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The sound of splintering wood and shattering glass woke Frank Novak in the middle of a dream that a car crashed through the living room wall. He sat on the edge of the bed and breathed deeply, alarmed by the thudding of his heart.
“What happened?” Darlene murmured, still half asleep
“Stay here. I’ll check.” He pulled on a sweatshirt and a pair of jeans, then put on sneakers and rushed down the stairs two at a time. The living room was undisturbed. Darlene’s porcelain figurines rested on their doilies in the glow of a streetlight coming through the window.
“What the hell?” Frank whispered to himself. He parted the curtains. A light came on across the street in the front room at Henry Jackson’s. Even at that distance, Frank could hear Ruby Jackson shrieking.
Frank raced across the street and pounded on the Jacksons’ door. In the dim light he could see a meandering row of holes which crossed the door and the siding next to it and ended where the picture window used to be. Ruby sobbed inside the house, and Frank’s heart began pounding again as he wondered whether Henry had been hit. “Henry!” he yelled.
The door opened, and Henry stood there, all six feet, four inches of him, in striped boxer shorts and undershirt. Sweat glistened on his brown skin. He stared at Frank, not moving.
“What happened?” Frank asked. Not waiting for an answer, he went to the couch and sat beside Ruby, taking her hand.
Henry shook his head. “Somebody shot up the place. Look at this mess.” The stereo where the Jacksons had played their favorite gospel music looked as if it had exploded. Shattered pictures hung lopsided on a wall pock-marked with bullet holes. Henry began to pace around the room, oblivious to what the glass fragments on the floor were doing to his feet.
“Get some shoes on, man,” Frank said. “Get some slippers or something. Ruby, can you make a pot of coffee? I’ll call 911.” He went to the kitchen and she followed. Ruby wiped her eyes, blew her nose, and ran water into the coffeepot.
Frank hung up the phone. “All circuits are busy. Saturday night. What time is it?”
Ruby plugged in the coffeepot and looked at the clock on the stove. “Eleven-forty.”
Frank called Darlene and told her what had happened and then dialed the emergency number again. This time, the phone rang more than twenty times before he hung up. “They’re tied up. I’m going to sweep up the glass. I don’t think the police would object if we get rid of it.” He took a broom from behind the door and went to the living room.
Ruby called him to the kitchen for coffee when he was through, and Henry came downstairs right away. He had dressed and put on shoes.
“Who could have done this?” Frank asked.
Ruby looked at Henry.
Her husband stared at the floor for a moment before looking at Frank. “They must have hit us by mistake. I can’t think of any reason . . . I did call the police on the crack house two months ago, but nothing came of that.”
“I remember,” Frank said. “I don’t think the police ever looked into it. The shooter must have had the wrong address, but it was a hell of a mistake, wasn’t it? I hope your insurance covers it.”
“I hope so.” Henry put his arm around Ruby.
Frank wondered if his friend’s life had some complication Henry wasn’t willing to talk about. The two had been open with each other from the beginning, at least it seemed that way to Frank. Before the Jacksons moved in two years ago, he had felt increasingly surrounded by abandoned houses and aging widows who were easy prey for thieves stalking the area.
“I was born in the house where Darlene and I live,” he had explained to Henry when they met. “My parents bought this place when it was in the country, on the remote outskirts of San Gabriel, and I inherited it from them. The city grew up around it, and not the best part of the city, either.”
He was glad to have Henry and Ruby as neighbors. Not everyone on their end of the block was, since the Jacksons were black, but Frank sensed from the start that Henry would help him keep things under control in the neighborhood. He remembered seeing his neighbor for the first time as he came out into the yard for the paper. Frank was struck by Henry’s height and his fine physique. It wasn’t until later when the two met up close that the regal impression Henry gave dimmed a little. His left eye turned out markedly, as if a man with his physical attributes must have some flaw to deflect the jealousy of the gods.
Ruby, on the other hand, was a brown little sparrow of a woman, of average height and looks. She had a gold tooth which shone when she smiled on Henry, which was most of the time.
Both of them sang in the choir at the Ebenezer Baptist Church, and sometimes Frank heard them singing together at home while Ruby played the piano. He felt a strange loneliness at times, listening to them on soft spring nights when windows were open in the neighborhood.
As the two of them sat across the table from him now, he wondered again about the shooting. Although the crack house was on Henry’s side of the street, and only four doors down, it didn’t seem likely the drive-by had been a result of Henry’s calling the police. Frank himself had called them several times in the last few months, and there had been no result of any kind from either the police or the drug scum.
