hand on my crotch. He better not pull something like that again. Maybe I should let Wayne try him out.
"He's a dud," says Wayne. "I'm on my way, Charles. You catch up." And he scoots over into the middle of backseat like he was set for life.
"Okay. Let's do it," I finally manage.
"Meet us back here in three hours," says Charles. "Hop out, Wayne."
"That'll be midnight," says Wayne, crawling out the door like a beat dog. "What the hell is going on. You bring us out here and dump us. I though we were going to fight niggers."
"Find your own fight, if you want one. I'm no baby sitter. Any kid in these cars here will either fight or fuck you."
"No, Charles," says Wayne. "Bobby's just doing it because I want to go so bad. I'll go, I tell you. Hammer, you sonofabitch. Feed him to the dogs, Charles." He walks over and kicks a tire. "Damn!"
CHAPTER 30: With Charles in Nigger Town
We're ten miles out of town on this little dirt road, just pulled off the blacktop a hundred yards back. I've never seen a place so dark. Three grown colored me were standing in the road back where we turned. I see plowed fields and a peach orchard nearby. Maybe an orange grove, too dark to tell. Charles pulls into a yard with a big house and lots of little houses around it. No lights on inside. Almost like a tiny town. A country store just down the lane.
Charles stops at the big house with a flock of colored kids chasing each other in the dark. Two dogs, one a big black bear-like dog, the other small and rat-like, come out like they want to eat the car. Around back, I see a fire burning. Charles kills the lights, turns off the motor.
"Wait here," he says as he gets out and walks toward the front of the house.
Those dogs don't pay any attention to Charles. It's like they don't even see him. But that big bear is up on my window, so much I pull back from it, even lock the door. He has his snout all over the window spreading spit and snot so that it runs down into t
he sill, his teeth clinking against the glass. That rat-like dog hits all the tires with his leg raised.
Charles comes back. Looks like bad news. "She's moved," he says.
"I thought you said we were coming out here to talk about family problems," I say.
Charles just ignores me, starts the car, and we pull a little deeper into the neighborhood with the lights off. A little drizzle starts to build on the windshield. Seems like every house here either has a fire in front or out back. The black dog stays with us, madder than ever now that he sees we're staying. Charles pulls up at a little shack, only this isn't a little shack like my home with stucco and a tile roof. This place is made of wood and as far as I can tell, doesn't have windows. The wood has never been painted. The front porch is as wide as the front, stands on legs two feet off the ground except for one corner that's propped up on cinder blocks and a used tire. No steps going up. Out comes this skinny colored woman in a thin summer dress, acts like she was expecting us.
"It's okay to get out now," says Charles. "The dogs don't bite."
"Oh, Charlie, Charlie," she says. "I knew you'd be back."
I wait a second before I pop the door open and wish I hadn't hesitated because now Charles is a ways ahead of me and that black sonofabitch has gone crazy. He's backed off but keeps making runs at me. Almost knocked me down. He has every dog in the village barking at me. I hear some from three blocks down the lane. So I just ignore his ass, won't even look at him, walk toward Charles and that colored woman that he's now kissing on as if she's his wife. But that goddamn dog won't leave me alone. He's barking and wheeling around like he'll tear my legs off. He comes at me from behind. I feel him nip the back of my shoe first, then he nudges me between the legs with his nose.
"He's mouthing me, Charles. Can you get him off of me?" The dog has his nose up my butt, and then I feel this gigantic pinch on the inside of my thigh. "He bit me, Charles, I tell you. He bit me."