White Butterfly An Easy Rawlins Mystery

Chapter One "Easy Rawlins!" someone called.I turned to see Quinten Naylor twist the handle of my front gate."Eathy," my baby, Edna, cooed as she played peacefully with her feet in her crib next to me on the front porch.Quinten was normal in height but he was broad and powerful-looking. His hands were the size of potholders, even under the suit jacket his shoulders were round melons. Quinten was a brown man but there was a lot of red under the skin. It was almost as if he were rage-colored.As Quinten strode across the lawn he crushed a patch of chives that I'd been growing for seven years.The violent-colored man smiled at me. He held out his beefy paw and said, "Glad I caught you in.""Uh-huh." I stepped down to meet him. I shook his hand and looked into his eyes.When I didn't say anything there was an uncomfortable moment for the Los Angeles police sergeant. He stared up into my face wanting me to ask him why he was there. But all I wanted was for him to leave me to go back into my home with my wife and children."Is this your baby?" he asked. Quinten was from back east, he spoke like an educated white Northerner."Yeah.""Beautiful child.""Yeah. She sure is.""She sure is," Quinten repeated. "Takes after her mother, I bet.""What do you want wit' me, officer?" I asked."I want you to come with me.""I'm under arrest?""No. No, not at all, Mr. Rawlins."I knew when he called me mister that the LAPD needed my services again. Every once in a while the law sent over one of their few black representatives to ask me to go into the places where they could never go. I was worth a precinct full of detectives when the cops needed the word in the ghetto."Then why should I wanna go anywhere wit' you? Here I am spendin' the day wit' my fam'ly. I don't need no Sunday drive wit' the cops.""We need your help, Mr. Rawlins." Quinten was becoming visibly more crimson under his brown shell.I wanted to stay home, to be with my wife, to make love to her later on. But something about Naylor's request kept me from turning him down. There was a kind of defeat in the policeman's plea. Defeat goes down hard with black people; it's our most common foe."Where we gonna go?""It's not far. Twelve blocks. Hundred and Tenth Street." He turned as he spoke and headed for the street.I yelled into the house, "I'm goin' fo' a ride with Officer Naylor. I'll be back in a while.""What?" Regina called from her ironing board out back."I'm goin' out for a while," I yelled. Then I waved at my forty-foot avocado tree.Little Jesus peeked out from his perch up there and smiled."Come on down here," I said.The little Mexican boy climbed down the tree and ran up to me with a silent smile stitched across his face. He had the face of an ancient American, dark and wise."I don't want you off exploring today, Jesus," I said. "Stay around here and look after your mother and Edna."Jesus looked at his feet and nodded."Look up here at me." I did all the talking when around Jesus because he hadn't said a word in the eight years I'd known him.Jesus squinted up at me."I want you close to home. Understand me?"Quinten was at his car, looking at his watch.Jesus nodded, looking me in the eye this time."All right." I rubbed his crew-cut peach fuzz and went out to meet the cop.Officer Naylor drove me to an empty lot in the middle of the 1200 block of 110th Street. There was an ambulance parked out front, flanked by patrol cars. I noticed a bright patent-leather white pump in the gutter as we crossed the street.A crowd had gathered on the sidewalk. Seven white police officers stood shoulder to shoulder across the front of the property, keeping everybody out. The feeling was festive. The policemen were all at ease, smoking cigarettes and joking with the Negro gawkers.The lot itself was decorated with two rusted-out Buicks that were hunkered down on broken axleMosley, Walter is the author of 'White Butterfly An Easy Rawlins Mystery', published 2002 under ISBN 9780743451772 and ISBN 0743451775.