The Real Cool Killers (6 page)

“It could have been some other man feeling the same way,” Grave Digger said. “He might have seen Pickens shooting at Galen and thought he’d get in a shot, too.”

“These people!” the chief said. “Okay, Jones, you begin to work on that angle and see what you can dig up. But keep it from the press.”

As Grave Digger started to walk away, Coffin Ed fell in beside him.

“Not you, Johnson,” the chief said. “You go home.”

Both Grave Digger and Coffin Ed turned and faced the silence.

“Am I under suspension?” Coffin Ed asked in a grating voice.

“For the rest of the night,” the chief said. “I want you both to report to the commissioner’s office at nine o’clock tomorrow morning. Jones, you go ahead with your investigation. You know Harlem, you know where you have to go, who to see.” He turned to Anderson. “Have you got a man to work with him?”

“Haggerty,” Anderson offered.

“I’ll work alone,” Grave Digger said.

“Don’t take any chances,” the chief said. “If you need help, just holler. Bear down hard. I don’t give a goddamn how many heads you crack; I’ll back you up. Just don’t kill any more juveniles.”

Grave Digger turned and walked with Coffin Ed to their car.

“Drop me at the Independent Subway,” Coffin Ed said.

Both of them lived in Jamaica and rode the E train when they didn’t use the car.

“I saw it coming,” Grave Digger said.

“If it had happened earlier I could have taken my daughter to a movie,” Coffin Ed said. “I see so little of her it’s getting so I hardly know her.”

“Let her loose now,” Sheik said.

Sissie let her go.

“I’ll kill him!” Sugartit raved in a choked voice. “I’ll kill him for that!”

“Kill who?” Sheik asked, scowling at her.

“My father. I hate him. The ugly bastard. I’ll steal his pistol and shoot him.”

“Don’t talk like that,” Sissie said. “That’s no way to talk about your father.”

“I hate him, the dirty cop!”

Inky looked up from the handcuffs he was filing. Sonny stared at her.

“Shut up,” Sissie said.

“Let her go ahead and croak him,” Sheik said.

“Stop picking on her,” Sissie said.

Choo-Choo said, “They won’t do nothing to her for it. All she got to say is her old man beat her all the time and they’ll start crying and talking ’bout what a poor mistreated girl she is. They’ll take one look at Coffin Ed and believe her.”

“They’ll give her a medal,” Sheik said.

“Those old welfare biddies will find her a fine family to live with. She’ll have everything she wants. She won’t have to do nothing but eat and sleep and go to the movies and ride around in a big car,” Choo-Choo elaborated.

Sugartit flung herself across the foot of the bed and burst into loud sobs.

“It’ll save us the trouble,” Sheik said.

Sissie’s eyes widened. “You wouldn’t!” she said.

“You want to bet we wouldn’t?”

“If you keep talking like that I’m going to quit.”

Sheik gave her a threatening look. “Quit what?”

“Quit the Moslems.”

“The only way you can quit the Moslems is like Caleb quit,” Sheik said.

“If I’d ever thought that poor little Caleb–”

Sheik cut her off. “I’ll kill you myself.”

“Aw, Sheik, she don’t mean nothing,” Choo-Choo said nervously. “Why don’t you light up a couple of sticks and let us Islamites fly to Mecca.”

“And let the cops smell it when they shake us down and take us all in. Where are your brains at?”

“We can go up on the roof.”

“There’re cops on the roof, too.”

“On the fire escape then. We can close the window.”

Sheik gave it grave consideration. “Okay, on the fire escape. I ain’t got but two left and we got to get rid of them anyway.”

“I’m going to look and see where the cops is at by now,” Choo-Choo said, putting on his smoked glasses.

“Take those cheaters off,” Sheik said. “You want the cops to identify you?”

“Aw hell, Sheik, they couldn’t tell me from nobody else. Half the cats in Harlem wear their smoke cheaters all night long.”

“Go ’head and take a gander at the avenue. We ain’t got all night,” Sheik said.

Choo-Choo started climbing out the window.

At that moment the links joining the handcuffs separated with a small clinking sound beneath Inky’s file.

“Sheik, I’ve got ’em filed in two,” Inky said triumphantly.

“Let’s see.”

Sonny stood up and stretched his arms.

“Who’s he?” Sissie asked as though she’d noticed him for the first time.

“He’s our captive,” Sheik said.

“I ain’t no captive,” Sonny said. “I just come with you ’cause you said you was gonna hide me.”

Sissie looked round-eyed at the severed handcuffs dangling
from the wrists. “What did he do?” she asked.

