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People in the Whitfield Hotel had the windows wide open, looking down. I thought maybe the police wouldn’t beat me just yet. They’d at least wait until we got to the station. My stomach got tight, my jaw, too, waiting for the first of them to swing. But then they left me in the car and went back to the door. I heard the piano, too. And I was thankful that his fingers had not been smashed.
    Mr. Cartwright ran up to the side of the car. “That cracker would have sure enough killed him, son. You did right.”
    He looked back at the door, but the police had their backs to us. They were listening. “I’ve Got the World on a String” sounded so sweet. In spite of everything, that was the honest truth. I won’t lie and say the music mademe forget that I was in a car, handcuffs and all. The band made the most of it, doing what they could.
    â€œI wish I could have helped you, son. In my heart, I was up there swinging.”
    â€œYou can help me now.”
    â€œI’m too old to bust anybody out.”
    â€œNo, sir. The ring in my shirt pocket,” I told him. “You need to take it and the money.”
    â€œYou want me to give it to your lady friend?” he asked.
    â€œNo, sir. Not like this. To my people at the cabstand. If it’s in my pocket when they take my clothes at the jail, that’ll be the last I see of it.”
    He reached in and took hold of the ring.
    â€œShe down there looking for you,” he said, motioning down the block to Montgomery Street, where Mattie was looking into the backs of police cars. Mr. Cartwright waved to her, and she came running.
    â€œAre you hurt?” she said, breathless.
    â€œNo. I just wanted to make sure you made it out all right.”
    â€œMe? I didn’t know if they were out here—Lord, I just didn’t want you to be someplace with nobody knowing where.”
    â€œDon’t worry.”
    â€œWhere in the hell did they come from?”
    â€œCrawled out the gutter somewhere.”
    Her hands shook, and the gloves showed it that much more.
    â€œThey’ll make me spend the night in jail,” I told her. “I’ll pay my fine and be out before noon Monday. I’ll meet you for lunch.”
    â€œIt’s not funny.”
    â€œIt will be once it’s over,” I said.
    The music had stopped by then. I could barely see the cops for all the people that had crowded in behind them to get a glimpse of Nat Cole finishing the only song he would play that evening.
    I need to see a doctor, and I’m afraid I cannot continue. Good night, Montgomery.
    And the applause then was as loud as the hollering, begging him to stay, but they knew he could not. Nat King Cole had been attacked in the city where he was born. He had left once before, and he was forced to leave again. If he never returned nobody could blame him. I damn sure couldn’t.
    â€œTell my people,” I told Mattie. “I’m sorry. I just wanted us to have a night.”
    I just wanted it to be done with. Take me to jail, let the judge talk to me any kind of way on Monday as long as I could pay my fine and do thirty days.
    â€œIt’ll be fine, sweetheart. I’ll see you soon.” That was all I could say to her.
    Mr. Cartwright walked Mattie away before the cops returned. When my brother’s cab came to the end of the block, he hollered for Mattie to come and get in. They waited so that they could follow us and make sure I was taken to the jail and not back in the woods somewhere. Dane followed as close as he could, but he couldn’t make the red light the officers sped through, with those sirens so loud they never left my ears. We made it to the jailhouse faster than I could have imagined.

Chapter 3
    I saw the judge that Tuesday after Armistice Day. Getting locked up on a holiday weekend meant an extra night in jail. The courthouse was closed that Monday, but the parades had come close enough for us to