Terraplane (24 page)

"Cedric?" I said. "He's your age?"

Doc sighed. "Nobody seems to look my age but me. Yeah, he is.
Anyway, we all started doing business together, see. Lee got mixed
up into it later, after I got out of that end of things. Early on,
though, Vernon set up a couple alky cookers, ran off batches of
bathtub hooch. Cedric always had an eye for organization and the
way he set things up we was able to keep the mob from cutting into
our action too deep. Made arrangements, you know. That sort of
thing. Time went on, we expanded. This place was a speak when
we first opened 'er up. Good thing was all Cedric or Vernon had to
do was pay off the precinct house and they wouldn't touch us. We
did all right-"

"Through illegalities."

He stared at me as he hadn't since the first hour here. "Get off
your high horse, man. What was I going to do? Till I took those
medical courses I couldn't get a job running an elevator downtown. And where was I going to get money to start anything up
with? Only colored banks there were all gone by the end of'33 and
the U. S. Bank wouldn't give me paper to wipe a baby's ass. I wanted
to get better'n I'd got, Luther. And I have. If things don't work one
way you go another way. 't'hats all." Looking clockways he saw the
time; nine-fifteen. "Shit."

"Think he'll still appear?" I asked.

"Might know this'd be the one night he wouldn't-"

"Doc," Jess said, staring windowways, mopping the bar with an
imprinted cloth. "You expectin' company?"

"Why?" Doc asked, swiveling round. Beyond the mirror-read
neon sign hanging in the window, within the awning's shadow,
revolving red light swirled, flashed off. "Oh, hell-"

"For us?" I asked.

"More than likely-" The door swung open; in strolled a gentleman twirling a walking stick, craning his view behind him to see if
he was the object of professional desire.

"Who called the G-men?" he asked.

"What you mean, Theodore?" Jess said. "Who's out there?"

"Two white men in dark suits," he said. "Seem to be operating
in official capacity. Also two gentlemen of color from the local
department. All of them just hopped out of the squad car and went
upstairs. Give me a highball, Jess."

"Let's get out of here," said Doc, standing. "If they've gone to the
apartment-" Jake already headed towards the front. "No, Jake.
Out back. Follow me."

With fast-mustered casualness we moved towards the rear
through the club, ducking past a curtain overhanging stage right,
and entered pitchblack.

"He's let the lights burn out again," Doc mumbled. Light eking
from an open door midway downhall helped us guide our steps.
Inside the lit room I vizzed Vernon confronting a tall, lean man
standing in a corner as if for punishment, his face turned from
view Upon the dressing table lay a battered wooden guitar.

"It's copacetic," Vernon said to him. "Ever'body's shy sometimes. You're gonna do fine-"

"Not in front of these people," the man said, scratching his face
with long, slender fingers.

"Once you get goin' it won't matter. Come on, Bob-"

We continued on; I had to pull Jake along. "Luther," he said,
"that was him-"

"He'll be playing again, Jake," I said, in foolish attempt to
assure. "We've got to move. This crew must be appearing per Mal's
request. No estimating what's been told. Prep yourself for anything. "

"Chances missed never return," said Jake, his voice lower than
usual. "My tools'll help."

"We'll obtain," I said, "if possible." Ahead, at darkness's end,
glowed a red exit sign, marking our path out. Doc paused before
opening the door, his bloodlit form stalling us.

"Keep quiet," he said. "This'll put us out in the courtyard just
below the kitchen window. If it's open maybe we can hear what's
going on. Figure something out." With gentle hand Doc opened
the door; we lightstepped into the concrete garden. Kitchenglow,
yellowed by drawn drapes, shone overhead; as the awning was
rolled up, we could have known full view were we three meters
high. To kitchen's right showed blank stones and two blacked-out
windows.

"Those lead where?" I asked.

"Back room in my office," Doc whispered. "Looks like they
haven't gone in there yet."

"Then we should," said Jake. "My equipment's needed. What's
eavesdroppable?" We pulled silence round us, the better to hear;
two men, perhaps three, spoke in turn; from each we gleaned
murmurs and bits of word.

"... know somebody else ... make it a lot ... in time-"

The el ground all sound underwheel, rolling uptown. Jake scuttled crosscourt, reaching the windows without sound; we followed,
silent though not as silent. "These locked?" he asked, drawing from
his jacket lining a thin, flexible bar.