“He’s the gangster who killed the syndicate boss,” Sheik said.

Sugartit stopped sobbing abruptly and rolled over and looked up at Sonny through wide wet eyes.

“Was that who he is?” Sissie asked in an awed tone. “The man who was killed, I mean.”

“Sure. Didn’t you know?” Sheik said.

“I done told you I didn’t kill him,” Sonny said.

“He claims he had a blank gun,” Sheik said. “He’s just trying to build up his defense. But the cops know better.”

“It was a blank gun,” Sonny said.

“What did he kill him for?” Sissie asked.

“They’re having a gang war and he got assigned by the Brooklyn mob to make the hit.”

“Oh, go to hell,” Sissie said.

“I ain’t killed nobody,” Sonny said.

“Shut up,” Sheik said. “Captives ain’t allowed to talk.”

“I’m getting tired of that stuff,” Sonny said.

Sheik looked at him threateningly. “You want us to turn you over to the cops?”

Sonny backtracked quickly. “Naw, Sheik, but hell, ain’t no need of taking advantage of me–”

Choo-Choo stuck his head in the window and cut him off: “Cops is out here like white on rice. Ain’t nothing but cops.”

“Where they at now?” Sheik asked.

“They’re everywhere, but right now they’s taking the house two doors down. They got all kinds of spotlights turned on the front of the house and cops is walking around down the street with machine guns. We better hurry if we’re going to move the prisoner.”

“Keep cool, fool,” Sheik said. “Take a look at the roof.”

“Praise Allah,” Choo-Choo said, backing away on his hands and knees.

“Get out of that coat and shirt,” Sheik ordered Sonny.

When Sonny had stripped to his underwear shirt, Sheik
looked at him and said, “Nigger, you sure are black. When you was a baby your mama must’a had to chalk your mouth to tell where to stick it.”

“I ain’t no blacker than Inky,” Sonny said defensively.

“I ain’t in that,” Inky said.

Sheik grinned at him derisively. “You didn’t have no trouble, did you, Inky? Your mama used luminous paint on you.”

“Come on, man, I’m getting cold,” Sonny said.

“Keep your pants on,” Sheik said. “Ladies present.”

He hung Sonny’s coat with his own clothes on the wire line behind the curtain and threw the shirt in the corner. Then he tossed Sonny an old faded red turtle-necked sweater.

“Pull the sleeves down over the irons and put on that there overcoat,” he directed, indicating the old army coat he’d taken from the janitor.

“It’s too hot,” Sonny protested.

“You gonna do what I say, or do I have to slug you?”

Sonny put on the coat.

Sheik then took a pair of leather driving gauntlets from his pasteboard suitcase beneath the bed and handed them to Sonny, too.

“What am I gonna do with these?” Sonny asked.

“Just put them on and shut up, fool,” Sheik said.

He then took a long bamboo pole from behind the bed and began passing it through the window. On one end was attached a frayed felt New York Giants pennant.

Choo-Choo came down the fire escape in time to take the pole and lean it against the ladder.

“Ain’t no cops on this roof yet but the roof down where they’s shaking down is lousy with ’em,” he reported.

His face was shiny with sweat and the whites of his eyes had begun to glow.

“Don’t chicken out on me now,” Sheik said.

“I just needs some pot to steady my nerves.”

“Okay, we’re going to blow two now.” Sheik turned to
Sonny and said, “Outside, boy.”

Sonny gave him a look, hesitated, then climbed out on the fire-escape landing.

“Let me come, too,” Sissie said.

Sugartit sat up with sudden interest.

“I want both you little jailbaits to stay right here in this room and don’t move,” Sheik ordered in a hard voice, then turned to Inky, “You come on, Inky, I’m gonna need you.”

Inky joined the others on the fire escape. Sheik came last and closed the window. They squatted in a circle. The landing was crowded.

Sheik took two limp cigarettes from the roll of his sweatshirt and stuck them into his mouth.

“Bombers!” Choo-Choo exclaimed. “You’ve been holding out on us.”

“Give me some fire and less of your lip,” Sheik said.

Choo-Choo flipped a dollar lighter and lit both cigarettes. Sheik sucked the smoke deep into his lungs, then passed one of the sticks to Inky.

“You and Choo-Choo take halvers and me and the captive will split this one.”

Sonny raised both gloved hands in a pushing gesture. “Pass me. That gage done got me into more trouble now than I can get out of.”

“You’re chicken,” Sheik said contemptuously, sucking another puff. He swallowed back the smoke each time it started up from his lungs. His face swelled and began darkening with blood as the drug took hold. His eyes became dilated and his nostrils flared.

