The Vulture (7 page)

‘He ain’ in here,’ Paco said. ‘He be here soon or late, but he gon’ be here. You see what I mean?’

‘I see yo’ point. But how you know John did it? How cum somebody else didn’t do it?’

‘I know he is the one,’ Paco flashed. ‘He could win mos’!’

‘There ain’ nuthin’ I can say, huh?’

Paco giggled and tossed his cigarette down. I tossed mine down too.

‘You can say adios to John Lee.’ He giggled. I could see now that he was high. He scratched the side of his face softly, and his head swung out of the corner darkness. His eyes were half-closed, and his teeth were bared.

‘John ain’ goin’ nowhere, Paco. You are. You leavin’ here, an’ if I ever hear about yo’ hangin’ out near this place, I’ll kill you.’ I was moving in on him. All at once I realized that
Paco was not the real danger. His eyes opened at the sight of something behind me, and I had only a second to duck as Jessie’s arm swung by neck-high. I caught the startled P.R. near the elbow and turned it until I heard the straight-edge clatter to the floor. I hiked the arm another notch and was satisfied by the bone-cracking snap that answered me. Rushing up from the lower landing, I heard the hurried stumbling of Slothead, so I reversed my position and flipped Jessie back down the flight, where the sounds told me he had met his bald brother head-on. There was a collision, and I heard them tumble back to the landing below.

I turned around and stooped for the razor, but it was gone. Paco had it clutched tightly in his left hand. His high had evidently deserted him as he scanned the darkness for an angle on my body. I backed up a couple of paces and lowered my arms, allowing the heavy coat to drop to the floor.

‘I’m gonna kill you, Paco,’ I breathed. ‘I’m gonna grab you by you’ neck and choke you till the blood comes through your teeth, an’ then I’m gonna drag you to the Man an’ swear you committed suicide.’ I was almost screaming, and the echo of my shouts came back at us again and again.

‘D’you hear me, Paco? I’m gon’ kill you!’

He was standing there unsure of what his next move should be. Sweat materialized over his top lip. I blocked his exit to the stairs, and I didn’t know if I was glad of that or not. Any man is dangerous when he’s in a corner. I knew just how good Paco was with a razor, too. I had seen the chicken fights in the park on 17th Street. Paco was seldom beaten, but I wasn’t bluffing at all. I had every intention of taking the razor and choking the scrawny bastard until life was only a memory.

Without the slightest warning, however, the door behind the Puerto Rican opened, and John’s father was standing
there with a .45 pressed against the base of my enemy’s skull. Paco dropped the razor and waited for instructions. The straight-edge hit the floor.

‘Go on and move!’ Mr Lee said.

Paco walked slowly past me, not looking to the right or to the left. His eyes were wide open. He disappeared down the stairs, and I heard him fussing with his two brothers, who made no reply. Seconds later the echo of their slow departure faded. I exhaled.

‘Goddamn spics!’ Mr Lee cursed. ‘Alla time with a lotta crap, even at this time in the morning. What the hell wuz that all about?’

‘Oh, they followed me here,’ I lied. ‘Something about me not covering a bet that their brother was supposed to collect on. I told them that I paid him this morning, but I didn’t have any proof.’

‘Goddamn spics,’ Mr Lee said. ‘It’s a good thing Cassie’s not here. She would have had eight heart attacks.’

I was waiting for him to hint about how he was glad nothing like that ever happened to John. I wanted to hear a few words about good ol’ John Lee who never did anything except pull a pigtail or two. I needed to hear Mr Lee say that John was a fine boy on his way to college and all that. I wondered silently how John had so easily blown his parents’ minds.

‘Come on in,’ Mr Lee said. ‘I bet you could use a drink.’

‘Or two,’ I admitted.

‘Were you on your way up here?’

‘Yeah,’ I said. ‘I got locked out, and the Hawk was howling so tough that I wuz gonna lay here for the night.’

‘John’s somewhere with his girl,’ the big man said, pouring me a drink.

‘That’s good,’ I said.

‘What?’

‘Make that drink a double,’ I said.

April 17, 1969

The days seemed to disappear. Before their arrival could be announced, their departure was already a matter of fact. I saw pictures of Santa Claus on a broomstick. George Washington and Abe Lincoln rode in on a one-horse open sleigh. Suddenly, before you could say April Fool, spring was back. Small girls appeared with ropes to jump and colorful hula hoops to spin around nothing waists. Little boys popped up with new skates and bicycles to ride. The grass sent up tiny buds, like periscopes, to scout around for Jack Frost and see if he had really gone back north. Before the arrival of the scouts, everything was only an underground rumor.

