BooksBarbecue
Back Blood Grove
Chapters (55)
  1. Cover
  2. Title Page
  3. Dedication
  4. 1
  5. 2
  6. 3
  7. 4
  8. 5
  9. 6
  10. 7
  11. 8
  12. 9
  13. 10
  14. 11
  15. 12
  16. 13
  17. 14
  18. 15
  19. 16
  20. 17
  21. 18
  22. 19
  23. 20
  24. 21
  25. 22
  26. 23
  27. 24
  28. 25
  29. 26
  30. 27
  31. 28
  32. 29
  33. 30
  34. 31
  35. 32
  36. 33
  37. 34
  38. 35
  39. 36
  40. 37
  41. 38
  42. 39
  43. 40
  44. 41
  45. 42
  46. 43
  47. 44
  48. 45
  49. 46
  50. 47
  51. 48
  52. Discover More
  53. Praise for Walter Mosley andBlood Grove
  54. About the Author
  55. Also by Walter Mosley

“He didn’t say specifically, just that he had this fight or something and he needed to find out if the guy . . . I don’t know, maybe if the guy was gonna cause trouble.”

Kirkland seemed a little shifty, but that didn’t reveal what he did or did not know or, for that matter, what his motives were.

“The question is,” I said, “how did you know to give him my name?”

Kirkland looked into my eyes, hesitated, and then said, “Chris . . . Christmas Black.”

My idea of the perfect private detective was a man who never let what he was feeling or thinking show on his face. This goal wasn’t difficult for someone like me because that was business as usual for black folk reared in the South. No matter what you learned, you were never to let it overwhelm what your job was, what your responsibilities were. But the name Christmas Black put a weight on my mind. He was the soldier’s soldier. In his days in the military they dropped him hundreds of miles behind enemy lines, where he killed who needed to be killed and then lived off the land till he was back in his barracks.

Christmas Black was a warrior and so anything having to do with Craig Kilian had the potential to be war.

I am proud to say that even though I was thrown off by how Kirkland had gotten my name, I was still aware enough to notice that my witness was leaning back from me.

I stepped quickly away from the makeshift bar, only an instant before Bernard Michaels swung an empty Coke bottle at my head. He put his full weight behind the cowardly attack and so tumbled off-balance, hitting his head on the hardwood edge of the bar. He fell to the floor in a heap, bleeding from the scalp and out for the count.

“I saw everything,” Norman Toll said as he ran up to us. Other vets were looking after Bernard.

“He was trying to hit you from behind,” Toll added. “A coward and a sneak.”

I heard the words and shared the sentiments, but my eyes were on Kirkland.

“Did you see him?” I asked the corporal.

“Yeah, but, um, I thought he was just gonna join us,” Larker lied.

9

9

I expected to go home after Anzio’s. There to consider what I’d learned and decide whether or not to see Craig Kilian’s mother. Instead I drove farther downtown to an address on Wilshire Boulevard, which was at that time the North American headquarters of P9, the insurance behemoth. In the late sixties P9 owned the second-tallest building in LA.