“Man, if I had my heater I bet I could shoot that sergeant down there dead between the eyes,” he said. The cigarette was stuck to his bottom lip and dangled up and down when he talked.

“What I’d rather have me is one of those hard-shooting long-barreled thirty-eights like Grave Digger and Coffin Ed have got,” Choo-Choo said. “Them heaters can kill a rock. Only I’d want me a silencer on it and I could sit here and pick
off any mother-raper I wanted. But I wouldn’t shoot nobody unless he was a big shot or the chief of police or somebody like that.”

“You’re talking about rathers, what you’d rather have; me, I’m talking about facts,” Sheik said, the cigarette bobbing up and down.

“What you’re talking about will get you burnt up in Sing-Sing if you don’t watch out,” Choo-Choo said.

“What you mean!” Sheik said, jumping to his feet threateningly. “You’re going to make me throw your ass off this fire escape.”

Choo-Choo jumped to his feet, too, and backed against the rail. “Throw whose ass off where? This ain’t Inky you’re talking to. My ass ain’t made of chicken feathers.”

Inky scrambled to his feet and stepped between them. “What about the captive, Sheik?” he asked in alarm.

“Damn the captive!” Sheik raved and whipped out a bone-handled knife, shaking open the six-inch blade with the same motion.

“Don’t cut ’em!” Inky cried.

He knocked Inky into the iron steps with a back-handed slap and grabbed a handful of Choo-Choo’s sweat shirt collar.

“You blab and I’ll cut your mother-raping throat,” he said.

Violence surged through him like runaway blood.

Choo-Choo’s eyes turned three-quarters white and a feverish sweat popped out on his dark brown skin.

“I didn’t mean nothing, Sheik,” he whined desperately, talking low. “You know I didn’t mean nothing. A man can talk ’bout his rathers, can’t he?”

The violence receded but Sheik was still gripped in a murderous compulsion.

“If I thought you’d pigeon I’d kill you.”

“You know I ain’t gonna pigeon, Sheik. You know me better than that.”

Sheik let go of his collar. Choo-Choo took a deep sighing
breath.

Inky straightened up and rubbed his bruised shin. “You done made me lose the stick,” he complained.

“Hell with the stick,” Sheik said.

“That’s what I mean,” Sonny said. “This here gage they sells now will make you cut your own mamma’s throat. They must be mixing it with loco weed or somethin’.”

“Shut up!” Sheik said, still holding the open knife in his hand. “I ain’t gonna tell you no more.”

Sonny cast a look at the knife and said, “I ain’t saying nothing.”

“You better not,” Sheik said. Then he turned to Inky. “Inky, you take the captive up on the roof and you and him start flying Caleb’s pigeons. You, Sonny, when the cops come you tell them your name is Caleb Bowee and you’re just trying to teach your pigeons how to fly at night. You got that?”

“Yeah,” Sonny said skeptically.

“You know how to make pigeons fly?”

Sonny hesitated. “Chunk rocks at ’em?”

“Hell, nigger, your brain ain’t big as a mustard seed. You can’t chunk no rocks up there with all those cops about. What you got to do is take this pole and wave the end with the flag at ’em every time they try to light.”

Sonny looked at the bamboo pole skeptically. “S’posin’ they fly away and don’t come back.”

“They ain’t going nowhere. They just fly in circles trying all the time to get back into the coop.” Sheik doubled over suddenly and started laughing. “Pigeons ain’t got no sense, man.”

The rest of them just looked at him.

Finally Inky asked, “What you want me to do?”

Sheik straightened up quickly and stopped laughing. “You guard the captive and see that he don’t escape.”

“Oh!” Inky said. After a moment he asked, “What I’m gonna tell the cops when they ask me what I’m doin’?”

“Hell, you tell the cops Caleb is teaching you how to train
pigeons.”

Inky bent over and started rubbing his shins again. Without looking up he said, “You reckon the cops gonna fall for that, Sheik? You reckon they gonna be crazy enough to believe anybody’s gonna be flying pigeons with all this going on all around here?”

“Hell, these is white cops,” Sheik said contemptuously. “They believe spooks are crazy anyway. You and Sonny just act kind of simpleminded. They gonna to swallow it like it’s chocolate ice cream. They ain’t going to do nothing but kick you in the ass and laugh like hell about how crazy spooks are. They gonna go home and tell their old ladies and everybody they see about two simpleminded spooks up on the roof teaching pigeons how to fly at night all during the biggest dragnet they ever had in Harlem. You see if they don’t.”