Cry Revenge (21 page)

He screamed out in panic. "Watch out, Billy, they got shotguns!"

The sound of his voice hadn't died out before the afternoon quiet was shattered by the sound of shotguns going off.

Joy had been admiring the new home she was going to move into when she was struck down. Half of her neck was blown off. Billy was spattered with the blood of his loved one. He screamed-a dying scream full of hate and frustration as he made a frantic move for his shoulder holster. Unknown strength kept him on his feet as the first shotgun shells hit him high in the chest. He fell back against the car, somehow managing to remove the gun from its place of concealment. But it was no use. He died with the weapon still in his hand.

Carol's screams shattered the stillness as she watched Jackie topple over, his tall frame crumbling as he kept falling until the hard pavement struck him in the face. Her screams were cut off abruptly as half her mouth and face were blown away. She was dead before she hit the cold ground.

Black faces peered out of the windows of the near by buildings, but no one came to the rescue of the stricken couples. Blood ran freely down off the sidewalk into the gutter as the lifeless forms of four young black people lay in the filth and hopelessness of the hard-pressed neighborhood.

Down the street, the long black Cadillac moved away from the curb, filled with black men who made killing their business. Even as Detectives Benson and Ryan turned onto the street, the black car disappeared around the corner.

Benson slammed on his brakes next to the murder scene. The black-and-white backup car came from the opposite end of the street, having turned the same corner that the black Cadillac had.

Benson walked from one body to the next, examining the dead. When he reached Jackie's long body, he thought he heard a moan, but there was so much blood he believed it must be his imagination. He bent down and lifted up the bloody head, cradling Jackie in his arms as if he were a loved one.

"I think this one is still with us," he yelled out as Ryan came over.

Ryan flinched at the sight. He had seen many murders before, but whenever he came upon a shotgun killing, it was always horrible. This one was even worse than most. It was the first time he'd ever seen women shot down in such a vicious manner.

Ryan stood over his partner and called out to one of the uniformed officers who was running over with a gun in his hand. "Call for an ambulance," he ordered sharply, his voice cracking with emotion.

As Ryan glanced around at the other uniformed policeman, he saw the young black officer bent over by the car, throwing up his afternoon meal. The sight of the man puking almost made Ryan do the same thing.

Benson stood up. "He can change that call; we don't need an ambulance. What we need is a meat wagon." He walked away, unaware of the blood that was on his new blue suit.

THE PRIVATE OFFICE in the rear of Kenyatta's club was crowded with members. Ali had brought most of the main people in from the farm, and they were all trying to get in the rear office. The front of the club was full of the less important members of the organization. All of the talk floating around was about the killing of Billy and Joy, with little mention of Jackie and Carol. Joy and Billy were the better known of the four people. As they talked about the killings, the young people in the crowd couldn't really believe what had happened, or didn't want to.

The men spoke in loud voices about retaliation and the punishment that Kenyatta would dish out for the wrong done them. Even though Billy and Jackie hadn't been members, their women had been members. And Joy was related to Kenyatta's lady, Betty, so they knew something would be done.

Even as they whispered about it, Kenyatta paced up and down his office. "It has to be an act of retaliation, Ali," Kenyatta stated, stopping in front of the tall, baldheaded man. "No matter how I look at this shit, it comes up the same way. That motherfucking nigger Kingfisher is behind this crap. I'll bet my front seat in hell, man, that he put out the contract on Billy and them because of that pusher Little David gettin' hit."

Betty got up from the hardbacked wooden chair she had been sitting in at the rear of the office. The stately, beautiful woman walked up to her man and stopped. "But why, honey, why did they kill Joy? She didn't have anything to do with the killing of Little David. She wasn't even in the city at the time." Tears were running down her cheeks as she talked. "I can't get it out of my mind that it was my fault that Joy got killed."

"Hold on, baby," Kenyatta said softly, taking the girl's arm and drawing her near. He held her tight in his arms and stroked her hair tenderly. "Get them kind of thoughts out of your mind," he said as he gently led her toward his large chair behind the desk.

"It's true, though, Ken," she continued. "If I hadn't introduced her to Billy, it would never have happened. She wouldn't have been with him when he came back to town, so she wouldn't have gotten killed."

"Honey," Kenyatta whispered, "you can't think like that. The way them two fell in love with each other, it couldn't have went any other way. I mean, they would have met anyway. He stayed out on the farm after we left, so they would have come in contact with each other no matter what you did." Before she could speak, he continued. "Lookin' at it that-away, Betty, you can hold me responsible for their deaths, because if I hadn't given the party for them, none of this would have jumped off."

Betty stared up at the tall black man she loved. She gained strength from him, and at that moment she needed all the strength she could get. His words took her doubts and fears away.

She allowed him to sit her down in his chair. "When you talk, honey, it all makes sense, but when I get to thinkin' by myself, I keep seeing myself as the reason why she's dead."

"Well, don't think then," Kenyatta stated, ignoring the rest of the people in the office. He was tired of the crowd of people anyway, but he didn't want to dismiss them. He was going to need some of them as soon as some information came in, so he'd just have to put up with the crowd for a while.

"He's sure tellin' you right, momma," Ali said as he reached over on the desk and picked up one of Kenyatta's cigarettes. "The way them two carried on, it was just in the cards, that's all."

She glanced at the two men. They were so much alike, not just for the fact that they both were baldheaded, either. Both were tall black men, but where as Kenyatta wore a beard and heavy mustache, Ali wore only a trimmed mustache. Ali was slightly taller than Kenyatta, too, though both men towered over six feet.

