Death List (14 page)

"So that's how you guys operate. After all the fuckin' guns I've sold you, you turn around and rip me off. You know, you can tell Kenyatta for me that this ends our gun connection. He'll never get another fuckin' thing out of me."

Angelo was just talking now, trying to make himself believe that nothing more than a heist was going on. His mind wouldn't accept any other idea. It couldn't all come to an end like this. Not in a fuckin' motel room, at the hands of a goddamn nigger. No, he couldn't bring himself to face it.

Angelo got up and walked over to his suitcase.

"Now, don't make no sudden moves while you're playin' around there," Creeper warned him sharply as he came around the bed behind him.

Shivers went up and down Angelo's spine at the nearness of the man. "I'm just gettin' the fuckin' money for you. Ain't that what you said you came for?" Angelo snapped, trying to muster up the courage he didn't have. He could hardly stand because his knees were shaking so badly. He pulled out a package of money, wrapped with the amount written across the paper. As he did this, he tried to cover up another package of money that was of the same amount.

"Here, take it; it's five grand there. Just what Kenyatta paid for the list. Tell him for me that I've got a hell of a shipment of guns coming, and I know he'll want them. But before he can get them, he'll have to kick back this bread that you're rippin' me off for. I mean every fuckin' word of it, too," Angelo said, fooling no one but himself, unable to face the fact that he would never leave that room alive.

The small pistol that he had hidden at the bottom of his suitcase stayed right there. He just didn't have the nerve to try for it. At least not while he believed he might be able to talk his way out of the situation.

The Creeper studied him icily. "You know, the way you pulled that package out, I I have a feeling it's not the only money you have there. I mean, I wouldn't be able to sleep nights if I thought I left with only half the money while you still had more."

Angelo turned on him angrily. "Just what the hell is this? A rip-off? You said you came after the five grand that Kenyatta paid for the list!" Angelo found courage in his desperation. The prospect of losing all of his money affected the fat man deeply.

"What do you really think it is, white boy?" Creeper said, as he pulled the razor out of his pocket and advanced towards the frightened man.

It was out in the open now. This man had come to kill him. Angelo stalled for time. "Wait, here, I'll give you all the money, just don't cut me." Angelo wasn't truly a coward. He had come up in the old school with some of the meanest dagos the city had ever produced, but this one black man had made him lose his balls for a minute. Now, faced with certain death, his courage returned. It was the courage of a cornered rat.

"I got ten thousand dollars more here," Angelo said abruptly, hoping he could fool the man who had come to kill him.

"Ten grand more!" the Creeper shouted. That was more money than he had ever seen in his life. Even though he didn't care that much about money, he knew that, if he returned with fifteen thousand dollars, Kenyatta would be pleased as hell. As these thoughts flew through his mind, Creeper made one of the first big mistakes he had made since becoming a professional hit man; he took his eyes off the fat man. Angelo took out the other package of money and tossed it on the bed, then went back to looking in the suitcase as if he was searching for another one.

The bundle of money hit the bed and fell to the floor. The Creeper's eyes followed the package, noticing that it was wrapped like the one he had already stuck in his pocket. There was writing on the wrapping, and as he reached down and picked it up, he could see that the amount was five thousand dollars.

While mentally counting the money, the Creeper believed that the frightened fat man was searching for a third package. With that one, he would have the fifteen grand the man said he had, and then he could get on with cutting the honky's throat.

He was just straightening up from picking up the package when the fat man made his move. Angelo spun around, swinging the suitcase, and as the suitcase struck the Creeper in the chest, the fat man raised the small Derringer he had palmed and fired. The suitcase seemed to have done more damage to the Creeper than the little gun. The two quick shots that struck him in the stomach didn't faze him at all. He raised the thirty-eight in his left hand, dropping the straight razor to the floor.

The sound of the police special going off in the small room was deafening. The first shot caught Angelo high in the chest, slamming him back against the wall. The second shot struck two inches away from the first one.

