Black Gangster

by Donald Goines

  He stared around at the listening officers. "Timing, not luck, gentlemen. We didn't have a car within eight blocks of that place during the holdup. Now, do you really want me to believe that what happened was just luck?"

  The taller of the two Federal men cleared his throat. "You have a good point there, Lieutenant. Of course we will work as closely as possible with you on this, but our main concern is the bank robbery Did you have any definite plan of action?"

  "Yes," Morales answered. "I have a plan, but it will take a little while to put it to work. As you know, we were holding that kid, Little Larry, on second degree, but they put so much pressure on us from upstairs that we had to release him this afternoon."

  Lieutenant Gazier swore. "How the hell do they expect us to break these killings up if they turn loose every punk we pick up? What the hell goes on around here anyway, Morales? Everybody knows about that punk being released but me. Am I working on the case or what?"

  "I was planning on telling you," Morales assured him, "but Mr. York and his partner came in before I had a chance to bring you up to date. Mr. York," Morales went on, "if you and Mr. Fulmer will bear with me for a few days, I think I'll have something definite to go on. I've sent off pictures to Chicago of Roman, so they'll be watching for him when he leaves. I have a hunch he's over there trying to make a buy on some heroin. I didn't have any mug shots of his woman, but we sent along a fairly good description."

  The phone rang. Captain Mahoney picked it up and listened quietly. "Before you guys ruin my day," he said after hanging up, "have a cigar." He smiled at Morales. "She has had a five-pound boy. A little too soon, of course, but the doctor says, for a premature baby, he's damn healthy."

  "That's just great, Pat," Morales replied, then added for the sake of the other men, "That's his daughterin-law. Don't you guys go getting the wrong impression about this old buzzard. He's too damn old to get one up, let alone get a baby." The officers grinned.

  The captain cut off their congratulations. "Now, let's hear about this plan you boys were talking about."

  Morales glanced around the room. "First of all," he began slowly, "we must acknowledge the fact that we are dealing with young men who possess the cunning of professional criminals and the morals of alley cats."

  "Morales," Gazier remarked acidly, "what we need is some common facts. That's all, simple facts."

  Captain Mahoney spoke sharply. "Gazier, you keep your big mouth shut or get the hell out of this office." He stared the younger officer down, then said politely, "Please continue, Lieutenant."

  Ignoring the interruption, Morales nodded towards the captain. "Gentlemen, we are not just dealing with a gang of young hoodlums. This group of individuals is highly organized and the core of their unity is murder. Now, what we must try and understand is their motivation for wholesale murder. They are not committing murder just for the joy of it."

  He stopped and waited until his words had sunk in. "This trouble has gone far beyond what the average delinquency would be. This trouble that we have today is our problem. I don't want to preach, but we must face the truth. We must do something about the slums. There is no doubt in my mind, gentlemen, that if we don't, this problem will keep coming back again and again. The overcrowded tenements, playgrounds, and poolrooms breed violence, crime, and prostitution. I know this seems to be getting away from the point, gentlemen, but bear with me a minute."

  He hesitated briefly, then launched into a subject dear to him. "The playgrounds that are overcrowded are the cause of kids joining gangs. They join a gang so they can utilize the playgrounds without fear of another gang kicking the hell out of them. And now we come to the big problem. The slums. The ghettos are the place where corruption is born. Mexicans, Negros, Italians, and other minority groups are stuck down in these cesspools with no way out. These ethnic groups have to join together for protection, thus the beginnings of organized crime. If some of these people could only live where they can afford to live, their children would grow up in an environment that would push them towards something constructive in life instead of towards something detrimental."

  "All that may be true, Lieutenant," Captain Mahoney said, "but do you think that has any bearing on this case?"

  Morales smiled slowly. "Gentlemen, I apologize to you for getting carried away. I'll try to stick to the facts from now on. Out of all the neighborhoods I visit, there's not much being said except that the leaders of the gangs have gone into hiding somewhere. Since Little Larry has been released, I honestly believe this will give the gang leaders courage, and they will crawl out of their holes. Another thing I've learned from the informers is that there is a slight drug shortage. That's one of the reasons Roman went to Chicago, to make a buy. If that's so, we may have a case against him when the Chicago police pick him up.

