"That's better," she snapped as she switched her hips past him and got in the car. He watched her as she sat down, legs wide open, skirt pulled up around her large thighs.
"You might as well pull your skirt down," he said coldly. "I ain't interested in what you got to offer." He slammed the door before he could hear her loud reply. Her words still reached him, though, as he went around the car. "Black bastard!"
He climbed in and started the motor up in silence, not allowing himself the pleasure of replying to her angry outburst. They drove on in silence until they reached the church. Cars were lined up and down the street. Donnie could tell it was going to be a large funeral. He pulled up as close to the front of the church as he could get, then double-parked beside another Cadillac. He followed her into the church and found a seat in the rear. He watched her switch her way to the front. People were packed inside, and some teenagers were standing at the rear.
He listened to the preacher with one ear while his mind traveled over other things. A lot of responsibility had fallen on his shoulders since Shortman's passing. It would be quite a while before he could go home and sleep peacefully at night.
As soon as the choir started to sing "He's on the Way Back Home," loud crying broke out in the church. People began to file out and go up the aisle to view the casket. He made his way slowly up the aisle, and when he reached the front, he had to hold back a grin. Fran was in the front with the family crying louder than anyone else in the church. The bitch should have been in Hollywood, he thought coldly as he walked past the body. He glanced down and looked away. Death always gave him a feeling of being very small. At the sight of it, he had a feeling it wouldn't be long before he would be lying in his own casket.
Soon after he returned to his seat, people started filing out of the church towards the waiting cars. Fran stopped at his seat and whispered, "I'm going out to the cemetery with the family."
He stared at her coldly. "Good!" he exclaimed and watched her walk away mad. He got up and made his way out of the church. People were still milling around outside. There were large groups of kids everywhere. Most of them were scheming to get out of going out to the cemetery. As he glanced around, he noticed he was just about the only male Ruler around. There were quite a few of the girls around. He noticed Dot and Blanca moving from crowd to crowd. After a while, he realized what they were doing. When one of the women would leave a group of teenagers, the kids would slowly move towards one of the funeral cars and get in. The car would then get in line for the trip to the cemetery.
Ruby slid up beside him. "Donnie, you better get away from here as soon as possible. I just saw two detectives on the other side of the church. I don't know if they'll bother you or not, but it's best not to take any chances."
He nodded and slipped away from her. He moved through the crowd of people quickly and made his way to the car. Glancing over his shoulder, he saw the detectives looking his way. He pushed through some women rudely and almost ran towards the car. The detectives started in his direction, but they were too late. He started up the car and drove on the opposite side of the street. The man directing the funeral cars as they lined up tried to wave him down, but the only thing he got for his trouble was being almost run down. People stared after the car curiously.
Once Donnie got clear of the funeral traffic, he slowed down. He drove slowly, making sure he didn't break a traffic law. His first stop was to return the Cadillac and pick up his own car, a late-model Ford. He relaxed a little more after he had gotten out of the Cadillac. He wondered why black men who hustled bought Cadillacs. As far as he was concerned, a Caddie brought too much heat to a black driver. It was an open invitation for the police to stop you.
After making his rounds of the whiskey stills, he began to check out the corn joints that bought his whiskey. The owners of the joints were all patronizing towards him. When he reached his last whiskey joint, he bought a bottle of beer and sat down and relaxed. The sound of the jukebox blaring loudly didn't disturb him. He settled back comfortably and enjoyed the sight of the drunks clowning. He watched the women, most of them in their forties or early fifties, trying to dance. They twisted and bellybumped with loud squeals.
One woman in a bright red dress kept glancing in his direction. She finally made her mind up and came towards him. When he refused to dance, she stood in front of him and rolled her stomach. The house man came over and chased her away. When the record ended, Donnie sent drinks over to her and the two women she was with. He walked over and started the jukebox back up. The women rushed back to the middle of the floor.
A little later, two men entered, one of them wearing work clothes, the other carrying a shopping bag. From the top of the bag, a greasy pants-leg could be seen hanging out. He called one of the women dancers over and an argument developed. Their voices began to rise in anger. The house man rushed over, but he couldn't seem to quiet the man down.
Finally, the heavyset man walked out to the middle of the floor and grabbed the woman with the red dress. He held her arm tightly and yelled, "Whose dress is that you got on, Pearl?" His voice was slightly slurred from drinking. "Whose dress is that, goddamnit?"
"Let me go, man; Mabel let me wear it," she shouted as she tried to break loose.
"Mabel, hell," the man shouted back. "Mabel ain't got no dress. That's mine. I bought it for her ass. She ain't bought a goddamn thing, so get your funky ass out of it now. Right now!" he screamed.
She stared at him as though he was losing his mind. He shook her hard, then released her. "Woman, either you take that goddamn dress off now or I'll take it off for you." The longer he talked, the more furious he became.
"You ain't got no cause to take on like that, Bill," she said, filling her voice with a cordiality that fooled no one.