"Yeah," said Doc. Jake slid the bar between the sashes, jiggled
and snapped; quietly raised the lower windowpane, hopped up
and pulled himself inward, lifting himself with toe-edge against
brick.

"Thought so," he said, reaching down for us once he'd landed
within. Doc lodged solid midway through, as if to rest; with
considerable effort we squeezed him through, feeling as if we were
trying to get the last inch of toothpaste. In yanking me up they
nearly dislocated my own shoulder; my ribs felt for a moment to be
pulling apart once more, but didn't.

"Don't turn on the lights," Doc whispered, as if we knew where
they were to turn on. "Put your hand on my shoulders. Watch your
step. Follow me." Through dark we glided, traveling tiptoed so as
not to cause the floorboards to weep of our presence. Alcohol's sharp perfume awared me that we must have entered the exam
room. I heard jingling metal's clink.

"Jake," said Doc. "The key. Turn it to the left. That one where
your hand is."

Jake unlocked and opened the door, withdrawing and jacketing
whatever lay topside. Our breathing settled: I heard another sound,
rising from below, alternately hard, then soft; as if snared from the
heavens it faded and returned, the signal everpresent if rarely heard
or caught proper. Robert Johnson sang.

"Darktown Strutters' Ball," someone kept yelling below, but his
plaints were trampled beneath the singer's plea. Jake kept still, his
ears picking up all.

"I'm cryin' please, please let us be friends-"

"Alive," said Jake, unmoving, stilled as if by amber's wrap,
drawing new life from each word.

"Come on, Jake-"

"An' when you hear me howlin' in my pathway, rider-"

"Hush. "

"Some a that `Darktown Strutters' Ball-' "

"Please open your door 'n' lemme in-"

Fresh sound distracted all; the reception office's door crashed
open. Sudden light blinded before Doc and I took a single step;
Jake, unseen to any, was already gone, as if swept up by angel's
order.

"I got the drop on you, boys. Stick 'em up." We lifted arms as if
to give praise. The policeman showed nearly so lightskinned as I,
and as tall, but bore twice the weight. He leveled his peacemaker
our way, a .38 by its look, though judging caliber at distance is
never easy, especially with such a collectible as his. At closer view, I
noted the barrel bore an evident silencer. "Keep 'em up."

"You're making a mistake," said Doc, in normal, though ragefilled, voice. "This is my office-"

"Keep your trap shut," the policeman said, stepping forward,
aiming direct. Catching eye of the open cabinet, spotting Jake's belongings, he froze. "Holy shit-" Keeping his gun, and his look,
on us, he shouted across the hall to one unseen. "Nate!! Get over
here. I'm gonna need a hand with these two."

"I'm telling you this is my office-" The policeman took quick
glance at a certificate hanging on the wall. "How long you been at
this precinct, son-"

"I work Central Harlem, usually," he said, "and I ain't your son.
They didn't want to use anybody on this one you might be too used
to dealin' with. Doctor, huh? Dillinger's doctor? Plannin' to knock
off the treasury with this shit or what?"

My prolonged hosannas strained my split ribs into spasms; involuntarily, my elbows began to slump. The policeman directed his
barrel between any eyes.

"Keep 'em up or I'lI blow your head off."

"Who you got, Edgar?" his associate asked, entering; Senegalese
dark, he was the size of a freezer unit.

"Old guy says he's a doctor. If this one's the Venezuelan he'll have
a passport. Frisk 'em down and pull their flyers. I got'em covered."

Nate beat us updown as he searched for pocketed harm, patting
blindly away, pulling my passport and yanking Doe's papers; he
didn't take my wallet.

"Would you get a load of this shit?" Edgar asked, dragging forth
evidence once Nate had the drop on us. "You ever see a gun look
like this?" he asked, fondling the Shrogin.

"Popgun, looks like. What is it?"

"Popgun, hell. Didn't know better I'd swear it's a machine gun."

"Where's the drum? Keep 'em up," said Nate, aiming at us both.

