Cotton Comes to Harlem (23 page)

Then they went down the narrow walk alongside the church. It was a brick structure and in good condition and on that side two arched stained-glass windows flanked a stained-glass oval high in the wall. The other side of the church was built flush with the apartment house.

“If they got a hideout in there they got some kind of hearing device for protection,” Grave Digger reasoned. “They can’t have a lookout hiding all the time.”

“What do you want to do, wait outside for her?”

“She’ll return through the wall, or she might already be in there.”

They looked at one another thinking.

“Listen–” Coffin Ed began and explained.

“Anyway, it beats a blank,” Grave Digger said, as he stopped in the darkness to take off his shoes.

They stood behind the gate and watched the street until it was momentarily empty. Then they scaled the iron gate and hurried up the stairs to the church door, and Coffin Ed began picking the lock. If anyone had passed they would have been taken for two drunks urinating against the church door. When it was open, Grave Digger sat astride Coffin Ed’s shoulders and they went inside and closed the door behind them.

The tableau in the hideout was much the same. Deke was still tied to the chair and the oily-haired gunman, Four-Four, was letting him drink from a can of beer. Beer was spilling from his mouth onto his pants and Four-Four said irritably, “Can’t you swallow, goddammit?” slapping his own thigh with the barrel of the Colt. Freddy was lying on the couch again as though he were asleep.

Suddenly they froze at the sound of the front door lock being picked. Four-Four took the beer can from Deke’s mouth and put it atop the table and changed the Colt to his left hand, flexing his right. Freddy swung his feet over to the floor and sat up, listening with his mouth open. They heard the door swing open and someone step inside and the door being closed.

“We got a visitor,” Freddy said.

They heard the footsteps come down the centre aisle.

“A dick,” Four-Four said, appraising the walk.

Freddy stepped over to the gun rack and casually took down a sawed-off shotgun. They listened to the steps move around the choir and the pulpit and approach the organ. Freddy looked at the access ladder as though in a trance.

“A big boy,” he said. “Big as two men. Think I ought go up and cut him down to size?”

“Let him stick his head in, ha-ha,” Four-Four laughed.

“You’re not going to leave me tied up!” Deke protested.

“Sure, baby, that or dead,” Freddy said.

The heavy man’s footsteps passed the organ, paused for a moment as though he were looking around, then moved on slowly as though he were examining everything. Through the electronics pickup they could hear his heavy breathing.

“A fat baby with a heart,” Four-Four said.

“Guts too,” Deke said. “Coming here alone.”

“I got something for his guts,” Freddy said, swinging the sawed-off shotgun.

The footsteps circled the pulpit, stopped for a moment, then went down into the auditorium and moved along the walls. They could hear knuckles sounding the walls. The footsteps moved slowly as the man encircled the walls, sounding for a false door. Ear-shattering bangs suddenly shook the small hideout as the man began sounding the wooden floor with his pistol butt.

“Cut that damn thing down,” Four-Four shouted. “The mother-raper will hear himself upstairs.”

Freddy turned it down until the tapping on the floor became muted. It went on and on until seemingly every inch of the floor was covered. There was silence for a long time as though the man was listening. Then they heard the faint click of his pocket torch being turned on. Finally they heard his footsteps moving towards the door. Half-way they heard him stop and put what sounded like the palms of his hands on the floor.

“What the hell’s he doing now?” Four-Four asked.

“Damn if I know,” Freddy said. “Probably planting a time bomb.” He laughed at his own humor.

“It wouldn’t be so damn funny if you got your ass blown off,” Four-Four said sourly.

They heard the imagined dick open the snap lock on the front door and pass out, closing the door behind him.

“It’s time for that bitch of yours to be showing,” Four-Four said disagreeably.

“She’s coming,” Deke said.

“She’d better come ready,” Freddy said. “If she don’t know where the money is, you can preach both of youse funerals.” He chuckled.

“Dry up,” Four-Four said.

Iris came in with perfect assurance. She knew she hadn’t been tailed. She had shaken Grave Digger and Coffin Ed and she wasn’t afraid. She knew where the cotton was and how they could get it. She knew with this information she could handle Deke. And she had confidence that Deke could handle his gorillas.

