The Real Cool Killers (12 page)

“Leave her to Gabriel,” Sheik said, taking the line and beginning to uncoil it.

“What you gonna do with that?” Sonny asked apprehensively.

Sheik made a running loop in one end. “We going to play cowboy,” he said. “Look.”

Suddenly he threw the loop over Sonny’s head and pulled on the line with all his strength. The loop tightened about Sonny’s neck and jerked him off his feet.

Sissie ran toward Sheik and tried to pull the wire from his hands. “You’re choking him,” she said.

Sheik knocked her down with a backhanded blow.

“You can let up on him now,” Choo-Choo said. “We got ’im.”

“Now I’m gonna show you how to tie up a mother-raper to put him in a sack,” Sheik said.

Grave Digger halted on the sidewalk in front of the yellow frame house next door to the Knickerbocker. It had been partitioned into offices and all of the front windows were lettered with business announcements.

“Can you read that writing on those windows?” Grave Digger asked Ready Belcher.

Ready glanced at him suspiciously. “Course I can read that writing.”

“Read it then,” Grave Digger said.

Ready stole another look. “Read what one?”

“Take your choice.”

Ready squinted his good eye against the dark and read aloud,
“Joseph
C.
Clapp, Real Estate and Notary Public.”
He looked at Grave Digger like a dog who has retrieved a stick. “That one?”

“Try another.”

He hesitated. Passing car lights played on his pockmarked black face, brought out the white cast in his bad eye and lit up his flashy tan suit.

“I haven’t got much time,” Grave Digger warned.

He read, “
Amazing 100-year-old Gypsy Bait Oil – Makes Catfish Go Crazy
.” He looked at Grave Digger again like the same dog with another stick.

“Not that one,” Grave Digger said.

“What the hell is this, a gag?” he muttered.

“Just read!”

“JOSEPH, The Only and Original Skin Lightener. I guarantee to lighten the darkest skin by twelve shades in six
months.”

“You don’t want your skin lightened?”

“My skin suit me,” he said sullenly.

“Then read on.”

“Magic Formula For Successful PRAYER
 … That it?”

“Yeah, that’s it. Read what it says underneath.”

“Here are some of the amazing things it tells you about: When to pray; Where to pray; How to pray; The Magic Formulas for Health and Success through prayer; for conquering fear through prayer; for obtaining work through prayer; for money through prayer; for influencing others through prayer; and–”

“That’s enough.” Grave Digger took a deep breath and said in a voice gone thick and cottony again, “Ready, if you don’t tell me what I want to know, you’d better get yourself one of those prayers. Because I’m going to take you over to 129th Street near the Harlem River. You know where that is? It’s a deserted jungle of warehouses and junk yards beneath the New York Central bridge.”

“Yare, I know where it’s at.”

“And I’m going to pistol whip you until your own whore won’t recognize you again. And if you try to run, I’m going to let you run fifty feet and then shoot you through the head for attempting to escape. You understand me?”

“Yare, I understand you.”

“You believe me?”

Ready took a quick look at Grave Digger’s rage-swollen face and said quickly, “Yare, I believes you.”

“My partner got suspended tonight for killing a criminal rat like you and I’d just as soon they suspended me too.”

“You ain’t asted me yet what you want to know.”

“Get into the car.”

The car was parked at the curb. Ready got into Coffin Ed’s seat. Grave Digger went around and climbed beneath the wheel.

“This is as good a spot as any,” he said. “Start talking.”

“ ’Bout what?”

“About the Big Greek. I want to know who killed him.”

Ready jumped as though he’d been stung. “Digger, I swear ’fore God–”

“Don’t call me Digger, you lousy pimp.”

“Mista Jones, lissen–”

“I’m listening.”

“Lots of folks mighta killed him if they’d knowed–” He broke off. The pockmarks in his skin began filling with sweat.

“Known what? I haven’t got all night.”

Ready gulped and said, “He was a whipper.”

“What?”

“He liked to whip ’em.”

“Whores?”

“Not ’specially. If they was regular whores he wanted them to be big black mannish-looking bitches like what might cut a mother-raper’s throat. But what he liked most was little colored school gals.”

“That’s it? That’s why Reba barred him?”

“Yas suh. He proposition her once. She got so mad she drew her pistol on him.”

