The Vulture (25 page)

‘When? How the hell would I know?’

‘Think hard. That was the night Isidro was killed.’

‘I don't remember,’ I said after a pause.

‘Well, suppose I told you that while you were getting the beer last night I was looking around your room a little. And what if I said I found the .32-caliber piece you used to carry on the corner when the times was hot?’

‘I'd say “So what?"’

‘And what if I told you that out of curiosity I took it to the man who made it. A man from your block named Game; and he ran it through a check or two and told me that it was definitely the gun that was used to kill Isidro. Where would you say you were on the night Isidro was killed?’

I heard John's voice, rolling toward me like a giant boulder that I couldn't get out of the way of. His breath was rasping, heavy in my telephone, as though he had been running. I felt the sweat materialize on my top lip.

‘I was downtown in the Village. Lower East Side. Hanging out with a few friends of mine. No, my friends didn't show. I was just sort of wandering around looking for them, because I lost the address. Uh. I was going in and out of dives and clubs, trying to find some tail. You know, uh . . .’

‘What do you think the Man would say if he knew what I knew and had what I have?’

‘I get the message,’ I said. ‘What do you want for me to get the gun back?’

‘You know what I didn't like about the thing?’ John breathed. ‘I didn't like the fact that you set me up for a lot of people when you killed him. I didn't give a damn about Seedy. I didn't care if he lived or died. The people who dealt with him when he got shot never came to me. But you set me up.’

‘What do you want?’

‘I want seven hundred and fifty dollars in cash. I want it by tomorrow night. If I don't see you before midnight, I'm taking the gun to the cops, or I'll see that they get it anonymously.’

‘What if I say that. I'll see that they get you?’ I asked.

‘So what if they get me if I ain't got nothing and my house
is clean? They may watch me, even close down my business, but I will survive . . . You won't. Murder is a very serious thing. I remember when we didn't think so. We know better now . . . You shouldn't have kept the gun, I.Q. A man of your intelligence should know better.’

‘Where will I see you tomorrow night?’ I asked.

‘I'll be around. I won't give you a particular place to meet me. There's too much risk involved. But I'll be watching you. Be in the streets by eight o'clock with the money. I'll be watching you.’

‘Where do you expect me to get that kind of money so quickly?’ I yelled into the receiver.

‘I don't care.’

The phone clicked shut. I was standing there with my ears burning, my ears stung by sweat, my whole shirt wringing wet. I could see the look on John's face. Seven hundred and fifty dollars for the gun. It was really too late to do anything but hope. I picked up the phone again. Many people can play at blackmail. I was all hung up with the adventure of pitting my mind against other people, while the reality of it all gave me a tight feeling in the pit of my stomach that made me think I might piss on myself.

‘Hello, Margie?’ I asked.

‘Yes. Who is it?’

‘This is Ivan Quinn, from the Festival Motor Inn,’ I said.

‘Who? . . . Oh!’

‘You didn't pay your bill when you left,’ I sneered. ‘Not all of it. The fact that I know you have an appendix scar and a birthmark on your right inner thigh was tabulated along with the bill. You owe us seven hundred and fifty dollars. Payable tomorrow afternoon.’

Phase Six

July 13, 1969

‘Yes, sir. I'm Captain O'Malley, an’ this is Lieutenant Thomas.’

The two policemen were ushered into a neat living room, where their host offered them seats. They sat next to each other on the sofa, and Thomas took out his black note pad.

‘Now, Mr Lee, I know you've been through quite a bit today, but we have a few more questions for both you and your wife.’

‘My wife is in bed now,’ Hamilton Lee said. ‘The doctor was in and gave her a shot. She has a bad heart condition. I think the shock almost killed her.’

‘Then we'll come back and talk to her,’ O'Malley said.

‘Are you sure I can't answer everything?’

‘Well, how long had your son been dealing drugs?’

‘I didn't know anything about it until this morning,’ Mr Lee said. ‘We were out of town until this morning . . . I thought that I had spoken with every cop in town.’

‘Then you're saying that you were informed of the drug situation by the men from the Narcotics Department.’

‘That's right,’ came the reply. ‘A short man, Ramirez, and Sergeant Holder.’

‘Did they search John's room?’

‘They searched the whole house. Everything was in an uproar. The lady next door was kind enough to come over and straighten up.’

‘They must not have found anything,’ Thomas commented to the captain.

‘What about enemies? Did John have any personal enemies he might have mentioned to you?’

‘No. John was never involved too much in the gangs. He's only been out around in the last year and a half or so. . . . He
got himself a job at the food market and made himself a few friends.’

‘You made no notice of the fact that John was out a lot at night?’ O'Malley asked.

