Black Gangster (8 page)

Both men walked slowly down the alley until they reached a lot that had once been a building before the 1967 riots. They cut through the debris of the burnedout building and came out on the next street. Fatdaddy smiled as sirens sounded in the distance.

"Pull off that jacket," he ordered as a bus turned the corner. "Lay it across your arm like I got mine."

Brute followed directions. He climbed into the bus behind Fatdaddy and both men walked to the rear and sat down quietly.

Across town in an upstairs flat of a two-family house, Dot watched Roman as he paced up and down. Small specks of gold seemed to dance off of Roman's brown silk suit as the sunlight played tag across his back. "You're the walkingest damn man I've ever seen," Dot snapped.

He turned sharply to her. "Just shut your goddamn mouth," he snarled, ignoring the tempting view of her crossed legs.

Roman went back to pacing, so Dot picked up a novel and glanced at it. But she couldn't keep her mind on the book. Something had happened, and for some reason Roman hadn't let her in on it. She knew he was upset about something, though. They had been living together for four years now, ever since she turned sixteen. She remembered her father's harsh laugh as she packed her few belongings and left. He had believed Roman would make her a prostitute, but she had known better. Ever since she could remember, her father's brutal advice had kept her aware of what was going on. "Always remember," he used to tell her, "that you're black and poor, so don't never do nothing that you ain't going to get paid for. I'd rather see you selling your ass than out free-fuckin', 'cause whenever you get knocked up, it's goin' be yours to take care of. Ain't no room in this house for no goddamn kids, so make sure you got some way to support yourself and whatever you bring into this world."

When her mother had tried to warn him about talking to her like that, he had snatched Dot by the arm and stared down into her young face. "That shit your mother is talkin' ain't nothin' but neck," he had said. "I'm your daddy and I love you, but I damn sure don't love you more than I love myself. If we was out in a desert somewhere and didn't have but one glass of water between us, who do you think would drink it, me or you?"

She had stared up into his face and realized just what he was trying to tell her. She smiled coldly to herself as she remembered his last warning. While she was packing, he had stepped into her small bedroom and said, "Always remember, Dot, what I been telling you. It's all right to love somebody, but don't never put nobody in front of you. Not even your Jesus, baby. If you do that, you'll have far less chances of being hurt by other people. Look out for you, girl, 'cause ain't nobody else in this world goin' ever love you the way you love yourself."

It had been good advice, she reasoned; ever since that day she had made sure she never did anything unless there was something in it for her. There had been many girls in the neighborhood better looking than her, but she had kept Roman at arm's length until he promised to send her to school if she became his girl. And it had all paid off.

Roman had thought he was getting the best of her, since it didn't cost anything to send her to high school, but when she enrolled in college, he had blown up once she told him what it was going to cost; but she stuck to her demand and he paid her tuition. Now she was in her second year, with more clothes to wear than any girl in her class. Yes, she had to admit, her father's warning had paid off. "Always remember, girl," he used to say, "you got something between your legs that sells better than cotton in New York."

A sharp rap at the door interrupted her thoughts. Roman rushed over and opened it. "Man, am I glad to see you," he said and stepped back, allowing Prince to come in, followed by Ruby and Brute. Fatdaddy closed the door after he entered and leaned against it.

"Pull that short-ass skirt down, Dot," Roman ordered as he noticed Brute leering openly.

Brute, sitting on the edge of his chair, spoke up. "Ah man, it don't hurt nothing to let me look. Do it, Dot?" he asked sharply and smiled at her as she grinned back.

Her small fox-like features had a sardonic sneer that revealed her opinion of men without her speaking it. She enjoyed their discomfort. At times she went out of her way to arouse Roman's anger with her teasing ways.

Ruby sat beside her, crossing her golden brown legs carelessly. "What's wrong, Roman?" she asked softly, her voice sounding like chimes.

"Why don't you check your woman, Prince? We got more important business than to have some goddamn women flashin' their ass," Roman said sharply.

Prince smiled. "I like to see my boys happy," he said quietly, "and besides, Brute seems to be really enjoying himself."

Roman snorted. "I don't know what you could be thinking about at a time like this, Prince. It's been all over the goddamn news all evening, man. Two of them guys died from that rumble and they're looking for at least one more to die before the night's over."

Dot sat up suddenly. She hadn't known they had been responsible for that fight. No wonder Roman had been on edge all evening, she thought.

"So who gives a fuck?" Fatdaddy said, returning from the portable bar. He gave Prince a drink. "You been carrying on about them punks ever since you heard the news, Roman. What the hell do you want Prince to do, play God and bring them back?"

"Ruby," Prince said sharply, "take Dot in the bedroom and explain to her about the organization we're going to start up." His eyes warned Roman and Fatdaddy to shut up.

He waited until the door closed behind the two women. "Listen, Roman," he began, as though he were talking to a child. "These slums breed poverty and violence, baby. There's so much pain and ugliness in life that that little shit that happened today is only a small part of it. It takes a brutal struggle to get enough money to get above this, that's why them boys got killed today. That happens at times."

"But," Roman said sullenly, "for no reason; the guys didn't even get to Alfonso."

Prince shook his head. "You'd be surprised," he said quietly, "just how much those killings did help us. Right now, Alfonso is somewhere shaking like a leaf. He knows we meant to get his ass and not those kids. By now this rumble is being talked about all over the city, and if we get away with it, without gettin' our fingers burned, this city will be in the palm of my hand."

The pink princess phone rang softly. Fatdaddy bent down and picked up the receiver. He held it out to Prince. "Yeah, baby." Prince's voice was firm.

Chinaman, on the other end, spoke slowly. "Ain't but four of the studs who drove the wheels checked in yet, Prince. Little Larry was handling the wheel for them 'woods off the Heights and ain't showed up yet."