  Federal agent York spoke up. "If you think they're trying to transport drugs, we can step into the picture, Lieutenant. We'll notify our office in Chicago to be on the lookout for this couple, too."

  "Good," Morales said. "Now, even though I don't have much of a plan, if the captain will give us the okay, we can put it into operation."

  "If it sounds good, Morales, you know you can get the green light," Mahoney replied.

  "I want you to call the heat off, Captain," Morales said. "I want these punks to start feeling secure."

  "I'll give these punks a feeling of security all right," Mahoney answered hotly "I'll run them into their rat holes and keep so much heat on them that their smell will draw us to them."

  "That's just the point," Morales replied. "When you run a rat into his hole, you seldom see him again unless you know where his hole is. At present, we don't have the slightest idea where our killer rats are hiding."

  "Do you really believe that taking the heat off will do any good?" Mahoney asked quietly.

  "I do," Morales answered quickly. "I believe once those punks come out of hiding, they'll try and take the lid off this town. And we'll be waiting to put it right back on-this time for keeps."

  The phone rang shrilly. Captain Mahoney reached across his desk and picked up the receiver. Morales, accustomed to his superior's behavior, knew at once from his face that something was wrong. "Well, Morales," the captain said as he hung up, "looks as though that picture you sent to Chicago got some results."

  The other detectives looked up expectantly.

  "It seems that, from the picture you sent over, Morales, they were able to identify the body of a male black man who was burned up this morning in a motel. The woman with him was not identified. We can only assume it was Roman's girlfriend."

  "How?" Morales asked in a shocked voice. "How the hell can they be sure, if the bodies were burned?"

  "The night clerk. She saw them when they entered the motel room that was later set afire. She says she didn't see them leave, so it's a good chance it really was our boy and his girl that got burned up." The captain hesitated briefly. "There's no doubt in their minds about this fire. It was cold-blooded murder. Parts of a rope and other evidence clearly reveal that the couple were tied down to the bed and set on fire."

  The detectives shook their heads over the brutality of the crime. They were used to violence, but this was an extreme case.

  Agent York spoke up. "Captain, we will have our people help you as much as possible on this. If you don't mind, I'll put a call through from here and get them on this right away." He waited until Mahoney nodded, then picked up the telephone.

  Captain Mahoney turned to Morales. "How long do you think it will take to bust this case if we take the heat off?"

  "I can't give you anything but a guess," Morales replied slowly. "If we get any breaks, though, I believe we can start pulling punks in off the streets, with good cases against them, in less than three weeks."

  "All right, then," Mahoney answered, "you got your three weeks before I put the heat back on. But if I have to put it back on, hell will be cooler than what it's going to be around here."

  Earlier in the afternoon, acros
s the street, Little Larry had gotten a surprise. He was lying on his cot in the county jail when the turnkey called his name. He had been told, "Bag and baggage." A little later, Larry found himself outside the jail, still not believing it was all true. A shrill voice called him from across the street. Glancing up, he saw the attorney, Antares Noetzold, threading his way through the passing cars. In a moment the lawyer had joined him on the sidewalk.

  "Here, Larry," he said, pushing a piece of paper into his hand. "Take a cab to this corner and wait. Someone will pick you up as soon as possible." Before Larry could nod his head, the lawyer had pushed him into a waiting cab and closed the door.

  Larry quickly read the note. "Drop me off at Mich and the Boulevard," he directed the cab driver. In less than ten minutes he was at his destination. Larry pushed a dollar across the seat and got out, ignoring his change. Before the cab could turn the corner, a new snow-white Cadillac pulled out of an alley and stopped in front of him.

