Streets of Fire Read Free Page A

buried under a steadily darkening cloud of anger and exhaustion. Sit-ins at the segregated lunch counters of major department stores and mass marches through the central business district had turned the city into a riot zone. And now, as Ben let his eyes drift over the bullpen, he could sense that Luther had grown harder, along with almost everybody else, that the whole city had tightened up, that there was no more give anywhere, in anybody. By six in the evening, a few withered detectives would trudge in, slump down on their cots and get whatever sleep they could for the next three or four hours. Then they’d hit the streets again, dirty, smelly, sitting four to a car as they patrolled the colored sections of the city, or kept a round-the-clock surveillance on some designated leader, staring blankly at the darkened windows of his house or motel room while they balanced coffee cups on the shotguns in their laps.
    ‘Well, ain’t you the lucky one.’
    Ben turned and saw Harry Daniels as he made his way through the scarred double doors of the bullpen.
    ‘You mean to say that in the middle of all this shit, there’s one cop with nothing to do but sit on his ass?’ Daniels added loudly. He turned and called to his partner. ‘What do you think about this, Charlie?’
    Charlie Breedlove strolled up to Ben’s desk. ‘I hear they kicked you onto the Bearmatch beat, Wellman,’ he said.
    Ben nodded.
    ‘Of course, that beat’s pretty much the whole city these days,’ Breedlove added. He smiled mockingly. ‘So you shouldn’t feel like you’ve been singled out or anything.’
    ‘I don’t,’ Ben said.
    Daniels took a long slow drink of Coke, then wiped his mouth with his fist. ‘So what they got you working on, Ben?’
    ‘A little girl somebody found in that football field off Twenty-third Street,’ Ben said.
    Daniels leaned forward and cupped his hand behind his ear. ‘Found where?’
    ‘Off Twenty-third,’ Ben repeated. ‘In a football field.’
    Daniels straightened himself slowly. ‘Football field?’
    ‘Yeah.’
    ‘Who called it in, one of the Black Cat boys?’
    ‘No,’ Ben told him. ‘Front desk said it sounded like an old colored man.’
    ‘How old’s the girl?’
    ‘I don’t know for sure. Twelve, thirteen, something like that.’
    ‘Down in Bearmatch, that’s old enough to whore,’ Breedlove said. ‘You ought to check with Kelly down in the file room. He knows a lot about the whores down there.’ He laughed. ‘Matter of fact, the talk is that he had something sweet going on with one of them a few years back.’ He draped his arm over Daniels’ shoulder and gently moved him toward the row of cots on the other side of the room. ‘Let’s get some sleep, partner,’ he said. ‘We got a long night ahead of us.’
    They were asleep almost instantly, and even from his place at the far end of the room, Ben could hear Breedlove snoring loudly as he lay faceup beneath the window.
    For a while Ben remained at his desk. He expected to get a call that would put him back on surveillance or send him circling Bearmatch again, idly circling, as he’d done for a few slow rounds after leaving the football field, and which, after a few minutes, had begun to make him feel more like a prison guard than a homicide detective. Within that circle, life might well go on as McCorkindale had described it. But outside the circle, from the fake antebellum mansions to the bleak trailer parks and greasy spoons of the sprawling industrial neighborhoods, Ben could feel a kind of dreadful trembling in the atmosphere, one that was as palpable in the station house as it was along the reeking drag strips of Bessemer and Irondale. He could feel it like a thousand knifepoints in the air, and after a time, it urged him from his chair, and he walked out of the bullpen and headed out into the steamy day.

THREE
    The phone was ringing urgently as Ben struggled up from sleep. He looked at the clock. He’d come home for a brief