Deke and his gunmen heard her when she entered.

“That’s her now,” Deke said, sighing with relief.

Freddy got up from the couch and took down the shotgun again. Four-Four jacked a shell into the chamber of his .45 automatic and slid back the safety. Both were tense but neither spoke.

Deke was listening to her walk. He could tell from the rhythm of her steps she was walking with assurance.

“She got it,” he said with a confident look.

“She’d better have it,” Freddy said dangerously.

“I mean the information,” Deke said hurriedly for fear they might mistake his meaning.

Neither answered.

Grave Digger lay face down betwen two benches, breathing into a black cotton handkerchief, his hand on his pistol underneath his body. His black suit blended with the darkness and she didn’t see a thing as she passed. He waited until he heard her footsteps ascending the rostrum, then scuttled down the center aisle on hands and knees to open the front door for Coffin Ed, hoping the sound of her footsteps would cover whatever sound he made.

But they heard it anyway.

“What the hell’s she got with her?” Four-Four said.

“Sounds like her dog,” Freddy said and started to laugh, but the look from Four-Four cut it off.

They heard the soft tap on the organ pipe that was the signal for entrance. Four-Four pushed a button and a panel in the back of the organ raised, revealing a small square space beneath the pipes. He pushed the second button and a heavy steel trapdoor opened upward. He raised the ladder and her gilt high-heeled sandals and legs encased in Paisley silk slacks came into view as she descended.
He pushed the buttons closing the door behind her when her enticing buttocks showed. Then he raised the cocked .45 automatic and levelled it towards her back.

Her feet touched the floor and she turned around. She looked into the muzzle of the .45 and it looked like the head of a Gorgon. Her body turned to stone. Only the lids of her eyes moved as they continued to stretch as though her eyeballs were squeezed from her head. Slowly, without breathing, her eyes sought the face of Freddy and saw no pity; they slid off and she saw Deke tied to the chair, looking at her with raw anxiety, sweat streaming from a face contorted with terror; next they took in the shotgun in Freddy’s hands and finally his nasty-mouthed sadistic face.

Nausea came up in her like the waves of the ocean and she gritted her teeth to keep from fainting. Her terror was so intense it became sexual — and she had an orgasm. All her life she had searched for kicks, but this was the kick she never wanted.

“Who was with you?” Four-Four asked.

She swallowed twice before she could find the handle to her voice, then it came in a husky whisper: “No one, I swear.”

“We heard something strange.”

“I wasn’t tailed, I know,” she whispered. Sweat beaded on her upper lip and her eyes were limpid pools of terror. “I’m clean, please listen to me,” she begged. “Don’t just kill me for nothing.”

“Tell them, baby, tell them quick,” Deke babbled in terror.

“It’s in the cotton,” she said.

“We know that,” Four-Four said. “Where’s the cotton?”

She kept swallowing as though choking. “I’m not going to tell you just to get killed,” she whispered.

With a sudden movement that made her start, Freddy whipped the second straight-backed chair around behind Deke and said, “Sit down.”

Four-Four stuck his pistol in his belt and took a coil of nylon clothesline from the floor beneath the gun rack. “Put your hands behind you, in back of the chair.” She was slow in obeying and he slapped her across the face with the rope. She did as ordered and he began tying her methodically.

“Tell them,” Deke begged piteously.

“She’ll tell us,” Freddy said.

Four-Four was tying her chair back to back with Deke’s when they heard someone whistling in the street. They froze, listening, but the whistling stopped and there was silence. Four-Four finished tying them together on the two chairs back to back, then they all started nervously as they heard the front door of the church being opened. There was a soft sound like the padded feet
of an animal and the door closed softly.

“We better look,” Four-Four said. His voice stuttered slightly and his eyelids blinked rapidly as with a tic.

Freddy’s nasty-looking mouth seemed breaking apart and his lips trembled. He got another .45 automatic from beneath the couch, jacked a shell in the chamber and slid off the safety. His motions were jerky but his hands were steady. He stuck the pistol in his belt and held the shotgun in his right hand. “Let’s go,” he said.