Hamilton Lee was very uncomfortable. He was searching the walls of his apartment for something to look at.

‘John was eighteen years old. The first sixteen years of his life or so were miserable. He was far overweight. He weighed almost 230 pounds, and then the doctor gave him some medicine for losing all this fat. He started going outside, playing a little ball. He got himself a girl friend. Sure, we noticed that he was out a lot, but we thought it was because he had been embarrassed about his weight for so long that he was just making up for lost time . . . My wife and I were so happy to . . . ‘

‘Yes, sir,’ Thomas cut in. ‘You mentioned a girl.’ The lieutenant searched back through his notes. ‘Would her name be Debbie Clark?’

‘That's right.’

‘Do you happen to know her address?’

‘Well, yes, but she and John weren't together . . . They had a little fight of some kind. John said he wasn't seeing her anymore.’

‘When was this?’

‘In April.’

O'Malley and Thomas looked at each other. ‘We'll take the address anyway,’ Thomas said. Mr Lee recited it.

‘What about close friends? People who might have known what John was doing?’

Mr Lee seemed to be lost in thought.

‘Spade,’ he said. ‘That's a boy who lives in the projects. His name is Eddie Shannon. Junior Jones, who lives on 19th Street.’

‘Do you know Shannon's address?’

‘No.’

‘And Jones?’

‘His real name is Theodore. They just call him Junior.’

Thomas wrote hurriedly.

‘And Ivan Quinn.’

‘Who?’

‘Ivan Quinn. He's a student at Columbia.’

O'Malley cut in, ‘These three know about . . .’

‘I don't know if they knew!’ Mr Lee said. ‘They were friends of my son.’

Tears were streaking Mr Lee's face. He had tried to wipe them away with his hand, and was now simply crying unashamedly.

‘I don't know what to say,’ he began softly. ‘I knew that John was doing something wrong. He was buying clothes I knew that his job couldn't be paying for. He was buying presents for his girl . . . The things he bought for me and Cassie for Christmas cost almost fifty dollars . . . But what could I say? I told him if there was anything he wanted to talk to me about to come and sit down and we'd discuss it . . . Money. A car. Anything. But he said everything was fine. I thought maybe he was stealing money from his job. Drugs? I never even detected John's being drunk. And now this . . .’ The big man sniffed and rubbed his eyes. ‘Miss Carter, the woman across the hall, told me when she was here this morning that she had had a dream about John. You know how old people have these visions? John was a nice boy. Everybody told me he was always courteous and ran errands for them. And you want me to tell you something – Lord knows, I wish somebody would tell me – Cassie's heart is broken. When we had John, the doctor told us that she couldn't have any more. You know what that does to a woman who's been plannin’ on a big fam'ly? Her only son. Her only son.’

July 5, 1969

‘Yeah,’ Junior Jones said. ‘I been waitin’ t'git high an’ jus’ be high alla time. Ya know?’

‘Yeah.’

‘I been wantin’ t'git high wit’ you cauz I wanned t'show you som'thin’ that Afro gave me today.’ Junior reached into his pocket and pulled out a cigarette with a squared tip. ‘Ya know where Afro said he got this? He said he found it in Seedy's room. He said he went to talk t'Seedy, an’ somebody flattened the back a hiz head. When he came to, whoever killed Seedy wuz gone, but he left this cigarette . . . You the only one ‘roun’ here square off the butts like this. Right?’

‘Afro came to shoot somebody. He had a gun.’

‘Yeah. You took it. But my seein’ this butt here made me know everything real perfect. The night Seedy wuz killed, you saved me from Pedro. You came up behind us an’ tol’ him I had been wit’ you smokin’ reefers. You said that t'give yourself a alibi. The only thing that bothered me was why Pedro believed you . . . That wuz ‘cauz Seedy had tol’ all the P.R.’s that you could be trusted ‘cauz you tol’ him when I wuz gittin’ ready t'rob him . . . You damn near got me killed twice. Once when Seedy found out I wuz gonna rob ‘im an’ started carryin’ a gun, an’ the other when you shot Seedy an’ all the P.R.’s thought it wuz either me or John Lee.’

Ricky Manning smiled sourly.

‘Does Afro know that I called to tell him about I.Q. an’ that white bitch?’ Ricky asked.

‘I wuz gittin’ t'that. I figgered it when me an’ Afro started talkin’ ‘bout how somebody inna neighborhood wuz a dime dropper. When he tol’ me ‘bout what happened ta I.Q., I started tryin’ t'figger out who me an’ Q had in common. The
answer wuz you. An’ to top it all, you had a motive wit’ me, but I thought you an’ Q wuz tight.’

‘I.Q. fell in love with a white bitch!’ Ricky said bitterly. ‘He met her at a motel an’ screwed her. It wuzn't right!’