As Angelo struggled to raise the small pistol, he remembered that it was only a two-shot Derringer. The gun clicked on empty chambers.

As the Creeper turned away from the dying man, he could feel the pain starting to spread in his stomach. He clutched at his guts and staggered around the big bed. He noticed a towel lying on the top of the end table and snatched it up. He stuck it inside his shirt, trying to stop the flow of blood, cursing loudly. "The sonofabitching honky faked me out," he murmured as he started to make his way from the room.

His mind was racing. He knew he would have to get away, and quick. The sounds of his thirty-eight going off had been loud enough to awaken the dead. He staggered to the door and somehow managed to snatch it open. As he stumbled from the room, still clutching the thirty-eight tightly in his fist, he struggled to reach the iron railing and caught his balance. Out of the corner of his eye, he could make out two men rushing up the stairway. His brain warned him that it was the police. He realized at once that he couldn't outrun them. He raised the gun up as the first officer came up the steps.

For some reason he couldn't seem to draw his bead on the man, who stopped and yelled, "Drop it, police!" That was the only warning he got. The second man, who appeared to be a black man, raised his weapon and fired. The shot picked him up and threw him backwards. He could feel himself falling, and then the concrete struck him in the back.

"Goddamn it, Ben, I wanted to take him alive." The Creeper heard the words coming as if they were from a great distance. Even then he attempted to raise the gun in his hand. But someone kicked the weapon away.

"Yeah, I know; you wanted him alive bad enough to get shot up for it," Benson said sharply, bending over the Creeper's body. "Looks as if somebody else shot him before I hit him," Benson said after making a quick examination.

Ryan took a quick look inside the motel room. "There's another one inside. I better check and find out if he's cashed in his chips yet." He went inside and leaned down over Angelo.

When Angelo tried to speak, blood came gushing out of his mouth. "I'm on my last ride," he managed to say.

"Who's responsible for this?," Ryan asked Angelo sharply, almost pulling the wounded man up to his feet. He bent down and listened as the man tried to speak. "It's that fuckin' Kenyatta. He's gone mad. I shouldn't have ever sold him that list." Again blood came out of the man's mouth. "All my fault.... I sold him the fuckin' list."

"Where can we find Kenyatta? Where, Angelo, where the hell does he hide out?"

At first Ryan thought the question would go unanswered, but somehow the man managed to raise up on his elbow and speak. "Farm, he's got a farm," but as he tried to give the information, he coughed up the last life in his body. Dark blood ran down his chin.

Ryan didn't need a doctor to tell him that the man was dead.

DETECTIVES NELSON and Steward decided to give up the stakeout on the motel. After all, they were sitting around waiting for a man they weren't sure they wanted. When the call came over their two-way radio about the shoot-out at the Holiday Inn, they decided to drive over and check it out. Upon their arrival, the first thing they noticed was the car belonging to Detectives Benson and Ryan.

"We should have known these bastards would be up on the fuckin' shoot-out," Nelson growled as he tried to find a place to park.

Had the two detectives not been so busy cursing out their rivals, they would have noticed the two well dressed black couples making their way out of the crowd of curious onlookers around the courtyard. What was so peculiar about the two couples was that both men, and one of the women, had their hair completely shaved off. Their heads shone with some kind of lotion beneath the bright neon lights.

The two couples hurried away from the crowd toward a parked car near the parking lot of the Holiday Inn. Neither detective noticed because they were too busy with their petty jealousy.

"These fuckin' guys get all the breaks," Detective Steward said before getting out of the car.

As Detectives Nelson and Steward bellyached to each other, the four members of Kenyatta's organization made their way to their car. It was of the utmost importance that they reach Kenyatta at once to let him know what had just happened at the motel. Their orders had been to check into the Holiday Inn to make sure Kenyatta's orders had been carried out. Only one of them had known what the leader's orders had been. But with the killing of their best hit man, whom all of them recognized on sight, they knew something had gone wrong.

