Read Our Man in the Dark for Free Online Page A

the SCLC found out about the money you stole.”
    Mathis throws a look at Strobe, and he seems to back off.
    Strobe’s clumsy hint at intimidation isn’t necessary. Suddenly, I am a Negro, moments away from being draped in the American flag. To move forward, I only need to echo their line of thinking, and if it means protecting Martin, then I am happy to do so.
    â€œI mean it when I tell you I consider myself a patriot.” I do my best to recline in the flimsy chair. “The success of this country and the Negro are intertwined. If communism threatens one, even when befriending the other, then communism must be stopped.”
    Strobe bites his lip and squints at me. “Are you sure, Mr. Estem? This is a big responsibility.”
    â€œStrobe . . . Thank you,” Mathis says while keeping his eyes locked on me. “We just want to be sure you understand the seriousness of what we are asking.”
    â€œOf course I do. Don’t mistake my eagerness for foolishness. It’s just that I know the deceptive nature of communism firsthand.”
    Mathis folds his arms. “Go on,” he says.
    â€œIt’s nothing really. I had a cousin—a bohemian artistic type—who lived in Manhattan. He came to visit one summer when I was in high school, anxious to educate us backward colored Southerners. He’d gone to meetings and brought some literature with him—”
    â€œYou have communists in your family?” asks Strobe.
    Mathis clears his throat, and Strobe stifles up.
    â€œHe wasn’t really a communist. He was just going through a phase, and that’s exactly how I saw it—a phase, fleeting and temporary. I could see no permanent solution for the Negro in communism. It meant giving up capitalism and, most importantly, individualism. Those are American ideals. What Negro in his right mind would turn his back on those ideals and run toward a collective identity?” Feeling pleased with my presentation, I cross my legs as the chair creaks ominously.
    â€œYou make your country proud,” says Strobe.
    â€œA great citizen,” echoes Mathis. “You’ll be compensated for the work you do for us, John. We’ll start you with a stipend of one hundred dollars a week.” He gives me a business card with no name and only a number. “Call from a pay phone, never the same one twice in a row. You’re active immediately, so we’ll be in contact at the end of the week.”
    I hold the card between my thumb and index finger, thinking how noone has thought enough of me to give me one before.
    â€œOne more thing, John,” Mathis adds, “It’s important for you to remain as inconspicuous as possible. Don’t draw attention to yourself. So you’ll need to be prepared to return that money, however dirty it may be. You understand that, don’t you, John?”
    Of course, I understand. I am an accountant. I can do the math. And the sum of my actions equals a problem.

I don’t know what to make of the agents’ claims. They say that Gant is a communist. Maybe he is, but I have my doubts. Would he really be willing to give up those tailored suits for gray coveralls? And I think they are overstating his influence on Martin. However, something about the conversation I had with Martin that night has begun to swirl around in my head . . .
    I was fine, sitting there with nothing but smoke and silence between us, but Martin had decided to speak up.
    â€œSo, what are you doing here at this time of night . . . ?” He seemed to be searching for what he should call me.
    â€œIt’s John. I’m working late.”
    â€œWell, you’ve got an admirable work ethic . . . John.”
    â€œThank you. And you? Why are you out at this hour keeping me and the shadows company?”
    He grimaced. Smoke came from his nostrils. “I didn’t feel like going home just yet.”
    I glanced down, ashamed. I already knew the