I was returning home on a Thursday, trying to beat what seemed to be an oncoming spring rainstorm. The skies were just beginning to tune up for a good cry when I met Debbie Clark. She was sitting under the mezzanine in front of my apartment building.

‘Where is everybody?’ I asked.

‘On a Thursday? Who knows? It’s hard enough to find any real people around here on the weekends.’

‘An’ whuss L’il Miss Happiness doin’ spreadin’ so much sunshine?’

‘Nuthin’ at all,’ Debbie said.

‘Where’s I.Q. and Websta an’ all them othuh triflin’ niggers?’

‘Websta’s workin’ his ass off prob’ly, an’ I.Q. is bookin’. . . . You know, thass a real oddball.’

‘Wuzn’t he some kind of good-student-list man or somthin’?’

‘He got that college scholarship he was after,’ she replied. ‘An’ he’s a regular guy, too.’

‘You find that odd?’

‘Well, he's the only guy I know who quotes Shakespeare an’ smokes pot,’ she said.

‘The pot is the regular part?’

‘What I mean is that he's not . . . well, he's smart but he hangs out.’

‘I see what you mean,’ I said.

‘And then again, he's odd. I think he's girl-shy or somethin’.’ Debbie wandered back and forth between I.Q. being regular and odd. ‘I mean, he's okay, but he's not like you.’

‘How's John?’ I asked.

She blew up.

‘Why does everyone expect me to know? Am I some kinda radar, or do I have the
fat freak
in my pocket? I don’ know where he is, an’ I rilly don’ care!’

‘All right! All right! What did I do wrong today, Lord?’

‘I'm sorry,’ she said, like a river changing course. ‘I know what you think, but I don’ know where John iz, an’ I don’ go with him, so I get tired of folks askin’ me about him like I've got him tied to a tree somewhere.’

‘I didn’ . . .’

‘I know you didn't. That's what makes me mad. Did you ever try to find out? Everybody in this neighborhood is into the same bag. I go out with him a few times, and right away, no matter what, I'm eternally hooked to him.’ She paused. Her anger faded and then rekindled. ‘What kind of spell does he have on you all? Are you afraid of him?’

I laughed out loud.

‘Me? Afraid of Lee?’

‘That's not funny. You never asked me out, an’ Delores told me that you don't go with Crystal . . . Am I that ugly?’

I had nothing else to say. I sat back and lit a cigarette. Debbie held out her index and middle finger, forming a V. and I filled it with a smoke.

‘Well, I'll tell you this. I'll never go out on another date with that fat ass, if I'm in the house forever!’

‘He'll still ask you,’ I said.

‘I jus’ won't go.’

‘So why did you ever go with him?’

‘I never
went
with him. We dated. I like to go out. I didn't realize a date was a marriage license.’

‘Okay,’ I breathed.

‘I had always kinda hoped that you
would
ask me out,’ Debbie said suddenly.

‘You always been a fine thing, Deb, but I guess I wuz jus’ one a the ignorant multitude.’

‘Well, you know how it is. You've always been sort of the man around here. Spade this an’ Spade that. I had heard of you a long time before I met you. An’ when you were nice an’ everything, I had to get a crush on you.’

‘John is the man aroun’ here now,’ I reminded her.

‘Yeah, and Johnny used to be a lot of fun. I was never really strung out on him, but he was a good time, an’ he was good to me. Now he doesn't have time for this an’ that. Sometimes he sleeps all day an’ runs all night. He was lonely before, but you know there ain't nobody aroun’ here lonely with money.’