"Ain't goin' ask your ass no more, woman, get your funky butt out of my woman's dress. If you want one like it, bitch, buy one, but that one there ain't for your use." He snatched her again and shook her harshly. Her teeth were rattling before he sat her back down on the floor. He shoved the shopping bag he had been carrying into her arms. "You can put these on, woman, if you want to. But you got to get your ass out of my dress, now. Right now!" he yelled.
"Just a minute, Bill. Can't I go in the bedroom or something?" she asked, now thoroughly frightened. She grabbed the bag out of his hands and clutched it to her.
He stared after her with murder in his eyes as she rushed towards one of the bedrooms. In a few minutes she returned, the old pair of coveralls falling off her like a blanket. She held the dress out towards him timidly.
The drunks sitting around the house started to laugh at the sight of her. It started slowly, then built up to a roar of wild, unfeeling laughter. The woman dropped the dress on the floor and ran back towards the kitchen. Tears of humiliation ran down her cheeks.
Donnie got up from his chair, stared around angrily at the drunks, then started for the front door. He made it a point to walk across the middle of the room and step on the dress as the heavyset man picked it up. There was a tearing sound as his foot hit the hem of the dress at the same time the owner tried to retrieve it from the floor. The owner glared up at the hot-eyed young man but just as quickly decided to forget about the open insult. He wasn't afraid of the young man in front of him, but he had lived in the ghetto too long to think you could fight one teenager without worrying about his friends. He knew he could always buy another dress for his woman, but getting a new ass would be a problem. He dropped his eyes to the floor. Some instinct warned him that Donnie was searching for trouble. His whole being cried out to meet it, but a small voice in the back of his mind told him that it wasn't like it used to be. The kids nowadays didn't fight anymore, they believed in killing.
Donnie stopped and stared at the man insolently. He didn't bother to apologize. There was a savage eagerness about him that was not lost on the people watching. The house man held his breath, praying his house wouldn't be ruined by a fight.
When there was no answer
to his silent challenge, he whirled on his heel and continued towards the door. He cursed himself quietly as a soft-hearted bastard. The sight of the woman being humiliated had brought a lump to his throat. He realized it was foolish of him. He told himself the woman wasn't worth it. But the sight of her pitiful figure in the coveralls made him instantly want to stand beside her and stop the hurting laughter. He opened the door and walked out on the porch. It had always been like this, he thought. The sight of a baby bird hurt could bring tears to the corners of his eyes. There was no doubt about it, you big baby, he told himself, you're just too soft. He started down the steps towards his car. Another thought ran through his mind, causing him to shudder. To think that he had allowed Roman to talk him into stealing whiskey money from Prince filled him with dread. It was just a matter of time, he reasoned, just a matter of time.
12
WEAVING THE INCONSPICUOUS black Ford in and out of the evening traffic, Ruby drove past the city's new shopping center without giving it a glance. Any other evening she would have stopped and gone into one of the exclusive fur shops to steal something if the opportunity presented itself. As soon as she started to turn off of Woodward Avenue, a red light caught her. She waited impatiently until the light changed, then made a left turn on Davison heading for the west side. She caught the expressway and followed it out towards the suburbs. Finally she parked in front of a luxurious apartment building and hurried into the lobby. A short, fat white woman came out of the elevator with her French poodle on a chain. Both of them were adorned in mink, the poodle sporting a miniature jacket, the woman a stole.
Ruby could feel her feet sinking into the carpet as she walked over to the elevator and asked the operator to take her to the tenth floor. After stepping off the elevator, Ruby glanced up and down the corridor. Finding it empty, she removed her red wig and stuck it in her purse.
A young man answered her first knock on the door, then stepped back and allowed her to enter. "My, Ruby-do," he said in a high, feminine voice, "you could have called to let me know you were coming, couldn't you?" He stopped talking, put one hand on a hip and started to tap one of the high-heeled shoes he wore. "How do you like this outfit, Ruby-do?" he asked.
With a contemptuous twist, he pivoted around on his heels and modeled the tight, light green toreador pants he wore. The pants were set off by a dark-green sheer nylon blouse that matched his women's shoes. His hair was long and bleached red, with a large wave falling down over his forehead. Where his eyebrows had once been, Billy now had midnight-black eyeshadow; it went well with his light tan complexion.
Ruby walked over to the bedroom and pushed the door open. Finding the room empty, she walked back towards the well-equipped small kitchen. "Billy-boy," she called, "it's a wonder you ain't got kicked out of the joint by now."
"Darling, I don't have the least idea what you are trying to hint around about. You know as well as I do that I don't do anything wrong, honey."
"Don't fool yourself," Ruby answered over her shoulder as she walked into the bedroom. Billy followed her, stopped at the door, and stood back on his heels like a woman.
"If you are referring to what I think, Ruby, I'll have you know that I'm just as much woman as you are, honey-and maybe I might be just a little more."
Ruby laughed harshly. "I'll bet you are," she replied as she pulled out a dresser drawer.
"Ruby, just what are you supposed to be looking for in my dresser, dear?" His voice had become a bit firmer, more masculine. Now there were no more superfluous gestures as he watched her closely.
"Where do you keep the stuff at, Billy? I want a little blow, if you don't mind."
He seemed to relax a little. "Why do you do this to me, Ruby? You know you took everything I had the last time you were here."
