Black Gangster (26 page)

Frankie threw him a murderous look, then grabbed Ruby by the arm and guided her toward the rear of the bar. "One of you bitches give them punks some money," she said over her shoulder, glancing at her girls along the bar.

Ruby caught Preacher's eye as she slipped onto a barstool. Her tight black skirt rose up high on her thighs as she settled down, revealing a blood-red halfslip. With a small nod of her head, she motioned towards the door, before one of Preacher's men should recognize her. Preacher got the hint and started to leave with his followers.

One of Frankie's girls ran up and handed him sixty dollars. "It ain't but four of us working tonight, but if that ain't enough, you can send someone back later on. We should be done broke luck by then," she said, half belligerently.

Preacher took the money and started towards the door. "If we find out there's more girls working than what you said, I'll personally see to it that somebody kicks a mudhole in your ass," he told the girl.

Frankie moved from her barstool, then thought better of it and sat back down. The bar remained silent after Preacher had left.

Frankie broke the silence, turning to Ruby. "As you've heard, honey, they call me Frankie down here." She raised her hand and pointed to the girls at the end of the bar. "All of them are in my stable." She laughed abruptly. "It seems as though I'm just about the only person down here that really wears pants." She pointed over her shoulder at the pimps who were glaring at her. "You could say most of them are just punks in men's clothes." Her laughter rang out brazenly.

Ruby smiled. "All my friends call me Jamie, honey," she said easily. For a moment, she was fascinated by this loud, daring woman. She was well aware that it took a rare person to browbeat the pimps in this bar; they were all dangerous to a degree. When it came to taking any kind of shit from a woman, it hurt their pride. For Frankie to toss her contempt right in their faces was to skate on very thin ice. It wouldn't take but a slight nudge and the roof of the bar might fall in on both their heads. Ruby surveyed the place to see if anyone else might have recognized her.

After they had downed a couple of straight whiskeys, using water for a chaser, Frankie moved closer and began to rub Ruby's leg. When Ruby didn't protest, she moved even closer and began whispering hoarsely.

"Listen, Jamie," she began, "I know where we can have a little privacy, if you'll agree."

"I don't know," Ruby answered hesitantly. "Where did you have in mind we go?"

Frankie tried to put on a nonchalant air. "It really doesn't make any difference," she said, "but I would kind of like to go up to my place for a few drinks."

Ruby pretended to be startled for a moment. "Oh no, Frankie, I couldn't go for that. Suppose one of your girls came in while I was there?"

Frankie waved one of her hands disgustedly. "That's your least worry, Jamie. Ain't none of my girls going to show up, and if one of them did, you wouldn't have to worry about her saying anything."

Ruby picked up the double shot of whiskey in front of her and sipped it slowly before replying. "I don't think I want to go to your place, Frankie..., but if you want to go over to my place, that would be marvelous."

Frankie's arm began to tremble with excitement as she ran it higher on Ruby's leg. Saliva formed in the corner of her mouth and began to dribble down her chin. With a backward swipe of her hand, she cleaned her chin and stood up. "Since you might want to come back later, honey, we might as well get the show on the road."

Ruby slipped off her stool and stood beside Frankie. Ruby was tall for a woman, but when Frankie was beside her, she seemed actually short. The tip of her head barely cleared Frankie's shoulder. They walked out of the bar arm in arm. Frankie yelled at a passing cab in a heavy masculine voice. When they got in the cab, the driver looked twice and cursed silently.

Ruby called out the address to him, then sat back in the seat. "Wait a minute, baby," she said, pushing Frankie's hand from under her dress. "We got all night, so ain't no reason for us to rush this thing."

Frankie's breathing came heavy and loud in the silence of the cab. "I hope you mean that, Jamie, about us having all night. The last thing I want to do is come back and sit up in that goddamn bar the rest of the night." Frankie stared at her in the darkness. This would be one helluva cop, she thought. With a big strong whore like this in her stable, there would be pleasant nights ahead.

Ruby stopped Frankie from loosening one of the buttons on her blouse. She answered easily. "If you don't be so goddamn impatient, honey, I might let you stay all night with me. If what I'm going through now is a taste of what I'd have to put up with the rest of the night, I don't think I'll be able to stand it."

Frankie's eyes glittered dangerously in the dark. She made up her mind that, once Jamie was in her stable, she would take some of the smart-assedness out of her. She imagined beating her with one of her huge belts and grinned. Yes, it would be enjoyable to take some of the starch out of this woman.

The cab pulled up and parked in front of a shabby apartment building. The driver leaned over the backseat and took the money. As the women began to get out, he spit out the door past them.

"What the hell is wrong with you, mister?" Frankie asked belligerently.

The driver ignored the remark and pulled away from the curb. As soon as the cab moved out into the light traffic, Frankie glanced at the building and spoke to Ruby. "You mean to tell me, Jamie, that as good as you look this is the best living quarters you could find?" She tossed a skeptical glance up and down the street, taking in the overturned garbage cans. "Hmph," she snorted. "It's plain to see you need somebody to manage your business for you."

"That's why I came down to the bar tonight, Frankie. I was hoping I'd meet someone who could show me where to work in this city. I haven't been here but a couple of weeks, and I don't really know where to go." Ruby hesitated, then added, "You know, the last thing I wanted was to hit the streets without someone able to bail me out if I took a fall."

"Don't worry," Frankie smiled. "You came to the right place, and you found the right person."

