Color

7. Chaos

Henry staggered through the player exit onto the west side of Union Steel Ballpark and pressed his back against the wall, trying to gather his breath. People flooded out of segregated white and colored exits like twin rivers, crashing together in violent waves along the boulevard ahead.

Moments later, Willy ducked under the door frame and looked around before seeing Henry. "I blocked the door with a desk. By the time them guards get out here, we be long gone." He said it with a crescent moon grin like he was all proud about himself.

Henry chuckled despite the headache. "You could have just locked it."

A quizzical look replaced Big Willy's smile. "Maybe next time."

Henry resisted a wisecrack. His ears finally popped, and the sounds of chaos exploded around him. He winced, bringing a shaky hand to cup the side of his head.

"You okay?" Willy asked.

Henry nodded. "Yeah...I'm fine." Only he wasn't fine. A dull pain thumped inside his head. His left hand and shirt were soaked in blood, still trickling down the side of his face.

A woman screamed from across the street. Somewhere a horse whinnied a high-pitched squeal; it sounded scared. And dogs wailed above the swell of cries and angry chatter.

On a normal game day, Grandview Boulevard bustled with lively fans and vendors hocking hotdogs, fresh roasted peanuts, popcorn, and even pierogies. Today, the thoroughfare was anything but grand. Score cards, abandoned hats, and betting slips littered the street. Blacks were fighting whites. Police were fighting blacks. German Shepherds pulled at long leather leashes held by white coppers with raging faces.

Henry pushed off the wall and stumbled toward the boulevard like a drunk on Wood Street. "Come on," he said. "We got to get out of here."

Big Willy caught up to him. "Wait, where we going?" Willy brought a supporting arm behind Henry's back and grabbed a fistful of shirt.

Thanks, Henry thought. He didn't like to admit it, but he needed help. He gestured his chin to the south end of the boulevard. "We can go to our old hiding spot down by the tracks."

"The old ballfield?" Willy said, a pitch of surprise in his tone. "We better get you to a hospital."

"No," Henry said. "No hospital. Don't have the money." That was only part true. He had stashed away a few bucks, but he needed every last cent for food and rent. Truth was, Henry didn't much like hospitals, not that he'd ever been in one. In the fourth grade, he passed Wilson Hospital on the way to church every Sunday. The building looked like a huge gray-stoned monster with windows for eyes and the entrance a hungry mouth, waiting to gobble up little black kids. Besides, he liked it when Doctor Rodney paid a visit to the farm to take care of momma or poppa, always one to give him a lemon drop for being a good boy...even when he wasn't. Henry sighed; maybe he just didn't like change.

For a moment, Willy looked like he was going to argue. Instead, he nodded, and they started walking again.

The stranger who stepped in front of them wore a white T-shirt over wide shoulders, denim overalls, and a gun tattoo on his right arm that Henry had seen on ex-military. Marines, maybe. The man stared through icy blue eye and a cold gaze intense with anger.

"You ruined this game, Louis!" The man said. "Just like your kind."

Henry pulled away from Willy's grasp and raised his palms. "Listen, we don't want any trouble."

The angry man glared. "You disrespected the game and all the soldiers busting their asses for our country. You're going to pay for what you did today."