She closed the bottom drawer and walked over to the double-doored closet. The large gold-rimmed mirror revealed her flaring black skirt and tight-fitting white blouse. She opened the large door and gasped in amazement. Beautiful gowns, in the latest fashions, hung from every rack.
Billy reached over her shoulder and pushed the sliding doors closed. The larger mirrors built into the closet doors revealed the anger in Ruby's eyes.
Billy smiled disarmingly. "Here, Ruby," he said. "Here's some cocaine for you." He gave her a small package wrapped in tinfoil.
"Thanks," she replied, taking the dope and walking over to the dresser. She removed a ten-dollar bill from her bra, rolled it up, and made a quill out of it. She opened the package, slowly bent down towards it with the quill in one nostril, and snorted deeply. With a deep sigh, she reached across the top of the dresser and picked up a cigarette lighter. Next, she picked up the empty paper that had held the drug and set it on fire, then dropped it into the nearest ashtray.
"Billy-boy," she called, her voice husky. "I've never had a fag make love to me." She put one hand on her hip and turned in his direction. "Wouldn't you just love to be the first one?"
"Ruby darling, you are the most! Really darling, I never expected that coke to react on you that way, dear. I know it makes some people freakish, but not that freakish, darling. My sweet Jesus, no!" He burst out laughing.
Ruby moved over to the door. In one smooth motion she hit the light switch and closed the bedroom door. Billy's eyes widened with revulsion as he watched her remove her loose-fitting skirt.
"Don't come near me!" he screamed in mock alarm as Ruby moved in his direction. The sound of the evening traffic in the street below was the only noise in the room. Billy jumped across the bed and made a rush towards the door. He was already thinking about how he would tell his friends Ruby tried to rape him. He grinned to himself in the dark. The thought of their faces when he related his ordeal filled him with joy.
Ruby, almost naked from the waist down, stepped aside and let him pass. Quickly she removed the teninch knife from under her slip where it had been strapped to her thigh. She leaped upon Billy's back with the lithe motion of a leopardess.
Billy frantically fumbled open the bedroom door and stumbled out into the living room as Ruby clung to his back. Her face twisted hideously as she put one of her small hands over his mouth and stabbed him viciously in the side. Instantly, astonishment and pain wiped the sneering smile from his face. With a manly jerk, he swung her from his back and staggered over to fall across the baby grand piano.
He managed to turn around just as Ruby leaped towards him. The scream that started in his throat died as bursts of pain exploded in his stomach. In desperation he shoved her away and staggered back across the room, falling on top of the white marble coffee table. The long blade did its work again. He felt the intolerable pain in his back; it caused him to fall off the table and clutch at the couch as he slid to the floor.
Ruby used her foot to turn him over on his back. As his eyes fluttered open and he stared up at her in horror, she reached down and stabbed him again and again in the chest and stomach.
The interior of the beautiful living room was ruined. Blood streamed from the tan couch. The coffee table was covered with pools of blood. The cream-colored carpeting was spattered with dark stains. Ruby watched as convulsions shook Billy's body for a moment before he lay perfectly still. She stood over the body and laughed while blood from Billy-boy's wounds ran down her naked legs. Her breasts rose and fell with her excited breathing.
Ruby sat down suddenly and forced herself to become calm. After awhile she was able to hold down the trembling in her legs. She stared around the apartment, detached. It was as though what had happened had transpired in a dream. She felt as though she had only been an observer. She got up and went into the bathroom. After taking a shower, she entered the bedroom and picked out a two-piece outfit that must have cost over a hundred dollars. Then she tried on a pair of heels, but the shoes were too large, so she carefully cleaned off her own and put them back on.
Later, after making sure she wasn't leaving anything, she put her wig on. She glanced at herself one more time in the mirror. As she reached the door,
the telephone rang. She waited a second, then opened the door and peeped out. Finding the corridor empty, she slipped out into the hallway and took the stairs down to the back exit.
At the same time across town, Donnie paced up and down in the small quarters of his motel room. For the tenth time he reached for the phone, only to turn away in fear. At last he found the courage to pick the receiver up and dialed a number.
"Hello." He spoke quickly, fearful of what the call might do to his personal health. "Let me speak to Prince, please?" He waited, frightened by his own behavior.
"Prince, Prince," he could hear the unknown voice calling in the distance. Suddenly the extension was picked up and he heard the voice he had been dreading. All the rehearsals he had been going through failed him now.
"Prince," he stammered, "this is Donnie. I don't know how to begin telling you, man, but Roman got me giving him a kickback on all the whiskey money I pick up." He blurted out the story, not allowing Prince to ask any questions. "The paperwork I turn in to Fatdaddy is all wrong, Prince."
He listened to the silence from the other end of the line. Again he wondered if it had all been a frame. If so, he had done the right thing. Prince would already know that he was keeping back some of the money every day.
Suddenly Prince's voice came over the line, sharp and harsh. "How much?"
Donnie didn't hesitate. "We pick up close to thirty gallons of whiskey from each joint, Prince, every day. After disposing of it, we hold back at least five gallons from each house."
Black Gangster Page 11