"Uses a belt, maybe. Must be foreign. We'll haul it all down, let
the feds figure it out-"

"What about that pistol, man?" Nate asked. "Evil-looking
piece. Stick it somewhere, pick it up later. Those assholes won't
know "

"Shit. Take a look at the bullets in the chamber and tell me
where I can buy some more. Okay, you two. Let's step across the
hall and see your girlfriends. They probably miss you, we been
talkin' to 'em awhile, tryin' to anyway. They're playin' hard to get. "

"You better not've done anything to my wife-" Doc began; Edgar drew a sap from his pocket, struck Doc across the side of the
head with it. He stumbled back, blood darkening his graying hair. I
caught him before he fell.

"Wouldn't touch your ugly wife, man," said Edgar. "It's little
Red they're after. Now move it."

With single arm I assisted Doc until his balance returned, both
of us prodded forward by gun's sharp poke. Jake wouldn't have run,
that was certain; dependent on what he'd had time to recover
before our untimely interruption would decide the method of his
action, and the timing. It couldn't be soon enough. That, once
moving, he would apply total effort was as certain; that thought
comforted and terrified.

"It's AO, Doc," I said, helping him along; his head's blood
dripped down his face like tears, splashed onto my shirtsleeve.

"Shit," was all he said. Reaching the apartment and entering, we
saw Wanda and Oktobriana in the kitchen, under guard of the two
white men; they were young, suited and tied. One had brown hair,
the other blond; otherwise they might have been brothers.

"Norman," Wanda said, "what'd they do to you?"

"Same thing we going to do to you, you don't shut up," said
Nate. "How're you boys doin' here with the ladies?"

"They're being very uncooperative," said the blond. "We've
received none of the answers we'd hoped to receive. Stronger
measures may be needed."

"Where'd you get that? Whose is it?" asked the other, seeing
Edgar lay Jake's goods atop the sideboard's ledge.

"In his office. Think they were tryin' to get it. Must've come in
the front after we did and before I went back out there."

I eyed the space, judging position and distance. Doc and I stood
stove-near, covered by Edgar and the brownhaired fed. Wanda,
across the room, poised near the icebox, her head level with its toppositioned drum. Nate and the blond covered the door leading into
the living room. On the kitchen table, in room's center, sat
Oktobriana, wearing a baggy red jumpsuit she'd donned at evening's arrival; though I knew she'd noted Jake's absence immediate,
she made no remark. The window's drapes were drawn shut; night breeze billowed their hems. Only streetsound came from without,
and the regular roar of the el as it passed.

"You got their papers?" asked the blond. "Let's see." Edgar
handed them over. The brownhaired one walked across the room
and brushed Oktobriana's hair from her face; her eyes burned as she
stared at him. Edgar and Nate eyed the agent's movements with
evident suspicion. With whitened hands she gripped the table
edges.

"Ready to talk yet?" brownhair asked her, grinning. "Where'd
you get this janitor suit? You some kind of dyke?" She remained
still, her eyes fixed upon the window.

"I'm no expert but this passport seems forged to me," said the
blond. "We can check with the consulate later. What were you
doing down by police headquarters this morning?"

"I told you all like I told them at the time," said Wanda. "This
man helped me out by walking me through a bad neighborhood
and he got beat up for his troubles."

"Gonna get beat up for more'n that if he don't talk-" said Nate.

"There'll be none of that in a federal case," said the blond. "You
weren't looking for anyone there, were you? Someone you thought
might be inside?"

"Were you carrying any of these weapons at the time?" asked
brownhair, his attentions towards Oktobriana momentarily distracted. "Do you have Venezuelan licenses or permits for these, or
are they yours?"

"No answers until I'm lawyered," I said. The feds stared; Nate
and Edgar laughed long and loud.

"Nigger wants a lawyer," said Nate. "You hear that shit?"

"Wants one to hold his hand while he gets the hot seat-" said
Edgar.

"You'll receive a fair trial in the United States Colored Court,"
said the blond. "Did you come into the country with the young
lady?"

"Specify charges for this fair trial," I said. Doc held himself
upright by gripping the stove; if he slumped, I tugged him up.

"At the proper time you'll be notified of all charges against you," said the blond. "Who else was with you and how did you arrive?
Your assistance will make things much easier for all of us."

Their questions ran with circular reason; though at first I'd been
sure that Skuratov's hand behinded this assault, the more they
talked the more I doubted.