  Frenchie, sitting behind the steering wheel, had her long black hair combed to one side; it fell provocatively across her left shoulder. Larry glanced at her thin, pretty face before examining her body. "I'm really getting the royal treatment," he said to himself. He was well aware of Frenchie, but he wondered if she had ever realized he even existed. She was one of the big girls in the club; she never messed around with anyone who wasn't one of the big boys. She had a soft, dark-bronze complexion and thin but well-proportioned legs. She had the look of the models in Ebony or Black America, that detached, expensive look.

  "Well, Larry, are you going to get in or stay out there staring?" Her voice was husky, its undertone sophisticated yet sexually arousing.

  Larry opened the car door and slid in beside her. "How did you know who I was?"

  "Well, honey," she began, "I don't think there's another person in this city wearing one of those Ruler outfits right now."

  Larry glanced down at his uniform. "You mean to say the fuzz done put on so much heat that the fellows are scared to wear their outfits?"

  "Heat ain't the word, baby," she replied. "The fuzz have gone stone mad."

  "That's bullshit," Larry retorted. "It ain't so goddamn hot that Prince couldn't spring me, and them fuckin' pigs were really trying to stick a big one in me."

  Frenchie shrugged her shoulders and fell silent. She turned a corner and passed the railroad depot, then entered the beginning of the west side slums. "Prince told me to make sure you get seen before I take you out to the hideout, Larry."

  "What am I, some kind of freak that has to be displayed before the public?"

  "It's not that, baby," Frenchie said, amused. "It's just that you being released today will give some of the boys a shot in the arm. You must realize, Larry, that since you've been under wraps, a lot of people have been worried. Now, when they see you again, it will give them that lift they need, so that when it comes time to sew this city up, they'll be right there on the case."

  "After you get through sporting me off, Frenchie, then what?"

  "I'll take you to the hideout, baby, and everything you see out there will be yours."

  Larry let his eyes run over her legs. "Baby," he began, "do you really mean everything I see?"

  She pulled the armrest up and put her arm over the back of the seat. Larry moved over and sat close to her. She picked up one of his hands and dropped it on her thigh. "Everything you see, honey, including me, if you're qualified to handle it," she said huskily.

  Within two hours Frenchie and Larry had completed their job. Larry had been seen in poolrooms, whorehouses, after-hours joints, even though it was too early for them to be crowded; wherever the underworld hung out, they went there. When they reached the driveway leading to the hideout, Larry stared out the window in fascination. When Frenchie pulled up in front of the house, he let out a shout.

  "Damn," he exclaimed. "Is this what you been calling the hideout?" He couldn't conceal his astonishment. To a boy who had never lived anywhere but a cold-water flat, the sight of the old mansion was like stepping into another world.

  Frenchie laughed. "This is it, honey."

  Larry stared at the couples sprawled on the lawn and by the swimming pool. Before he could make up his mind to get out of the car, Prince and Ruby were at the door.

  "Hi, baby," Ruby called. "Welcome to our summer resort."

  "Yeah," Larry replied grinning. "I guess you do come out here to relax when it gets too hot in the city."

  The kids gathering around the car broke out in laughter when they heard Larry's retort. Prince grabbed Larry's arm as he got out of the car, and they went up the path arm in arm.

  "Damn, Prince," he said quietly. "I don't know how you worked it, but it sure was beautiful."

  "Don't worry about it, Larry. Anybody who works for me should know I'm in his corner all the way. Whenever they're as cool as you, they know they ain't got nothing to worry about." He added, "As long as they keep their mouths closed like you did."

  Larry replied quickly, "That's your least worry, Prince, when it comes to me, even if I get a bite out of it."

  "I ain't worried about you, kid," Prince answered, slapping him on the back. "No, baby boy, I sure ain't worried. Just keep on carrying yourself like that, Larry."

  Before Larry could answer, a shout of welcome went up for him from a group on the recreation porch. Preacher, sitting on the couch beside Hawk, beckoned for them to join him. In front of him was a small table full of reefer; it was being rolled into cigarettes by Hawk.

