Free The Strivers' Row Spy by Jason Overstreet Page B

around.
    â€œNo, I’m one of the sales agents. I’ve been doing this here line of work for about fifteen years. Used to work for the Afro-American Realty Company.”
    â€œHow many rooms does the place have?”
    â€œPlace has one big bedroom and another little one. But as you can tell, it’s got plenty of space up in here.”
    I moved slowly around the living room. “So tell me about this company you worked for.”
    â€œWell, that company had been owned by Mr. Philip A. Payton, Jr. He was my boss. Hell of a man. Father of colored Harlem. Old Payton, Jr., had been buying up real estate and renting and selling to Negroes since ’bout 1904. But he died two years back.”
    â€œI’m sorry to hear that.” I rubbed my hand along the front window seal.
    â€œBefore that company existed, white owners was refusing to rent or sell to colored folks. A whole lot of coloreds would be living just as fine as can be, but all of a sudden some white man would buy the building and start evicting folks—then renting those spots to whites. But Mr. Payton, Jr., changed all that. He started buying up Harlem properties and evicting the white folks.”
    Mr. Smith began laughing loudly. The idea that a colored man had turned the tables on white folks tickled him to death. I made my way to the master bedroom and he followed with a bit of a limp.
    â€œAfter Mr. Payton, Jr., died, more Negro realty companies sprung up, and I was able to hook on with Jeffers Realty. They treat me real good, and they rent and sell to colored folks for fair dollars. Negroes is buying homes here in Harlem like you wouldn’t believe. Folks with regular payin’ jobs is even buying themselves a place. It’s buying time in Harlem. Investment time.”
    â€œWell, I certainly like this place, especially these hardwood floors and freshly painted walls.”
    â€œIf you look out the window there you can see the college to the south.”
    â€œYes, I saw it on my way over.” I approached the window and took a look. “Maybe Loretta can take some classes. She’s my wife. We’re not looking to buy right away. She wants to take her time picking a place to own.”
    I looked out at the large vacant field across the street, the City College in the distance. The field occupied about a quarter block. “Why is that field vacant and so shabby?” I asked.
    â€œOh, the City College been planning to develop that land for some five years. Nothin’ but weeds and bushes livin’ there now.”
    â€œWell, the view beyond it is pleasant. But I don’t plan on spending a lot of time looking out the window. And this place has character. How much per month?”
    â€œWell, most regular one-bedrooms in Harlem be goin’ for about one hundred dollars a month. But this here Sugar Hill town house goin’ for one seventy-five a month.”
    I wasn’t sure if Loretta would love it, but it would suffice for the time being. When the moment arrived for us to actually buy a home, I knew she would don her love for all things romantic.
    â€œWhen can we move in?”
    â€œWell now, if I can get you to fill out this here paperwork, I’ll take it back to the office and let you know by tomorrow. Ain’t no one else in the runnin’, so, I suppose you’ll be the one gets it.”
    I took out two hundred fifty in cash and handed it to him. “I really like the place.”
    â€œOh, no. I said one-hundred-seventy-five, Mr. Temple.”
    â€œThe extra seventy five is for you.”
    He stood there wide-eyed for a moment. “All right then. Well, uh . . . well . . . okay . . . I’ll have the keys for you tomorrow. Where are you staying?”
    â€œThe Sweet Tree.”
    â€œHow does high noon sound?”
    â€œSounds good. Look here. You wouldn’t happen to know of any small office space that might be available for rent in the area would you?