The Strivers' Row Spy by Jason Overstreet

Author:Jason Overstreet [Overstreet, Jason]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Kensington
Published: 2016-07-04T04:00:00+00:00

20

AFTER A FEW MONTHS OF RELATIVE INACTIVITY, DECEMBER BROUGHT with it a more than usual amount of snow. Several of Garvey’s entourage had been called to a meeting at UNIA headquarters where Black Star Line business was to be discussed. I was sitting at a large conference table by myself, waiting for Garvey and company.

Two Legionnaires were keeping guard at the door. One of them was Peavine, who stood at attention with great discipline—following orders much better than he had at Loretta’s party. As usual, the two Legionnaires made it impossible for anyone not connected to the UNIA to enter the room.

In walked a young lady with a platter of cheese and crackers. She placed it at the head of the table where Garvey always sat. She also placed beside it his customary carafe of fresh mango juice. Whenever his mango juice arrived, I knew the meeting would start within five minutes.

I began the countdown, and just like clockwork, in walked everyone. Many removed their snow-covered overcoats and hung them on the rack next to the door before taking their seats.

Two of Garvey’s accountants and one of his lawyers were present, as well as John E. Bruce, Orlando Thompson, Hubert Harrison, William Ferris, and Reverend Eason. His two top security men were also there—Marcellus Strong and William Grant— one sitting to his right, the other his left. Both were built like prizefighters—tall and husky.

“I called this meeting,” said Garvey, pouring his glass of mango juice, “to discuss the idea of purchasing a ship that will be used as a luxury cruiser for our people. No more of these broken down war boats. We must secure a vessel that will allow our people to travel abroad in style. The Kanawha is a decent yacht, but we need something much more grand.”

He took a drink of his juice and savored it. He certainly didn’t share it with anyone—ever. The juice was his and his alone. So were the cheese and crackers, but he always waited for the meetings to end before eating them.

“It may take more time than I’d like,” he said, sipping again, “before our people can begin moving to Africa permanently. In the meantime, we shall provide them with a cruiser that will at least let them visit the motherland. Speaking of visiting the motherland, as you all know, Elie Garcia is in Liberia now and sends promising news about the land development negotiations taking place with President C. B. D. King.”

I couldn’t help but wonder where “our” people were going to get the money to take such lavish trips abroad. Amidst the poverty that existed throughout colored America, it seemed foolish to be conjuring up such schemes.

“This is good news,” said the tall, angular John E. Bruce. “Folks are ready for it. They need it—to be able to travel without being told to sit in this section or that.”

Bruce, in his sixties, was a veteran journalist who’d helped Garvey gain footing in Harlem. He acted as one of his main advisors and was famous for having once written bold words about the white man.

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