Farewell, Amesthystine by Walter Mosley, is the 16th and latest in the Easy Rawlins series. The series describes post war LA and the influx of blacks from the south to LA, for jobs, a better life and a chance to stake a claim to the American dream of family, food on the table, and independence, albeit limited to the “negro experience” in U. S. Of A.
It’s 1970, and Easy has hit the mid-century mark, a milestone for a black male. As Easy puts it, in a confrontation with LAPD captain Anatole McCourt, “There was no question that he could have beaten me to death right there and then. But I had just turned fifty. The average life span of Negro men in that year was sixty. He had more to lose than I did.”
Easy has in the past 20 years succeeded quietly, amassing ten properties -100 rental units, providing with his private investigator activity -a steady cash flow, for a life off the grid. Including safe housing for he and his step daughter Feather, and step son Jesus with wife and daughter. A guarded enclave in the Santa Monica hills, “There were only six homes in Brighthope. All of them owned by Sadie Solomon, the richest woman west of the Mississippi River. Sadie gave ninety-nine-year leases to certain people who had done right by her, and others who had that potential. I was both.”
The story here involves Easy rescuing a friend, Melvin Suggs a LAPD captain…whose saved Easy’s ass frequently in the past… from the clutches of a cop even higher up, an under chief in the LAPD, and unraveling the disappearance of a new client, Amesthystine’ ex husband. The stories, as with most Mosley’s books, are complex and take many turns and introduce an array of characters and LA life. What stood out, for me, is Mosley’s unrelenting depiction of the realities and disparities of being black, and living black in LA and in America.
Easy’s turn. “I remembered Underchief Laks. A neatly dressed prig. He had four senior officers take me into custody on a Sunday afternoon when I still lived in LA proper.” —“What am I doing here?” I asked one of the few cops who outranked my friend Melvin Suggs. “It’s your turn, Easy.” “ My turn for what?” “So, when you sign this confession you will be charged for his murder.” “I didn’t kill him,” I said with steely conviction that I did not feel.” —“We have a numbered list of Los Angeles’s top criminals. One by one we choose them and make sure that they pay… for something.” —“Seven out of ten of the city’s white residents would have said it couldn’t happen—not in America. Out of the remaining three, two would have said that I could have beaten the false charges in court. Eleven out of nine Black Angelenos would have known” -different.
American Progress. “Most people, at least most whites, thought that everything was fine. Children made more money than their parents did, peace had been retained by the war I’d fought in, and freedom was available to everybody who deserved it—as long as they spoke English while praising Jesus and the almighty dollar.”
Law & Order. “The criminal courts building is on Temple Street downtown. Concrete and steel, it’s a monolith and an edifice, a symbol of the power of a justice system that has managed to hide the corruption fueling its machinations.”
Hippies. “They were young and, I knew, sooner or later they’d trade in these Utopian desires for good-paying jobs and the status quo. I knew it, but it was nice to be out there among them with their long hair and pot smoke, their perfect (if flawed) ideals and deep beliefs.”
Staying Alive. “he turned the corpse over. “Bradley Mirth,” he said. It was a big white man in military-like fatigues. His face was broad, with one eye open. He’d received at least six wounds. “Who is he?” I asked. “Used to be LAPD back in the days of Parker and his Night Riders. The ones who enforced laws that were never written down.” — “One of the good things about having lived half a century under the weight of second- and third-class citizenship—bad luck was never a surprise. If they wanted me they would get me. That was all there was to it.”
Code Blue. “LAPD, at that time, was a cult. Maybe all police departments everywhere in the world are bound up by toxic orthodoxy, I don’t know, but back then the LAPD didn’t believe in anything but the righteousness of their struggle to survive on streets at least partly of their own making.”
Now if you’re new to Mosley, Rawlins & the LA postwar experience, perhaps the slant seems heavy? But if you take the time to read Mosley, you will understand this is just the reality served straight up. If you care, then you need to understand it, to deal with it. And you should read first the early books to get where Easy, and Mosley, are coming from. Progress made is hard earned -a life and death experience.