‘Why not?’

‘Ha! You simple bastard. You couldn't understand. I.Q. was mine! . . . How would you know what we had? We related on all levels. But there was no way for us to stay with each other. I.Q. is supposed to have a girl. Junior, did you ever love something that you knew you couldn't have?’

‘Yeah. I guess.’ Junior spoke through a cloud of cigarette smoke.

‘Then you know what I mean. I came lookin’ for you that night to tell you that Seedy was dead and to be looking out for Pedro. I knew he would probably try to get you. He hates your guts. I had to do something. I was getting all my cats from Seedy. I.Q. told Lee not to sell me any more. I went to Seedy and told him that I could give him some valuable information if he would keep me supplied with cats. I told him that you were going to make a hit on him and take all of his stuff . . . For a while things went on fine. He supplied me. Then John Lee told I.Q. I was getting my pills from Seedy, and I.Q. told Seedy to stop selling me anything. He thought I was going to commit suicide. Seedy got scared because everyone told him that I.Q. was crazy. When I showed up for my cats, he told me to get lost. He said that if I ever bothered him again he'd tell you how he found out about the attack you planned. I had to kill him.’

‘Where'd you get a gun?’ Junior asked.

‘I took I.Q.’s gun. The .32 he has with the silencer. I killed Seedy, and then I put the gun back in I.Q.’s room. He never missed it.’ Junior watched carefully as Ricky seemed caught up with a sudden wild sense of humor. ‘I.Q.’ll go to jail for me if the Man ever finds that gun!’

‘An’ you tol’ I.Q.’s secret love life to Afro because he stopped you from getting pills?’

‘No. No. No. I told Afro long before that. It was about two weeks after I told Seedy about you. I.Q. wanted to join BAMBU, but I couldn't let him do anything that would keep him from seeing me every day. So I told.’

‘So you told,’ Junior repeated.

‘Ha! Ha! You don't know what it's like to have to admit to yourself that you're a freak. To say to yourself that society does not accept what you want. You do a lot to hold on to what little you have. I knew I.Q. would never love me, but I had to keep him near me if I could.’

‘And one thing led to another?’

‘I told on you to get cats, Junior. Seedy gave me cats for nothing. They have to be the most beautiful high in the world. I told on I.Q. because I love him. You have to try to get the ones you love. Don't you? . . . And I killed Seedy to keep everything quiet. He was scared of I.Q. He was scared I.Q. would kill him if I got another cat from him. He was going to tell you that I was the traitor you were looking for. I couldn't let him do that to me.’

Junior looked away from Ricky. Tears had been welling up in Ricky's eyes as he confessed the things that he had done. It was all quite a coincidence. A light discussion with Afro about Uncle Toms had put them on the subject of brothers who informed on brothers. Junior had not told I.Q. when it dawned on him that the square-tipped cigarette butt made Ricky Manning the missing link. Junior had called Ricky and told him to join him on the roof of the warehouse where they often got high. Ricky agreed to come and get high, but now that everything was clear and tears were rolling down Ricky's face, Junior realized he still had no total answer. He looked across the New York skyline, a thousand twinkling lights, as though he would receive a coded message from the neon jungle. That
was why he didn't see Ricky Manning jump eight flights to his death.

July 12, 1969 / 11:46 P.M.

‘It's too bad you had to kill him, but I told him night before last that tonight was the deadline. Nobody can hit me for seven hundred and fifty dollars and then tell me to wait . . . How much did you get?’

‘he had about a hundred and ten in them blue heaven pills. i ain’ riff ‘im fo’ cash.’

‘Wednesday night he call me an’ tol’ me that he had two hundred and fifty dollars’ worth of bad pills in the load I sent him. Anything wrong with the pills?’

‘not nuthin’ i can see.’

‘What else?’

‘he had a .32 inna paper bag wit’ de pills. he gotta be a stupid cat runnin’ aroun’ wit’ a unloaded gun inna paper bag.’

‘But, so far as the five hundred dollars he took Monday and the rest, there were no signs, right?’

‘'ass right.’

‘Yeah . . . Well, c'mon in then, Smoky. I guess the party'll start in an hour or so. Did you reach Spade?’

‘yeah. i caught ‘im onna job.’

‘That's a good boy. Look, I got this amazon go-go girl for you.’

‘right. i need t'go-go fo’ a while.’ Smoky laughed. ‘twenny minits i be there.’

Behind the twenty-five-story apartment building that faces 17th Street between Ninth and Tenth avenues, the crowd of onlookers stared with eyes wide at the bespectacled photographer who fired flashbulbs at the prone body. They did not notice the vulture flying overhead.