Chapter 91
“But what about the police?”
The presence of the National Guard brought sanity back to New Orleans. Sable Parish was destroyed, Main Street was a heap of rubble but much of Baroque Parish remained intact. Johnnie was supposed to start the Beauregard job a week ago but it was postponed because of the riot. With the curfew lifted during daylight hours, citizens were allowed to go to their jobs and places of business—at least those businesses that weren’t located in what was once a thriving suburb, now a charred wasteland.
The Beauregards lived at 1619 Harmony Street in the Garden District. The Sunday Times reported that the curfew would be lifted Monday. Ethel called Johnnie and told her she wanted her to start at 8:00. After being restricted to her home for a week, Johnnie had no idea how much damage was done by the riot until she saw what was left of the school. She pulled over to the nearest curb and cried.
It’s all my fault. If only I hadn’t talked Earl into buying me that stupid house, Mama would be alive and there wouldn’t have been a riot. People are dead because of me. How can decent people behave this way?
She wiped her eyes, put the car in first gear and pulled away slowly, looking at all the burned-out buildings on Main Street. Broken glass, bricks, furniture, and clothes were strewn about haphazardly. As she drove past what was left of the library, she saw a huge dark spot on the steps. That’s where they did it. That’s where they killed Reverend Staples. Business owners were everywhere, trying to pick up the pieces. They seemed to be determined to rebuild; that’s what Dennis Edwards said to a reporter from the Times.
Bernard Coleman, the architect, when interviewed said, “We intend to rebuild our community and go on with business as usual.” With all the damage, Coleman stood to make a fortune in rebuilding costs alone.
Continuing slowly, she saw many of Baroque’s business owners, along with their children cleaning their shops. Philip Collins and his sons were hauling barber chairs back into the shop. When he saw the sad look on her face, he called out, “Don’t be sad, Johnnie. We whipped the white man’s ass for a change. We gon’ be all right! Don’t you worry your pretty little head none. We gon’ be all right.” He wiped the sweat off his brow with his arm and went back to work.
Johnnie was surprised he knew her name, and wondered if he knew she was the reason for all of this. If he did, he certainly didn’t blame her; at least he didn’t act like he did. Continuing down Main Street, she saw Bernard Coleman and Michael Nagel, both wearing hard hats. They were looking over some plans sprawled out over Nagel’s pickup truck. When they saw her, they smiled and nodded approvingly.
Something’s strange. Everybody’s smiling at me like nothing happened. They gotta know I was involved with Richard Goode’s death. There’s a lady going into the bookstore. I’ll ask her.
Johnnie pulled over to the curb. “Excuse me, Miss,” she began. “What’s going on? Why are people so happy today?”
“Because we approve of what you did, Johnnie,” she said after walking over to the car.
“Uh, what did I do?” Johnnie asked with a confused look on her face. “And how do you know my name?”
“I’m sorry. I’m Lisa Cambridge,” she said, shaking, her hand. “I own Cambridge Books and Publishing. This is a small town. Everybody knows you, but no one blames you. If the police would have done their jobs, none of this would’ve happened.”
“But what about your businesses? They were destroyed.”
“We’ve got insurance, dear. Buchanan Mutual is paying for all of this. At the most, we’ve lost money from daily sales, but that’s about it. Bernard says he can make Main Street better than before. We’re all excited about that.”
“But what about the police? Aren’t they going to arrest somebody sooner or later?”
“I doubt it. Ryan Robertson slapped the city with a ten million dollar lawsuit this morning. The police never came to stop the rioting. He says they’ll probably make a deal and he’ll drop the suit. But more important, them crackers know not to come here again.”
“Who is Ryan Robertson?”
“Just one of New Orleans’ finest attorneys. You oughta meet Ryan and Anita. They’re really nice people. One day, when you and Sadie come outta the house, I’ll have to introduce you to your neighbors.”
“Okay, well, I gotta go. I gotta get to work,” Johnnie told her, even though she hadn’t decided if she was going to take the job. She mainly wanted to see if there was a picture of Nathaniel Beauregard. That would tell her if she was related to them or not. “I’m supposed to start a new job today.”
“Okay, take care. Call me some time. I’m in the book.”
“I will,” Johnnie promised and pulled away.