They had stayed long enough to find out just what had happened inside the room. They knew the white man and the black maid had been killed. This they had witnessed themselves. Eddie-Bee had been at the window and had seen the Creeper when he slipped in the open doorway behind the maid's back. And afterwards, while the Creeper was busy elsewhere, Jug had run over to check it out, bringing back the news that the elderly black woman was, indeed, dead.

Jug settled his lean, angular body into the driver's seat of the rented black Chevy and started the motor. Eddie-Bee got into the backseat with his woman. Each man had brought his girlfriend along to make it look legitimate when they checked into the double suite at the motel.

For Eddie-Bee, who had been in on the holdup of the stamp place, this was a cakewalk. He only wished all his assignments were this easy.

"As soon as you see a pay phone, pull over," EddieBee ordered loudly from the rear of the car.

"Hey, man," Jug yelled back, resenting the idea of the man telling him what was obvious. "When I need some advice I'll ask for it, okay? But telling me what any fool would realize is something I don't appreciate."

From the tone of Jug's voice, Eddie-Bee realized he had overstepped the bounds in trying to be helpful. "Okay, baby, don't get no attitude," Eddie-Bee said quickly. "I was just trying to be helpful, that's all."

"There's a pay phone over on your right," Jug's girlfriend Almeta stated. She was rather tall, and completely bald, just like her man. If it wasn't for her huge chest, people would take her for a man at first glance.

After a quick look, Jug swung to the curb next to the phone booth. Almeta had trouble beating EddieBee out of the car because he tried to push the seat up so that he could get out first.

"Slow down, man," Jug cautioned. "It don't make no difference which one of us makes the report. We're all together on this job, so just be cool. You ain't goin' gain nothing or lose nothing by being the one to report it to Kenyatta."

Eddie-Bee sat back in his seat. He wished he had been the one to break the news to Kenyatta, but it had been impossible to get out of the car before Almeta.

After one more cold glance at the man in the rear, Jug shook his head in disgust. "I don't know how you put up with such a nigger, Penny," he stated, looking at Eddie-Bee's woman in his rearview mirror.

Penny just shook her head. "You know it's a man shortage in the streets, Jug, so sometimes a girl has to take what comes along." She laughed to take the sting out of her words.

It didn't take but two or three minutes before Almeta rejoined them in the car. "I got in touch with Kenyatta," she stated breathlessly, as if she had just run a mile, "but Ali answered the phone, and do you know that nigger didn't want to put Kenyatta on the line until I told him what it was about. I mean, he just wouldn't call Kenyatta."

She sounded dumbfounded about the situation but continued. "I know he'd like to take Kenyatta's place, but if he was in charge, I'd quit. Just like that, I'd give up the organization, because he's too much for me. He thinks he's too pretty, first of all. Then he believes he's the only person with any sense. Ain't nobody else got no brains but him, if you listen to him. That's the impression he gives me anyway."

"Shit!" Penny sighed loudly. "I think Ali's one fine black nigger, if you ask me."

"It's a good thing didn't nobody ask you then," Eddie-Bee stated coldly, his anger showing in his voice.

"Aw, honey," Penny said, rubbing his jaw, "ain't no reason you gettin' jealous, 'cause as long as you're around, there ain't no room in my heart for no other man."

"I'll bet," Jug said under his breath so that the rest of them didn't hear. "What did Kenyatta say after you gave him the news?" he inquired loudly.

"Oh...," Almeta moaned, surprised by the simple question. "He wants us to get out to the farm at once. It took him by surprise that the Creeper got himself killed, but not me. I'm glad the dirty, murdering sonofabitch is dead." She spoke with more venom than she realized. "I couldn't stand the sight of him as it was. Then after those murders he did, shit. Well, all I got to say is I hope don't nobody else join our organization like him. I ain't never seen no man like him before, and I hope I don't live long enough to meet another one."