They entered the dimly-lit building and started up the stairway. On the first landing, a winehead came staggering down the stairs. He lurched into Frankie, almost knocking her down the steps. Before she could regain her balance, he shoved her out of his way. She crashed against the wall, but as he tried to stagger past, she reached out and grabbed him by the shirt. Her right hand moved up and down in a blurring motion. The blows to his head sounded loud in the empty hall. With a sneer of disgust on her face, she tripped him and sent him falling the rest of the way down the stairs.

His screams were still in their ears as they reached the second floor. Ruby stopped at a door and stuck her key into the lock. She stepped aside and let Frankie pass in front of her. Frankie stopped in the doorway and shook her whiskey-filled head as though some instinct warned her not to go any further.

Before she could gather her wits, Ruby gave her a violent push from behind and she went stumbling into the room. Racehorse stepped from behind the door and hit her savagely upside the head with a nine-inch blackjack. She slowly crumbled up and fell to the floor.

The couple worked fast after that. In five minutes, Ruby emerged from the room and walked quickly down the hall to where a pay phone hung on the wall. After making a hurried call, she went back up the hall to the front window. She pulled back the filthy curtain that hung across the cracked pane, rubbed some of the dirt off the glass, and glanced out. She waited patiently until she saw a small boy ride up on a bicycle and stop under the streetlight. Then she retraced her steps and went back to the room.

"Here, Ruby," Racehorse said, handing her a large brown grocery bag.

"Did you clean everything up?" she asked in a subdued voice.

Racehorse glanced at her nervously. "Don't worry, Ruby. I took care of everything that needed taking care of."

"Well," she hesitated slightly, then started for the door. "I'm gone then, baby. I don't think you need me for anything else."

He didn't even bother to look up. "Okay, baby," he said, speaking more to himself than to her. "I think I'll go out the back door."

Ruby came out of the building and walked quickly to the kid on the bike. Her heels rang out loudly on the pavement. "Here," she said to him. "Take this bag up to the Silver Dollar Bar and throw it under the door. Oh yeah," she added, "there's no reason for you to be lookin' in the bag, and don't forget that somebody will be watching you at all times. If you stop somewhere and start bullshittin', we'll know about it."

"Don't worry," he said as he took the bag from her. "I ain't goin' stop nowhere, and I ain't goin' peep in the goddamn bag."

"Make sure you don't," Ruby ordered and removed a ten-dollar bill from her bra. "This is for you." She pushed the money towards him. "If you ever want to pick up some more easy money, make sure you do just like you're told."

Ruby started down the street as the kid went off on the bike. He rode for about ten ghetto blocks before the bag began to get heavy. As he went to change hands with the bag, something thick and sticky oozed onto his leg. He began to pump the bike faster as the bottom of the bag began to give way. As soon as he turned the corner into the next block, he saw a neon sign with a large silver dollar on it flashing off and on. When he got to the door, he stopped his bike and grabbed the bag at the bottom with one hand in order to stop it from bursting. With one hand on the top and the other on the bottom, he flung the bag under the swinging doors, then rode away. The blood on his hand added speed to his flight.

Inside the bar the bag rolled over and over and came to a halt in the middle of the floor. The people sitting at tables near the bar, and those at the bar, watched the bag bounce across the floor and come to a halt.

A young prostitute, not older than eighteen, let out a loud scream as the bag opened and Frankie's head rolled out and propped itself up on the severed neck in the middle of the floor. For the next ten minutes, the bar became a place of horror as pimps and whores alike screamed without stopping.

AFTER DONNIE LEFT the Roost he remained silent in the rear of the car. The news had already reached the kids in the clubhouse. Even though he hadn't known Frankie, he still felt a certain foreboding. It wasn't possible for them to continue getting away with wholesale murder. There was no doubt in his mind as to who was behind it either. He thanked his lucky stars that he only had to handle the homemade whiskey. That way, he reasoned, when the bust did come down, he didn't have too much to worry about. He figured the most he could get for the first offense was three years. And even so, he would still come out ahead of the game. Since he'd moved up in the orga nization, he'd been able to make enough money to buy his mother a house out of the slums; and for the first time in their lives, his brothers and sisters had enough clothes to wear.

Donnie relaxed and stared out into the early morning darkness. Whatever happened, he reasoned, he'd have to come out on top. Where else could he have earned enough money so that his mother would have fifteen thousand dollars stashed away. He still smiled at the thought of her face when he had dumped the money in her lap. There would be no more standing in line at the clinic or waiting for checks, or listening to sass from welfare workers. No more, he thought happily, would his mother have to wash other people's floors or accept hand-me-downs for her children. They even had insurance for each child in the family.

Suddenly the driver pulled up in the gas station that had been picked out for their meeting place. He glanced around quickly to make sure Danny hadn't shown up with the rental truck yet. "Van," he said to the young man Prince had given him for a personal bodyguard, "fill the gas tank up first, and if they ain't here by then, pull over by the pop machine and we'll sip on some pop until they show up."

The driver grunted and did as he was told. The boy sitting next to him in the front seat twisted around and spoke to Donnie. "How long you think it's going to take us to get this goddamn still set up?"

Donnie shrugged. "How the hell would I know? I ain't never seen no whiskey still as large as this one."

Donnie went back to staring out of the window. He didn't want to be bothered with stupid questions. His mind was too busy thinking over the money this new still would bring in. If everything went right, he'd be able to clear close to twenty thousand dollars in the next three months.

He prayed quietly, not really believing his luck could hold that long. "Lord, if you will only let me get in thirty more days.... I ain't hurtin' nobody, and just look at the good I'm doing with the money. Please, Lord, don't let nothing happen for another month, and I'll see to it that my sisters and brothers all be in church every week. In fact, Lord, I'll start going every Sunday myself, but just please, Jesus, help me to help these poor little black children that ain't never hurt nobody."