Chapter 22

While Sam was gently shaking Emma back to consciousness, Bill and Lucille were at the police station filing a report for their stolen vehicle. After handing the two-page statement to the police officer, Bill bid him goodnight, and he and Lucille started toward the exit. But the officer quickly called them back.

“Says here the vehicle is a 1926 black and cream Ford Model T. Is that right?”

“Yeah,” Bill said.

“License plate 15 32 44?”

“Yeah.”

The officer chuckled. “Well, we towed that car from the scene.”

Bill narrowed his eyes. “Towed?”

“The scene? The scene of what?” Lucille asked.

“Well,” the officer started, folding has arms across his chest and leaning way back in his chair, “the driver rammed it right into a police cruiser.”

“What?” Bill blurted, wide-eyed.

“Yep, we got ’im locked up in the back.”

“Well, I wanna see the thieving son of a bitch,” Bill bellowed.

The officer rose from his chair, hitched his pants beneath the swell of his belly, and said, “Sure, follow me.”

Harlan was sitting on the floor with his back against the brick wall of the tiny holding cell. From his tearstained cheeks, it appeared as though he’d cried himself to sleep.

“Aw, shit,” Bill sighed.

Lucky for Harlan, Bill and Lucille weren’t your regular Negroes, but well-known celebrities—well, at least Lucille was. The police chief himself held a standing invitation to their weekly Sunday dinners, of which he took full advantage.

Needless to say, the officer waived Harlan’s bail, the incident report was destroyed, and Harlan was released into Bill and Lucille’s custody.

Lucille thanked the officer, caught Harlan by the ear, and tugged him screaming toward the exit. Bill followed, biting his lip, pulling his belt free from his trousers. They damn near ran right into Sam and Emma who had just dashed into the station.

“Harlan!” Emma cried, rushing to her son and crushing him to her chest.

Relieved to see his son, Sam dragged his hands over his wet face and shook the perspiration to the floor. The episode had left his eyes red and face etched with deep worry lines.

Bill snaked the belt back through the loops of his trousers and stepped hastily to Sam. “Look here, can I have a word?”

Sam looked at Bill’s pinched face. “Yeah, yeah.”

Lucille watched the men walk off to a quiet corner before turning her attention back to Emma, who was blubbering and fussing over Harlan.

“You know he tore up the car?” Lucille said, tapping Emma on her shoulder.

Emma’s head snapped up. “What you say?”

“I said he tore up the car. He stole it and crashed into a police car.”

Emma’s eyes fluttered and she folded her lips into her mouth. For a moment, she thought she was going to pass out again.

Off to the left, Sam’s angry voice bounced off the police station walls: “He did what?”