“Did she shoot him?”

“Naw, suh, she just scared him.”

“I mean tonight. Was she the one?”

Ready’s eyes started rolling in their sockets and the sweat began to trickle down his mean black face.

“You mean the one what killed him? Naw suh, she was home all evening.”

“Where were you?”

“I was there, too.”

“Do you live there?”

“Naw, suh, I just drops by for a visit now and then.”

“Where did he find the girls?”

“You mean the school girls?”

“What other girls would I mean?”

“He picked ’em up in his car. He had a little Mexican bull whip with nine tails he kept in his car. He whipped ’em with
that.”

“Where did he take them?”

“He brung ’em to Reba’s till she got suspicious ’bout all the screaming and carrying on. She didn’t think nothing of it at first; these little chippies likes to make lots of noise for a white man. But they was making more noise than seemed natural and she went in and caught ’im. That’s when he proposition her.”

“How did he get ’em to take it?”

“Get ’em to take what?”

“The whipping.”

“Oh, he paid ’em a hundred bucks. They was glad to take it for that.”

“You’re certain of that, that he paid them a hundred dollars?”

“Yas suh. Not only me but lots of chippies all over Harlem knew about him. A hundred bucks didn’t mean nothing to him. They boy friends knew too. Lots of times they boy friends made ’em. There was chippies all over town on the lookout for him. ’Course one time was enough for most of ’em.”

“He hurt them?”

“He got his money’s worth. Sometime he whale hell out of ’em. I s’pect he hurt more’n one of ’em bad. ’Member that kid they picked up in Broadhurst Park. It were all in the paper. She was in the hospital three, four days. She said she’d been attacked but the police thought she was beat up by a gang. I believes she was one of ’em.”

“What was her name?”

“I don’t recollect.”

“Where’d he take them after Reba barred him from her place?”

“I don’t know.”

“Do you know the names of any of them?”

“Naw suh, he brung ’em and took ’em away by hisself. I never even seen any of ’em.”

“You’re lying.”

“Naw suh, I swear ’fore God.”

“How did you know they were school girls if you never saw any of them?”

“He tole me.”

“What else he tell you?”

“Nuthin’ else. He just talk to me ’bout gals.”

“How old is your girl?”

“My gal?”

“The one you have at Reba’s?”

“Oh, she twenty-five or more.”

“One more lie and off we go.”

“She sixteen, boss.”

“She had him, too?”

“Yas suh. Once.”

The sweat was streaming down Ready’s face.

“Once. Why only once?”

“She got scared.”

“You tried to fix it up for another time?”

“Naw suh, boss, she didn’t need to. Hit cost her more’n it was worth.”

“What were you doing with him in the Dew Drop Inn?”

“He was looking for a little gal he knew and he ast me to come ’long, that’s all, boss.”

“When was that?”

“ ’Bout a month ago.”

“You said you didn’t know where he took them after he was barred from Reba’s.”

“I don’t, boss, I swear ’fore–”

“Can that Uncle Tom crap. Reba said she barred him three or four months ago.”

“Yas suh, but I didn’t say I hadn’t seed him since.”

“Did Reba know you were seeing him?”

“I only seed him that once, boss. I was in the Alabama-Georgia bar and he just happen in.”

Grave Digger nodded towards the three alien cars parked ahead, in front of the Knickerbocker.

“One of those cars his?”

“Them struggle buggies!” Scorn pushed the fear from Ready’s voice. “Naw suh, he had a dream boat, a big green Caddy Coupe de Ville.”

“Who was the girl he and you were looking for?”

“I wasn’t looking for her; I just went ’long with him to look for her.”

“Who was she, I asked.”

“I didn’t know her. Some little chippie what hung ’round in that section.”

“How did he come to know her?”

“He said he’d done whipped her girl friend once. That’s how come he knew her. Said Sissie’s boy friend brought her to ’im.”

“Sissie! You said you didn’t know the name of any of them.”

“I’d forgotten her, boss. He didn’t bring her to Reba’s. I didn’t know nuthin’ ’bout her but just what he said.”

“What did he say exactly?”

“He just say Sissie’s boy friend, some boy they call Sheik, arrange it for him and he pay Sheik. Then he wanted Sheik to arrange for the other one but Sheik couldn’t do it.”