Reminded of the police, Frank went to the phone again. After fifteen rings, an operator asked what kind of emergency he was reporting.
“A drive-by shooting. No one is injured. We need the police.” He gave the address, and the operator assured him an officer would be there soon.
Ruby poured more coffee. “Saturday night, and no one is injured. And the criminals are no longer on the scene. They’ll take a while.”
Henry added cream and sugar. “Go on home if you want, Frank. We can handle this. Get some sleep.”
“I’ll stay. I’d like to be here when the police come. They may have some insight into what’s going on in the neighborhood that would have caused this. Besides, I wouldn’t be able to sleep, anyway.”
By the time they finished a second cup of coffee, they heard a car stop out front. As Frank walked down the driveway with Henry, he could see Bobby Ledbetter’s glasses and his black skin shining in the glow of the street light. He was looking toward the steering wheel and seemed to be writing.
“Should have known he’d be on duty,” Henry murmured.
“You know something about him that I don’t?”
“We both grew up on the Near East Side. He’s younger than I am, of course.”
Frank stopped halfway to the street. “Well, what about him? What’s wrong?”
“Nothing, really. He’s getting out. Let’s go.”
Frank extended his hand. “Officer Ledbetter. Good to see you.” Frank noticed for the first time that Ledbetter’s grip was weak, his hand cool. I probably wouldn’t have noticed it now, he thought, if Henry hadn’t planted some doubts in my mind about the guy.
As they walked to the house, Henry filling the officer in on the shooting, Frank wondered how long Ledbetter had been assigned to this area. He could remember thinking that anyone as skinny as Bobby Ledbetter would surely have difficulty meeting the minimum weight requirement for the force. He was about five-ten, so he undoubtedly was tall enough. But when had Frank first seen him?
An image tried to come clear in his mind, and he struggled to bring it into focus, like a man turning knobs on an old-fashioned TV to clear the snow. He remembered standing beside Bobby Ledbetter and looking down at tire marks in a driveway. It had been Mrs. Frazier’s driveway. How long had it been since someone backed a truck into her drive and moved everything out of her house? Even the plumbing fixtures had been carefully removed and carried off.
She had been visiting her son in Corpus Christi for a few days, so no one knew for sure when the burglary happened. An empty house stood between the Novak’s and Mrs. Frazier. Darlene hadn’t seen anything, and Frank had been at work every day that Mrs. Frazier was gone. All they had to go on were the tire tracks in the mud of the driveway and the crumbling ridges of dirt the tires left on the cement in front of the garage. The case hadn’t been solved.
Frank caught the words “crack house” and surfaced into the turbulent water of the present. “Any arrests been made down there?” he asked Ledbetter.
“Nothing yet. That case is out of my jurisdiction.”
“Why is that? It’s in our block.”
“They’ve set up a special task force for handling drug complaints. Like our homicide unit handles murders.”
“I see. Wonder when they’re going to do something. We’ve got a lot of creeps hanging around here these days. We’d appreciate it if they’d hurry it along.”
Ledbetter switched the clipboard to his left hand and let it drop to his side. “It’s probably a matter of evidence. They have to have something to go on. I feel pretty sure that’s what’s holding them up. I’ll check on it for you.”
“What do you make of this? The drive-by? First time we’ve had one in this block.”
Ledbetter cleared his throat. “I wish I could tell you. Henry says he has a grandson, but . . .”
“He’s not involved with gangs,” Henry said. “He lives a few blocks away, in a little better neighborhood than this. He goes to school at Martin Luther King Middle School. I can’t see how this could have anything to do with him.”
“They might have hit the wrong house. Picked the wrong block or something. We’ll check up and down the street to see if anyone saw anything. I can’t give you much encouragement unless a neighbor got a license number or a description of the car. Someone will be out in a while to dig out some bullets and check for other evidence.”
Frank and Henry stood in the driveway and watched Ledbetter drive away. “Stay in the back of the house tonight, Henry,” Frank said. “I doubt they’ll be back, but you’d better play it safe.”
“Cowards.” Henry’s voice was grim. “Won’t stand up and fight like men. Drive by and shoot you in the night. Reminds me of the Klan.”
“Yeah, I agree. But let’s try not to worry about it tonight. Get some sleep. First, tell me what it is you have against Bobby Ledbetter.”
Henry cleared his throat. “You’re going to think I’m prejudiced, brother, and it isn’t that. Ruby says I’m old fashioned, and I suppose she’s right. What I have against Bobby is that he’s a young upstart who’s married to a white woman. On top of that, he never had shown good sense, as far as I’m concerned, and I just don’t trust him.”
