Free Southland by Nina Revoyr Page B

loneliness, calcified. The empty solitude on top of the mountain.
    “Anyway,” Jackie said finally, “that’s not why I came here today.”
    Lanier looked at her and nodded, waiting for her to continue.
    “I’m looking for someone who would have been a kid in the fifties or sixties, a boy who probably used to go to my grandfather’s store.”
    “Yes,” Lanier replied, “Curtis Martindale.” He hadn’t said the name out loud in years, although he’d thought it, dreamed it, watched it weave and twist and circle around him.
    Jackie leaned forward. “Do you know him?”
    “Used to. His daddy was my mama’s brother. Me and Curtis and his little brother Cory, we used to hang out all the time. Cory was my age and Curtis was older.”
    “Oh, great.” This was easier than she’d expected. “Well, I think my grandfather knew him. He mentioned him in some papers my aunt found after he died.”
    “That makes sense. He practically lived at your grandfather’s store, and he worked there for a couple of years. A lot of the older boys hung out there.” He remembered a group of them sitting on milk crates out front. He in overalls, Curtis in his work pants and apron. James—Jimmy—wriggled in between Curtis and another boy, sweater warm and scratchy against his cheek. Anything to be next to his cousin. They were listening to the radio that Mr. Sakai had set up by the door. The Dodgers versus the Yankees, in the ’63 World Series. Mr. Sakai handing out ice-cold sodas, beaming, as the Dodgers swept the Yankees in four.
    “So why you looking for him?” asked Lanier.
    “Actually,” Jackie began, then stopped abruptly. She couldn’t think of a convenient lie, and she didn’t want to mention the money. But a partial truth was probably safe. “My grandfather left him something in his will.”
    Lanier raised his eyebrows. “Must have been a pretty old will.”
    “Yeah, it was. So do you know where Curtis is?”
    Lanier looked at her, nostrils flaring. “He’s dead.”
    “What?”
    “He died in the uprising. The Watts uprising—’65.”
    Jackie wiped her hands on her pants and said, “Shit.” She was a bit annoyed at Lanier for making her drive all the way down there; he could have just told her over the phone and spared her the trip. But she was relieved, too—if Curtis Martindale was dead, then her duty had been fulfilled, her task completed. Lois could keep the money and buy a house. When she glanced up, though, she found Lanier looking at her curiously. She’d almost forgotten he was there—she was thinking about getting home and calling Laura—but now he seemed more troubled and interested than he’d been since she had come.
    “You don’t know about this, do you?” he asked.
    She gave him a look. “About the Watts riots? Of course I do. Marcus Frye. Four days of rioting. McCone Commission report.”
    “No,” he said, ignoring her tone. “You don’t know about your grandfather’s store.”
    Something in his voice made her pay attention. “Well, I know that it didn’t get burned.”
    “No, it didn’t get burned, or looted either. But the day after the uprising ended, four black boys were found dead in the store’s freezer. And my cousin Curtis Martindale was one of them.”
    “ What? ”
    “There was a walk-in freezer in the back, where your grandfather kept meat and ice. Someone locked them all in there during the uprising. They would have frozen to death in a couple of hours.”
    Jackie opened her mouth and closed it again. She couldn’t place this information in the same universe with what she’d known about her grandfather. “How?” she finally managed. “Why? I mean, I’ve never heard…”
    Lanier nodded. “It was never reported in the mainstream press, since so many other things were going on. Not that anyone would have given a shit about a bunch of dead niggers. But I’m surprised that your family…”
    Jackie shook her head. She didn’t have the energy to explain