Shades of Black: Crime and Mystery Stories by African-American Authors Read Online Free PDF Page A

one of the drawings. She was frowning. “There’s something about . . .” She looked up, her eyes going from Walter Lee to Dwight. “It . . . was nothing important. I’ll ask you in the morning.”
    Walter Lee was sitting in the men’s washroom polishing the shoes the passengers had left for him to shine, when the brakes screeched and the train jerked. He was thrown from his chair as the train came to a stop.
    Lord, they must have hit something on the track.
    He jumped up and grabbed his jacket.
    In the corridor, the doors were opening, passengers asking what had happened. He went down the line, calming them down and making sure everyone was all right. Then he hurried toward the door separating the sleeping quarters from the lounge. He needed to find the conductor.
    He didn’t have far to go. Mick O’Malley was in the lounge, his solid two hundred pounds of muscle planted between two men, Zach Garfield and Ruby’s friend, Johnny.
    She was there in a chair.
    â€œYou killed her, you nigger bastard!”
    Zach Garfield was standing with his back pressed to the wall, his eyes dark and wide against skin that looked chalky. “I didn’t. God, I told you I didn’t!”
    Mick O’Malley’s hand held Johnny back, as he tried to rush at Zach.
    â€œI saw how you were looking at her when we got on the train!” Johnny said, his fists clenched, his face red.
    Walter Lee pulled his gaze from the men and looked down at the woman slumped sideways in the armchair. She was still beautiful. But she wasn’t laughing anymore. A knife—a large kitchen knife—was sticking out of her chest.
    Help us, Jesus, Walter Lee thought.
    â€œTalk fast,” Mick O’Malley said to Zach.
    â€œI told him what happened,” Zach said, his voice shaking. “I heard a noise, and I came to see what it was. And I found her like that.”
    â€œYou’re lying!” Johnny said.
    â€œWe’ll hold him for the police,” Mick O’Malley said. “Until we get to Chicago. I’ll not have a lynch mob on my train.”
    His words were as much for the passengers that had began to crowd into the room as for Johnny. They were mumbling. Staring from Ruby dead there in the chair to Zach with his back against the wall.
    â€œI’m going to lock him up in the storeroom in the kitchen,” O’Malley told the passengers. “I’ll put a guard on the door.” Then, to Walter Lee, “This man here . . .” he gestured with a nod at Johnny. “Pulled the emergency brake to signal for help. We’ll be back under way in a few minutes.”
    â€œYes, sir,” Walter Lee said.
    He turned to the passengers behind him. “Ladies and gentlemen, we . . . there’s nothing you can do here. If you would please go back to your rooms—”
    â€œDon’t you be telling us where to go, nigger,” a man’s voice said from the crowd.
    â€œThen I’ll tell you,” Mick O’Malley said. “Get back to your rooms and stay there.”
    They went back with curses from the men and wails of fear from the women. Walter Lee thought he heard the preacher asking the Lord’s assistance.
    He’d be willing to bet that they all were locking their doors and would keep them locked until the next station. They wouldn’t be ringing for their colored porter tonight.
    And that was good because he had some thinking to do.
    Walter Lee wondered in passing what instructions Mick O’Malley would give to the kitchen crew. Would he lock them up somewhere too, to make sure none of them tried to let Zach free? Or would he trust them?
    Hard to tell what O’Malley was thinking right now. He’d left Walter Lee in charge of his car. But by the time they got to Chicago, all the colored men who were in the vicinity might have gotten named in Ruby’s death. And, however, it came out for