"You got any ideas what could have held him up?" Prince asked sharply.

"Naw, man. The stud should have been back here an hour ago. All he had to do was to drop them peckerwoods off and ditch that goddamn car."

"Maybe he ran into a little trouble," Prince suggested slowly. He balled his fist up, then forced himself to relax.

"That's the way I got it figured," Chinaman replied. "The stud must have got uptight, somehow."

Prince paused for a moment, his mind working quickly. "How mellow is this stud?" he asked suspiciously. "It just might cost us our family jewels if this stud ain't cool."

"The guy's real cool, Prince. Real cool. But if this happens to be a first-degree beef, baby, I don't know if he's that strong."

"Yeah, I'm hip," Prince answered coolly. "Dig this, Chinaman, we better take a few precautions. You get in touch with the four other studs that did the driving and send them over to the hideout, one at a time, in a cab. Have them dress up in suits and ties before leaving their pads, dig. That way the fuzz might think it's just another guy going out on a funky date and leave them alone. After you send the last one over, you get your ass over here with them until you hear from me. We might as well put them in hibernation until the heat is off."

"Okay," Chinaman answered, "but it's going to be one hell of a party trying to keep them studs cooped up.

"Don't worry," Prince assured him, "Vicky's already over there and I'll be there myself with the rest of the gang "

Prince hung up and yelled for Ruby. When she appeared, he ordered, "I want you to call down to the Roost and have Tess pick up three more girls and head out to the hideout. Tell her to use the '67 Caddie." He hesitated before adding, "Oh yeah, tell her to stop by Billy's apartment and pick up two pounds of reefer to take along."

Brute whistled. "How about me and Fatdaddy going out there, too?"

"No, I'm going to let you and Fatdaddy shack up over at my apartment. Apeman, too, as soon as...."

"Prince?" Ruby called from the bedroom, interrupting him. "Tess didn't know Billy's address."

"Well what in the hell is stopping you from giving it to her?" he yelled angrily. "You been there enough times."

"I just know where the house is, honey; I don't know the address."

"I'll give it to her," Roman said, walking towards the bedroom.

The phone began to ring again. Brute stared around in astonishment. "What the hell!" he exclaimed stupidly after picking up the phone nearest him and hearing a buzz. The phone continued to ring loudly until Prince stepped behind the bar and picked up the receiver of a phone neatly concealed inside the cabi net. He nodded slightly twice, then smiled. "You say the kid sells papers around there, huh. Okay, you find out what peewee gang this kid runs with and reward them. Buy them some new leather jackets or something. Just make sure we give them something this week," he said and hung up.

Prince picked up a piece of paper he had written an address on. "Fatdaddy, you and Brute go in the bedroom with Roman; I'll call ya when I get finished." When the bedroom door closed behind them, Prince picked up the phone and dialed a number slowly.

A female voice answered on the other end. "Let me speak to Racehorse or Tony," he said quietly.

CAPTAIN MAHONEY STARED hard at his two lieutenants and said, "I should bust you both. You stand there and tell me you're on the case, but two kids have died already and possibly more before the night's over, and you don't even have a lead."

Lieutenant Gazier grinned sheepishly. "It's only been three hours, Captain; give us a little time."

Lieutenant Morales, well aware of his captain's tantrums, waited patiently for the storm to pass.

"Give you time? You've already wasted two weeks without getting a lead on that colored kid that got killed," Mahoney answered, pounding violently on his desk.

"This is a different situation," Gazier replied. "These kids were killed today in broad daylight with at least twenty punks in the rumble, so there's going to be a leak somewhere, you can bet on that."

Captain Mahoney walked around his desk. "What do you think about that, Morales?" he asked.

Morales stood and looked into the gray eyes of his superior officer. "I believe what Gazier said is true, Pat," Morales said softly. "Too many kids participated in the fight for it to stay quiet."

Mahoney paced up and down the room for a moment. "You can't add anything else to that, Morales?"

Morales slowly lit a cigarette before replying. "I don't think this was just another rumble."

Gazier asked impatiently, "Just why in the hell don't you think so?"

"There're too many little factors in this case, Gazier, that you and I have overlooked."

Mahoney raised his shaggy eyebrows. "What kind of factors?"

"First of all," Morales began, "we have completely ignored the fact that Alfonso Clemente was somewhere in that poolroom when the gang came in."

"So?" Gazier grunted. "What the hell does that prove?"

"Just shut up, Gazier," Mahoney said. "Maybe if you listen you can learn something for a change."

Morales smiled slightly. "Alfonso has dealt drugs from out of that poolroom for the past two years, and the way this thing adds up to me, these punks were after him, not the kids who got hurt."

"That could be," Gazier agreed grudgingly. "There might have been some bad dope sold somewhere down the line to bring this on."

"You got any more ideas along that line, Morales?" Captain Mahoney asked.

"Well, I stopped on my way in, Captain, and checked the records of all the kids who got hurt and especially the two that died, and I couldn't turn up anything special. The only two who associated with each other outside the poolroom were one of the kids we released earlier and the Davis boy, and you know he's expected to die."

"Did you get anything out of the one you released?" Gazier asked sharply.

"No," Morales replied slowly, only his voice revealing the emotion he felt about this case. "The kid didn't have the slightest idea why they were jumped." There was a slightly baffled sound in Morales' voice that the captain was not used to hearing.

"You should have let me handle the kid you had," Gazier stated scathingly. "I might have been able to shake something out of him."

Mahoney stopped Morales' angry reply. "You'd better start trying to think, Gazier, instead of using your muscles. You might just find yourself out of the homicide division." The captain returned to his desk and snapped on his intercom. "Casey," he yelled, "get me the records department, and tell them to send out a pickup on Alfonso Clemente."