  "Here, baby, have a joint," Preacher said loudly, holding out a cigarette towards him.

  "Thanks, baby, this is just what I been dreaming about all the time I was locked up. Man, oh man, what I would have paid for some good of weed this time last week!"

  Ruby and Frenchie went on into the house. Prince took Larry's arm and led him towards the library. Larry blew smoke from the reefer over his shoulder and started to cough from the strong smoke. Prince slapped him on the back until he caught his breath.

  Prince had just enough time to reach the library and pour two drinks before the women returned, each carrying a try full of cocaine.

  Larry gasped. "Man, is that cocaine on those trays?"

  Fatdaddy came in behind the girls carrying two album covers. Preacher was right behind him with a newspaper full of reefer. They put all the stuff down on a small end-table. Prince took the trays from Ruby and Frenchie. He removed a small index card from his pocket and began to make separate lines of cocaine on the album covers. Then he took two one hundred dollar bills from his pocket and gave them to the girls, and they rolled the bills for quills. Ruby inserted one end of her bill into her nose, leaned over, and put the other end against one of the lines of powder on the LP cover. She inhaled and the powder began to disappear into her nose. She handed the quill to Larry, while Frenchie inhaled some dope with her quill.

  Teenagers began to line up for their snort, and as soon as they had taken their turns, Preacher gave each of them a joint he had made from the pile of reefer. Gradually the pile of drugs began to disappear. Someone turned up the stereo, and the sound of modem jazz leaped from the ceiling and walls in a crescendo of intoxication and desire. One couple in the middle of the room swayed in each other's arms while other couples began to move to the music. Slowly, a few of the girls began to undress. The room became living sound. The drug was taking effect quickly. Any sensual delight the couples wanted to indulge in was permitted. There was no one to restrict their behavior.

  Two young hoodlums standing began to laugh hysterically from the effects of the reefer. "Man, dig the tits on that bitch," one of them said, pointing a finger at a naked couple.

  The other youth raised his voice to ridicule the girl's extremely small breasts. "If one of them didn't have long hair, I wouldn't know which one had the dick," he yelled. The girl, with an impudent shake of her head, raised the middle finger of her right hand to show them she had heard. Her boyfriend glared over her shoulder.

  Another couple, t
oo high to care, had moved the balls off the pool table in the corner and were beginning their own private affair as if they were in a feather bed. Yet another couple, seeking a little privacy, had crawled under the table to copulate. Larry and Frenchie, wrapped in each other's arms, lay on the floor with their backs against the couch.

  Prince glanced at the squirming bodies all over the floor. "Preacher, you and Hawk round up Donald and Ronald. I'll meet you upstairs in my bedroom." He stared around until he found Eddie, then moved over and tapped the younger man on the leg. "Come on, Eddie. We got some business to finish. Now!" he ordered sharply as Eddie turned back to his girl. "You can catch up with her later on." Prince turned his back and walked away as Eddie climbed to his feet and zipped up his pants.

  As Ruby followed the small group of men from the room, Eddie stopped to take his anger out on her. "I didn't hear him tell you to come along," he said quietly so that no one but her heard his words.

  Ruby stopped and glared at him. "You didn't hear him say that I couldn't, either, did you?" she asked sharply, closing the door behind them. Preacher, the two brothers in tow, joined the small crowd going up the stairs.

  "Ruby," Prince said as they entered the bedroom, "fix the boys something to drink. We'll probably be here for a while, so they might as well be comfortable."

  She stopped and switched on the light, then opened up the drapes. She hesitated a moment to admire the beauty of the early evening. It was just dusk-dark, the sky was still starless.

  The king-size bed had a huge hump in the middle of it. Prince pulled back the covers and the hump became a pile of money. "We got ninety-five thousand dollars there," Prince said loudly. He waited, sure of everyone's attention. "Not bad for an afternoon of work, was it?" He grinned at his men. "In each small pile, there's ten thousand dollars. Each of you take one." It was an order. He stepped back from the bed and waited until each man had picked up his bundle.