I paused and thought about that. I thought about the lines I had seen in Lee's face. The lines that were in my face. I knew that the Puerto Ricans would still kill John if they thought they could do it somewhere that I wouldn't find out. I knew that Lee must have dreams about the Narco men catchin’ him with a whole bag of smoke. There was no more nice-guy John Lee that was my friend. He was dead. All that remained was for the new John Lee, the new street man, to remember the sleep he used to get, and to see clearly that the next time he closed his eyes they just might not open, or the ushers could lower him into the ground. The sad thing was that I was not much better off. I never touched the skag that the junkies were
ridin’ on, but I touched the money that they got together by mugging and stealing and selling their women's bodies. I did a harmless thing when taken literally, but right over my shoulder was Smoky counting the bullets he would fire into disagreeing heads at the first sign of trouble. I was just another link in the chain that was wrapped around the body of so many slaves who would soon be cast into the slimy Hudson or dumped into a niche at Potter's Field. All I had was Crystal. As long as I had her to pull me back into the good world from time to time, I would make it. I wondered at times like these why I didn't just crush her to me and say, ‘Girl, you are all in the world I have, and I can't lose you.’ I knew that this was the only thing that was missing from our relationship that could make her happy. I knew that as long as I played all of the hands with icy fingers, her heart would carry a section of the chill.

‘So we'll go out sometimes,’ I told Debbie.

‘Why not tonight?’ she asked.

‘You got school tomorrow,’ I said quickly.

‘Ain't no problem.’

‘All right,’ I agreed weakly. ‘What time?’

‘Eight-thirty?’ she asked.

‘Punctuality is my middle name,’ I said, forcing a smile.

I sat there with a lead weight in my stomach. There was a size-ten shoe in my mouth. Already, however, in the back of my mind a plan was forming to keep my candle burning at both ends. If I could get Debbie to and fro on a date, and John Lee didn't find out, I was straight both ways. The thing to do would be to take a cab up Tenth Avenue, since the gang would be on Ninth, and then come back the same way about midnight, when most of the younger cats and chicks would be in the house. I would be a two-way loser if I got caught, but a helluva winner if I got over. I cursed my ego as I realized how I had done myself in. It had all come to a head when she hinted that I might be afraid of John Lee. It had been a subtle dare, and I was always
a man to accept a challenge. I had always needed to prove my bravery. Not to reinforce the image that was handed out, but for myself.

‘Bye.’ Debbie pecked me lightly on the cheek and skipped off through the light rain. I sat there dreaming up a device with several size-twenty boots on a rotating wheel so that I could plug it in and kick my own ass.

April 17 / 8:35 P.M.

Debbie wasn't ready when I arrived at her apartment. The rain had stopped, leaving the evening overcast, and birds returned to waterlogged trees: but they had had their audience chased. I was wearing silk pants and a Nehru shirt-jacket with my raincoat tossed over my arm.

Debbie met me at the door with her housecoat on, and I thought for a moment that our date might be off.

‘I'm sorry I'm not ready, but Mom was going to a P.T.A. meeting with Dad, so I had to fix her hair and everything before I could get myself together. They didn't really want me to go.’

‘But it's okay?’ I asked.

‘I told them it was something special, so they agreed,’ she said.

‘Good.’ I smiled.

The thought occurred to me that Debbie and John might not have such a hot thing in bed. That just might be her reason for playing with me.

Debbie was whistling something. She asked me if I wanted a drink, and when I accepted, she came out with a bottle of Dunhill. I poured myself a small hit and threw in a couple of ice cubes. I was back in my profile bag. I leaned back against the couch and dug the furniture and interior decorating. Nice upholstery and covers for all the chairs and sofa. Some sort of
thick drapes blocking out the night, and pole lamps that looked like lanterns.

‘I thought we might hit a place uptown called the Night Owl,’ I called in to Debbie. ‘It's a totally new thing. I've only been there once.’

‘What's it like?’ she asked.

‘Wait and see.’

‘I hope I like it.’

‘Oh, I'm . . .’

I was interrupted by a knock on the door.

‘Could you get that?’ Debbie called.

I opened the door. It was John Lee.

‘Spade, what are you . . .’ John began his question and then put a spot on Debbie over my shoulder, clad in only her slip. His mouth clamped shut, and he yanked the door from me and slammed it in my face.

I turned to face Debbie with shock. I found it impossible to change expressions. I don't know how, but at that second I saw through Debbie's whole facade, as easily as I saw through the sheer slip that she wore.

‘You black bitch!’ I screamed. ‘You set that up! You called Lee and made sure that he'd catch me, didn't you? You knew he'd be working ordinarily, didn't you?’

My right hand shot out with cannon force and slapped the girl into a sitting position halfway across the room.

‘You black bitch!’ I repeated.

‘At least he won't bother me now!’ Debbie cried.

I grabbed my coat from the couch and lunged out into the empty hall. My own stupidity was blinding me, and the walls seemed to be closing in on me. I punched angrily at the button that summoned the elevator. I needed a drink.