South Central Noir

Say ten Hail Marys and hope for the best.

10

“I don’t want to do those pranks again,” I said to my friends, when we nearly killed Mr. Washington with a wire strung across the corridor.

“He’s fine,” said Maggie.

We all sported the same ponytails on the backs of our heads, high as we could wrap the rubber band. I watched them bob on my friends’ heads as we prowled the corridor. The pranks seemed to be getting worse, and I don’t know why we did it to Mr. Washington when he did no one any harm.

“Why aren’t we doing pranks on the nuns? They’re the ones we don’t like.”

“Beca-a-a-a-a-use,” said Maggie, “we can get in trouble if we pull pranks on the nuns.”

So what? I was always getting blamed for things anyway. Things I didn’t do. Some of them.

That night we got a bucket of dirt and sprinkled it out on a floor that Mr. Washington had just mopped.

11

I stood next to Mr. Washington in his cell at the Lincoln Heights Jail near the LA River. If I had thought the basement was pretty bad, it had nothing on this. Bars as far as the eye could see. Trash, noise, dark. I was glad I couldn’t smell it.

Mr. Washington often stood in his cell at night, looking out through the bars. There were a lot of Negroes in the cells around him. Sometimes I’d drift by the others and peer within. Some cried at night. Some plotted with words muttered through gritted teeth. But no one else stood at their bars like a guard on the wrong side.

I stood with him. I didn’t know what to say, to whisper. I didn’t know if he’d hear me anyway. The other men slept and made noises. Their cheap bunks squeaked as they turned over and over. I could see Mr. Washington’s eyes in the dark. They looked sad... and scared. I peered down at his big hands, with their big fingers and flat nails. I thought briefly of holding his hand, but I’d forgotton how.

12

I stood in the corner of the courthouse as the trial went on. When I was little, we’d take the streetcar downtown past the courthouse. But recently they’d started ripping up the tracks.

The seats were filled with people and reporters. The jury sat to one side in a sort of box next to the judge on his high desk. One lawyer sat with Mr. Washington at a table covered with papers facing the judge. The other lawyer — he had two helpers — sat at the opposite table. That lawyer wore a smug look on his face. He argued against Mr. Washington and yelled a lot, and talked about me as if I were someone else. Told how innocent I was, how bright a future I had. None of that was true.

But back at the academy, I did whisper to Sister Sixtus at night. She spent a lot of time in the chapel alone, crying. I whispered to her how horrible she was and that she was going to Hell. She was ugly when she cried.

13

“Why do we always have to bother Mr. Washington?” I lamented for the umpteenth time. “Leave him alone. Let’s do Sister Sixtus.”

Maggie pushed her glasses up to the bridge of her nose. “It’s too hard to prank the nuns.”

“Go check to see if Mr. Washington is in the basement,” said Josie.

I rolled my eyes and crept toward the basement door, pushed it opened. It was dark. He couldn’t be down there if it was dark.

“He’s not there,” I whispered.

“Are you sure?” Josie had a little laughter in her voice.

“Yeah, I’m sure.”

“Go look over the landing,” said Maggie.

“Jesus Christ,” I mumbled, then stepped onto the landing and looked over. The basement smelled like oily grease and furnace.

I took another step just to get a good look... and that’s when the wire caught me at the neck. I tried to jump back but one side tore loose and it wrapped around my throat.

I heard their laughter behind me. Goddamnit.

I slipped off the step and suddenly the wire tightened. I couldn’t get a grip to tear it away. I couldn’t breathe. Panicking, forgetting it was a prank gone wrong, I twisted hard to try to free myself. It tore the wire completely loose, but by then I was leaning too far and I was disoriented by lack of air. I felt myself go headfirst over the stairs, hitting more steps as I fell.

I seemed to fall forever, tumbling, tumbling, and everything hurt, but mostly the terror took over and I couldn’t breathe.

When I finally toppled to the basement floor, I didn’t move. I couldn’t. I still couldn’t breathe because the wire was tight around my neck now and my head and shoulder hurt bad.

A scream vaguely in the background, hurriedly hushed.

Hands were on me. “Are you all right?”

“You’re okay, you’re okay...” like a prayer.

Then they tried to drag me up the stairs but that wasn’t working. I heard their feet running and stomping up the stairs, and I wondered if they were coming back.

I lay that way for a long while as I got groggier, coming in and out of consciousness. A figure loomed out of the darkness looking down at me. I thought it was Mr. Washington at first. But slowly, I realized the shape was wrong. It was like a pillar. A black column. And then I could see the edge of their face in the light from the street through one of the basement windows. A nun.