LITMIR.BIZ

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telling Lois that she was in no hurry to pick up her inheritance, Jackie took a deep breath. “Listen. I did some poking around about the kid in the will, Curtis Martindale.”

      “Oh, really?”

      “He worked in the store for a while.”

      “Oh, right. Of course. That’s why the name sounded familiar.”

      “Yeah. Well, he’s not going to be wanting that money any time soon. He’s dead.”

      “Oh,” Lois said, deflated.

      Why did she sound disappointed? Did she really have no clue? “He died in the Watts riots.”

      Silence. Something rustled on the other end of the line.

      “…in Grandpa’s store,” Jackie concluded.

      Lois still didn’t speak. Jackie could hear her aunt breathing. Finally Lois said, “What are you talking about?”

      Jackie stood and started walking, the phone cord twisting around her hips. “You knew about this, didn’t you?”

      “Knew about what?”

      Jackie’s mouth fell open. She repeated what Lanier had told her—about the store, about the freezer, about the suspicions concerning the policeman, Nick Lawson.

      When she was finished, Lois was silent for a moment. Then she said, very slowly, “I had no idea. Mom made Rose and me leave the first day it was safe. The three of us stayed with Mom’s parents down in Gardena until Dad sold the house and the store.”

      “Well, now you know why.”

      “Jesus.” Lois remembered the frenzy of the days before the looting reached Crenshaw—how she and Rose weren’t allowed to wander the neighborhood, or even see their friends. The quick, messy packing of suitcases, the drive down to Gardena, where her mother’s parents lived. Lois crying about being plucked out of her house, her school, her life. Her father wild as she’d ever seen him, wide-eyed, in a frenzy. His whipped hair and bloodshot eyes when he came home from the store. How he slept in the garage and avoided the rest of the family, while her mother circled the rooms of the house, tight-lipped and victorious. I told you so, she kept saying to him. I told you this neighborhood was no good for our girls. “That cop sounds familiar, though,” Lois continued. “There was this awful cop in the area who used to harass Dad a lot. He’d come in and knock stuff off the shelves and take cigarettes and soda. He followed Rosie and me home a couple of times, really scared us bad. Anyway, as you can imagine, he was no big fan of black kids, either. I wonder what ever happened to him.”

      “If it’s the same guy, he was shot in retaliation. He didn’t die, though, and he was never brought to trial or anything. Anyway, this Lanier wants to bring a case against him. We’re meeting again on Friday.”

      “And you’re helping, like the good lawyer you are.”

      Jackie noticed that she didn’t say “granddaughter.” “Well, it would be nice if they got him.”

      “Yeah, I guess you’re right,” Lois replied. She remembered the ice-chill of fear as the cop walked behind her, humming low, lightly hitting his baton against his thigh.

      Jackie put her fist on her hip and looked up at the ceiling, annoyed. “Well, you don’t exactly sound enthusiastic, Lois. Do you think I should forget the whole thing?”

      “No, I’m just saying you should be careful.”

      “Is there something you’re not telling me?”

      “No. But it was an ugly time, Jackie. And if everyone knows that a certain person did this thing, but he was still never punished, then think about what you must be up against.”

      “Right. But it’s almost thirty years later now. You’d think that someone would be brave enough to talk. I wonder if there’s anyone who actually saw Lawson in the store.”

      “Well, unfortunately, it wouldn’t have been any of us. As soon as the looting started in Crenshaw, Dad locked up the store and came home. We all stayed there until it was over.” She remembered the four of them in front of the television, staying awake for days. Frank shaking his head and mumbling. Lois crying sometimes. Mary saying as soon as this is over, we’re leaving, Frank. Whether or not you come with us, the girls and I have to go.

      “So Grandpa never left the house.”

      “Not once the looters came, no.”

      Jackie was relieved to hear this. She hadn’t thought he was involved in the murders, but it was good to know for sure. “But how did Lawson get into the store? Grandpa must have locked the door. Did anyone else have a key?”

      Lois thought for a moment. “Yes. There were three boys who worked in the store—no, four. I think they worked at different times, so I don’t know who would have been there during the riots. Except, I guess, for Curtis Martindale.”

      “Do you remember the other boys’ names?”

      “Let me see now. David. And another D name…Derek. I don’t remember their last names, unfortunately. And a Sansei boy, Akira Matsumoto, who was a little bit older than Rosie. I remember him—he’d come back and visit even after he went off to college, and he had a really foul mouth. He was one of the original members of the Yellow Brotherhood.”

      “The what?”

      “The Yellow Brotherhood—they were kind of a gang. Not like the ones today. They formed for protection, mostly, and they had a political angle. I don’t think they lasted past the sixties.”

      “Do you know what happened to the boys who worked in the store?”

      “I don’t know what happened to the two black boys. Akira moved to Japan. He went to UCLA and got his act together, and then took a job in Tokyo. We’d hear about him sometimes because Dad stayed in touch with his parents. They might still be alive—I could look them up.”

      “Right. But if you called every Matsumoto in the phone book, it’d probably take a year.” She paused. “Thanks for the help, Lois. Sorry to shock you with all this.”

      “It’s not your fault. I’ll let you know if I remember anything else.”

      Friday came, slow as Christmas or a birthday, and Jackie drove back down to Crenshaw. Lanier had given her the address for a place he called the “barbecue church,” and a little after two, she arrived there. In the corner of the parking lot was a huge, smoking grill, facing several picnic tables which were half-filled with people. Jackie parked her car and made sure all her doors were locked. Then she walked over to the tables.

      She was nervous. There were about twenty-five people there, most of them young and all of them black. There were half a dozen older men, sitting together at a table. A middle-aged couple stood behind the grill, apron-clad, he marinating the big sides of beef, she twisting sausages with a pair of tongs. As Jackie approached, she felt self-conscious and not entirely safe. The teenagers looked at her and lifted single eyebrows in calm disdain. Jackie scanned the tables again—where was Lanier? But then he turned—he’d been sitting with his back to her—and waved her over.

      “Thanks for meeting me here,” he said as she approached. “I needed to touch base with some folks at the church…” He gestured toward the building. “…and then I thought I’d get some lunch. I hope you haven’t eaten already.”

      Jackie smiled. “I haven’t, actually. Once you told me there was barbecue involved, I figured I should wait.”

      Lanier extricated himself from the picnic table, motioning for her to walk toward the grill. “It’s actually an interesting story. Twenty-five years ago, this was just an empty lot. Then the founders of the church started using it to sell barbecue ribs and hot links at lunchtime. Well, word got around and the food sold so well that the founders raised enough money to build the church.”

      Jackie

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