|
|
Executive Times |
||
|
|
|
||
|
|
|
||
|
|
2005 Book Reviews |
||
|
|
Little
Scarlet by Walter Mosley |
||
|
|
Rating: ••• (Recommended) |
||
|
|
|
||
|
|
Click on
title or picture to buy from amazon.com |
||
|
|
|
||
|
|
|
||
|
|
Heated The eighth Easy Rawlins novel by Walter
Mosley, Little
Scarlet, is set in 1965 in Here’s
an excerpt, all of Chapter 2, pp. 9-14: He wore a rumpled green suit and a
white shirt that had yellowed from too many launderings. He didn’t wear a hat
but it was already almost eighty degrees and too hot for the kind of hat that
unkempt white man would own. His tie was like a muddy creek bed with a few
murky jewels showing through. “Are you Ezekiel Rawlins?” he asked. “I
was up at your office. A man across the hall said you’d gone
downstairs.” I waited for him to say more. “Detective Melvin Suggs,” the man said. He held out a hand. I looked at it. Not many policemen had
offered to shake hands with me. Outstretched hands of the law held wooden
batons and pistols, handcuffs and warrants but rarely a welcome and never an
offer of equality. “What is it you want, Detective?” Melvin Suggs first closed his hand and
then opened it to rub his fingertips together. His smile held little
friendliness and that was fine by me. I didn’t need a friendly white cop
right then. Enough of my world had already been turned inside out. “Are you here about the damage to the
building, officer?” Theodore Steinman asked. I could have told my friend that the
policeman hadn’t come for our structural troubles. The cop was there for me.
He needed me to help him — that’s
what I thought at the time. “No sir.” Suggs said. “There will be a
unit here later in the week to investigate every act of arson and looting.
But right now I have to speak to Mr. Rawlins.” “That’s too bad,” I said, “because
right now I have to help my friend clean up what’s left of his store.” “This is important,” the policeman
said, again in that tone of authority. “People got problems all up and down
the street, Officer. Every doorway got some kinda
mark on it. People lost their businesses, their jobs. Some little old ladies
got to take a bus five miles just to find a store to buy a quarter pound of
margarine.” “But only thirty-four people lost their
lives,” he said. “Radio said this morning that it was thirty-three dead,” I
said, feeling the need to contradict him. “One went unreported,” the policeman
replied. “It’s a special case and we would like, you to take a look at it.” “Excuse me, Officer, but you must be
mistaking me for some other Ezekiel Rawlins. I’m just a custodian for the
board of education, down at “No. I have the right man.” Suggs had brilliant taupe-colored eyes
that somehow fit his grubby appearance. He just stood there, staring at me. For my part I turned to assess the
destroyed cobbler’s shop. All he had left was the burnt and broken worktable
surrounded by a couple hundred pairs of scorched shoes. Why would somebody
want to burn shoes? Other than with footwear, the floor was covered with
things turned out of Theodore Stein-man’s drawers, shelves, and filing
cabinet. There was a bone-handled pocketknife, a yellow package of Juicy
Fruit chewing gum, a fat pink eraser, and maybe a thousand rubber bands.
There were index cards marked by the footprints of looters and firemen, and
the torn and crumpled leaves of a Bible written in German. Under a broken oak
chair I saw a small shattered pane of glass within the loose confines of a
splintered wood frame. I knelt down and shook the slivers of glass from a
portrait-like photograph of Sylvie — Theodore’s
muse and wife. “Oh my,” the shoemaker said when I
handed him the scraped and punctured picture. He cradled it in both hands as if
holding a baby. “Mr. Rawlins,” Detective Suggs said. I had forgotten he was there. “What?” “Go, Ezekiel,” Theodore Steinman said.
“He needs you.” “I can’t leave you here like this,
Theodore. Suppose somebody else comes for his shoes like that guy?” “I will talk to him.” I already knew that Theodore had blue
eyes. I had been bringing my shoes to the man for nearly twenty years. I see
things, things that other people overlook. That’s why the sign on my office
door reads EASY RAWLINS — RESEARCH AND
DELIVERY. But there was
something about the quality in Theodore’s eyes that I had never seen before.