“What was the other one called? The one he and you were looking for?”

“He call her Sugartit. She was Sissie’s girl friend. He’d seen ’em walking together down Seventh Avenue one time after he’d whipped Sissie.”

“Where did you find her?”

“We didn’t find her, I swear ’fore–”

“Does your girl know them?”

“I didn’ hear you.”

“Your girl, does she know them?”

“Know who, boss?”

“Either Sissie or Sugartit.”

“Naw suh. My gal’s a pro and them is just chippies. I recollect him saying one time they all belonged to a kid gang over in that section. I means them two chippies and Sheik. He say Sheik was the chief.”

“What’s the name of the gang?”

“He say they call themselves the Real Cool Moslems. He thought it were funny.”

“Did you listen to the news on the radio tonight?”

“You mean what it say ’bout him getting croaked? Naw suh, I was lissening to the Twelve-Eighty Club. Reba tole me ’bout it. She were lissening. That were just ’fore you come. She were telling me when the doorbell rang. She say the big Greek’s croaked over on Lenox Avenue and I say so what.”

“You said before that lots of people might have killed him if they’d known about him. Who?”

“All I meant was some of those gal’s pas. Like Sissie’s or some of ’em. He might have been hanging ’round over there looking for Sugartit again and her pa might have got hep to it some kind of way and been layin’ for him and when he seed him coming down the street might have lowered the boom on ’im.”

“You mean slipped up behind him?”

“He were in his car, warn’t he?”

“How about the Moslems – the kid gang?”

“Them! What they’d wanta do it for? He was money in the street for them.”

“Who’s Sugartit’s father?”

“You mean her old man?”

“I mean her father.”

“How am I gonna know that, boss? I ain’t never heard of her ’fore he talk ’bout her.”

“What did he say about her?”

“Just say she was the gal for him.”

“Did he say where she lived?”

“Naw, suh, he just say what I say he say, boss, I swear ’fore God.”

“You stink. What are you sweating so much for?”

“I’se just nervous, that’s all.”

“You stink with fear. What are you scared of?”

“Just naturally scared, boss. You got that big pistol and you mad at everybody and talkin’ ’bout killin’ me and all
that. Enough to make anybody scared.”

“You’re scared of something else, something in particular. What are you holding out?”

“I ain’t holding nothing out. I done tole you everything I know, I swear boss, I swears on everything that’s holy in this whole green world.”

“I know you’re lying. I can hear it in your voice. What are you lying about?”

“I ain’t lying, boss. If I’m lying I hope God’ll strike me dead on the spot.”

“You know who her father is, don’t you?”

“Naw suh, boss. I swear. I done tole you everything I know. You could whup me till my head is soft as clabber but I couldn’t tell you no more than I’se already tole you.”

“You know who her father is and you’re scared to tell me.”

“Naw suh, I swear–”

“Is he a politician?”

“Boss, I–”

“A numbers banker?”

“I swear, boss–”

“Shut up before I knock out your goddamned teeth.”

He mashed the starter as though tromping on Ready’s head. The motor purred into life. But he didn’t slip in the clutch. He sat there listening to the softly purring motor in the small black nondescript car, trying to get his temper under control.

Finally he said, “If I find out that you’re lying I’m going to kill you like a dog. I’m not going to shoot you, I’m going to break all your bones. I’m going to try to find out who killed Galen because that’s what I’m paid for and that was my oath when I took this job. But if I had my way I’d pin a medal on him and I’d string up every goddamned one of you who were up with Galen. You’ve turned my stomach and it’s all I can do right now to keep from beating out your brains.”

The reception room of the Harlem Hospital, on Lenox Avenue ten blocks south from the scene of the murder, was wrapped in a midnight hush.

It was called an interracial hospital; more than half of its staff of doctors and nurses were colored people.

A graduate nurse sat behind the reception desk. A bronze-shaded desk lamp spilled light on the hospital register before her while her brown-skinned face remained in shadow. She looked up inquiringly as Grave Digger and Ready Belcher approached, walking side by side.

“May I help you,” she said in a trained courteous voice.

“I’m Detective Jones,” Grave Digger said, exhibiting his badge.

She looked at it but didn’t touch it.

“You received an emergency patient here about two hours ago; a man with his right arm cut off.”