Grave Digger and Coffin Ed were deploying along opposite walls when Freddy came from behind the organ, searching quickly with the muzzle of the shotgun like a rabbit shooter. Coffin Ed went down out of sight but Freddy saw the moving shadow. The church exploded with the heavy thumping boom of a twelve-gauge shell of buckshot firing and the heavy charge took a section out of the back of the bench beneath which Coffin Ed had flopped. Grave Digger threw a tracer bullet and in the lightning flash from the trajectory saw the bullet burn through Freddy’s sport-shirt collar as he dove towards the floor, and the outline of Four-Four coming from in back of him full speed with the .45 searching.

Grave Digger went down himself, scuttling like a crab, as bursts from the .45 splintered benches above his head. For a moment there was stealthy movement in the dark with no one visible. Then the side of the organ began to burn where the tracer bullet had punctured it.

When Coffin Ed peeped up five rows away from where the shotgun charge had knocked a hole in the back of a bench, the rostrum was deserted and no one was in sight. But he saw the top of a head coming around the front bench on the center aisle and threw a tracer bullet at the round mop. He saw the bullet go through the bushy hair and penetrate the front of the platform supporting the rostrum and the choir. The scream was commencing as he ducked.

A figure with burning hair loomed in the flickering red light from the burning organ with a .45 searching the gloom and Grave Digger peeped. The shotgun went off and splintered the back of the bench in front of him and the church quivered from the blast. Grave Digger fell belly down and began crawling fast, shaken by his narrow escape. Forty-five bullets were breaking up the benches all around him and he didn’t dare look. He lay on his belly beneath the benches, looking towards the sound, and made out the vague outline of trousered legs limned against the platform that had caught on fire. He took careful aim and shot a leg.
He saw the leg break off like a wooden stick where the tracer bullet hit it dead centre, and saw the trouser leg catch fire suddenly. Now the screaming slashed into the pool of silence like needles of flame and seared his nerves.

The burning shape of the body issuing these screams fell atop the broken leg, on the floor between two benches, and Grave Digger pumped two tracer bullets into it and watched the flames spring up. The dying man clawed at the book rack above him, breaking the fragile wood, and a prayer book fell on top of his burning body.

The burning-headed gunman was down beneath a bench, rubbing his oily hair with blistered hands, while Coffin Ed was peeping above the benches, searching for him with his long-barreled .38 in the red glare from the brightly burning organ.

The smoke had penetrated the hideout below, and the prisoners tied back-to-back on the two chairs had gone crazy from terror. They were spitting curses and accusations, and trying desperately to get at each other.

“You’re a pimp for your mother and sister, you money-sucking snake,” Iris screamed with face distorted and eyes terrified like the eyes of a burning horse.

“You two-bit stooling whore, I’ll kill you,” Deke grated.

Their legs were tied together like their arms but their feet touched the floor. They were straining with arched bodies and gripping feet to push each other into the wall. The chairs slid on the concrete floor, back and forth, rocking precariously. Arteries in their necks were swelled to bursting, muscles stretched like frayed cables, bodies twisting, breasts heaving, mouths gasping and drooling like two people in a maniacal sex act. Her make-up became streaked from sweat and her wig fell off. Deke doubled forward on his feet tied to the chair’s legs, trying to bang Iris sideways against the gun rack. Her chair rose from the floor and bloodcurdling screams came wetly from her scar-like mouth as his chair tilted forward from his superhuman effort and they turned slowly over in a grotesque arc. He fell forward, face downward, striking his forehead on the concrete floor, as she came overtop in her chair. The momentum kept them turning until her head and forehead scraped on the concrete in turn and he was lifted from the floor. They landed up against the wall, her feet touching it, his chair on top supported only by the angle of hers on the floor. She kept trying to use her feet to push back from the wall, while he twisted violently, trying to rub her face against the concrete. The motion rocked them from side to side until both chairs fell sideways with a crash and they were left on their sides on the concrete
floor between the gun rack and the table, unable to move. The thunder of the gunfight above that had shaken the room had quieted to darkening with smoke. Both were too spent to curse, they remained still, gasping for breath in the slowly suffocating smoke.