Kenyatta raised his hands for quiet, then spoke to the group in his office. "Fellows, you and the few ladies in here, I want you people to go upstairs or into the outer office until Ali and I can get something together. It's not that I ain't got faith in all you brothers and sisters, nor am I holding any secrets from you, but it's just that there's too many people in here now. We can't even hear ourselves think, so you go upstairs and have fun. I'll call the ones I want."

He waited until most of the people filed out the door. Betty started to leave, but Kenyatta waved her back down in her chair. "I'll tell you what you can do, Betty. Fix me and Ali a good cold drink, okay? Then come on back down."

She smiled at him as she got up to do as he requested.

Both men watched the tall, attractive black woman as she walked across the office floor. The thick, dark brown carpet smothered the sound of her high-heeled shoes, but nothing could disguise her large, beautiful black thighs, revealed to the eye by the miniskirt she wore. The tiny red skirt bounced up behind her with each step she took, causing Ali to give her a long admiring glance.

Both men remained silent until the door closed behind Betty. She was the last person to leave the office.

Ali let out a short whistle. "I got to admit she sure is a looker."

It seemed as if Kenyatta hadn't even heard his remark. The dark, handsome man walked to the rear of the office and stared out the window. He didn't bother to speak for a few minutes. "Ali, it's like I said. Ain't but one person responsible for this mess, and that's that nigger Kingfisher. I want him. I want him so bad I can taste it. That nigger is to blame for over half the dope that comes into the ghetto, Ali. Over half the fuckin' poison that finds its way into those dumb-ass addicts' veins."

Ali was used to his partner's ways, so he just remained silent and waited. "We," Kenyatta began softly, "were supposed to have knocked off that foodstamp place. That's what Billy came back to town for. I called him and told him to get his ass on back here if he wanted in on the stickup." He stopped as if deep in thought, then added, "Then them niggers shot him down. He must have just pulled up in front of their apartment when them motherfuckers cut them down."

There were actually tears in Kenyatta's eyes as he talked. Ali glanced away so that Kenyatta wouldn't realize that he had seen them. Ali knew that the killing of their friends had hit Kenyatta hard, but he hadn't figured it had hit him that hard. Actually, Ali could take it in stride. So a couple of gunmen and their broads had got knocked off. Those things happened when you played in the big leagues.

"I got a call, Ali," Kenyatta began, changing the subject, "from my white boy who's gettin' that list for us. He's got it. Now all we need is the cash I promised him for it."

That was something else Ali didn't agree with. Paying out all that money for a list of dope dealers just didn't make sense, even if they were the largest dealers in the city. The thought of ten thousand dollars going out for a piece of paper with names on it was just too much for Ali to understand. He wished at times that he was the leader. Then he'd run the organization differently. While it was a good idea preaching about knocking off the dope pushers, it would pay even better if they just made the pushers pay them protection. But Kenyatta wouldn't hear of anything like that. He was really sincere when he preached that shit about cleaning up the ghettos. If he wasn't, he wouldn't be wasting time killing police who came down on the brothers. Any time they got a report about any nigger-hating cop, Kenyatta started planning on sending the cop to hell.

"You still plannin' on payin' that 'wood all that money for that list, Kenyatta?"

"Uh huh, ain't nothin' changed. Why should it?" Kenyatta turned away from the window. "You ain't never been able to accept the idea of puttin' out all that bread for them names, have you?" He waited, then continued before Ali could answer. "I don't see why it's so hard for you to understand. Ali, the first time we knock off a pusher, we ought to be able to pick up more cash than I'm settin' out for the list. Man, all these mothers on the list are big, and do I mean big. They are the bastards that supply the dope to the whole damn city, Ali. They ain't just neighborhood pushers, man. They're what you would call international dope men. Just about every name on the list will be a whitey, baby, so you can imagine the kind of dough they should have around their pads."

For a minute the men's eyes met in a clash of wills. Finally Ali had to glance down at the rug. There was something fanatical in Kenyatta's eyes. It occurred to him that the man was mad.

"Yeah, man, what you say sounds good," Ali began, "but it might just be a little more difficult than what you think. Them honkies have got guards all over the fuckin' place. If they were easy to knock off, somebody would have knocked them off before now."

"That's the goddamn problem with black men," Kenyatta stated coldly. "You big-ass bad brothers are always ready to step in and knock off another black man who's dealing, but when it comes to steppin' on them peckerwoods' toes, you start shittin' in your pants." Kenyatta walked over to All and looked straight into his eyes. "I know damn near what you think before you think it, Ali, and don't you ever forget it. I know you'd just love to be number one in this outfit, but it wouldn't work. They wouldn't follow you for ten minutes. You think small and you'll always be small." Kenyatta raised his voice. "If you think I'm lying just look in the mirror. When I mentioned knockin' off them rich honkies, your face damn near turned red, and that's one hell of a trick for a blackass nigger like you!"

For the second time in less than ten minutes Ali found himself unable to look into Kenyatta's eyes. This time it was for a different reason. He stared down at the rug, ashamed of what he felt.

"It ain't like that at all, Kenyatta. I'm just lookin' at facts, man. Them honkies you're talkin' about ain't goin' be easy to reach. They don't even allow a black face out in them neighborhoods. That's why I say we don't stand a chance of knockin' them 'woods off."

"Niggers walk into banks and knock them off every motherfuckin' day, Ali, so why should it be too difficult for a black man to figure out a way to knock off some goddamn peckerwood just because he lives in a neighborhood that don't want any black people moving in? We got a few light-skinned black people in our organization, so when the time comes to stick up one of these places, we'll just use a few of them."

There was a slight knock on the door and Betty came in carrying their drinks on a tray. The men accepted them in silence.