It was as if the violence of the past few days had given me the power to look
deeper, or maybe it was that the people around me had changed — Theodore and his angry customer and
maybe even Melvin Suggs, the cop that approached me with his hand proffered
in greeting. Detective
Suggs and I left through
the now doorless doorway of the shoe shop. That
took us out onto Central. There were dozens of people wandering the street.
This was unusual because in Suggs drove a Rambler Marlin. It was
roomy and equipped with seat belts. “I never use the damn things,” the cop
told me. “It’s my ex. She says I can’t take the kids unless I have ‘em.”. We had been driving for quite some time
when I asked, “So what do you want from me, Officer?” “I got a case that needs solving
outside of the public eye.” “You?” “The LAPD,” he said. “Chief Parker,
Mayor Yorty.” Suggs didn’t look at me while he
talked. He didn’t seem like the kind of driver who needed to keep his eyes on
the road, so I guessed he was a little embarrassed by needing my help. This
was both a good and a bad thing. If you were a black man in “What case?” I
asked. “You’ll see when we get there.” “No I will not.” “What?” “Either you tell me where we’re going
and what it is you plan to get me involved in or when you stop this car I
will go find a bus to take me home.” Suggs took a sideways glance in my
direction. He muttered something that sounded like “funny papers cabbage head.” We were on the southern end of He pulled to the curb, yanked on the
parking brake lever, and turned toward me. It was then I noticed that the man
had no smell. No kind of body odor or cologne. He was a self-contained unit,
with no scent or any kind of style — the
perfect package for a hunter. “You ever hear of a woman named Nola
Payne?” he asked. I had not and shook my head to say so. “What about her?” I asked. “She’s
victim number thirty-four.” “And what does that have to do with
me?” “The circumstances around her death are
a little confusing and possibly a problem if they make it to the press before
we have a handle on the case.” “You not tellin’ me anything, man.” “I don’t want to tell you about how we
found her until you get where we’re going, Rawlins. But I can tell you that
we need your help because a white policeman looking into anything down in
Watts right now will only draw attention to something we need kept quiet.” “And why would I want to help you?” I
asked, unable to resist kicking the man when he was down. “What does that sign on
your office door mean?” he asked in way of reply. “It means what it says.” “No,” Suggs said. “It
means that you’re down there playing like you’re a private detective when you
don’t have a license. That could pull down jail time if somebody wanted to
prosecute. I’m sure if I went around and talked to a few of your clients I
could build a pretty good case.” I wasn’t so sure. Most of
the work I’d done wasn’t anything to get me in trouble. I never
misrepresented myself as a private detective. And Suggs was more right than
he knew about white cops in black But I said, “All right,
Officer. I’ll go where you’re taking me. But I’ll tell you this right now. If
I don’t like the way things smell I’m walkin’
away.” Suggs nodded, released
the brake, and cruised out into the boulevard. His easy manner accepting my
conditions made me think that this simple ride in a policeman’s car was going
to take me down a much longer journey than I had planned on when I rolled out
of bed that morning. If you’ve never read an Easy Rawlins
novel before, don’t worry about starting with Little
Scarlet, it requires no context setting or outside information about
where Easy has come from. Mosely has paid attention
to this popular series, and uses his fine writing skills to keep it fresh and
interesting. Steve Hopkins,
December 20, 2004 |
||
|
|
|
||
|
Go to Executive Times
Archives |
|||
|
|
|
||
|
|
|
||
|
|
ă 2005 Hopkins and Company, LLC The recommendation rating for
this book appeared in the January 2005
issue of Executive Times URL for this review: http://www.hopkinsandcompany.com/Books/Little
Scarlet.htm For Reprint Permission,
Contact: Hopkins & Company, LLC • E-mail: books@hopkinsandcompany.com |
||
|
|
|
||
|
|
|
||
