Gazier left to report the pickup on Prince, and Morales and the captain started back to their car. "Just look at the damage these punks have done." The captain pointed at two trucks still smoking from where gas had been poured over them and set on fire. "Morales, I'd bet it's over a hundred thousand dollars worth of damage to the trucks alone, without counting what's been done to their cargo."
"Say, Pat," Morales said, stopping and pointing. "Look over there, will you. Looks like one of Prince's top boys on that stretcher." The policemen hurried over and stopped the men with the stretcher. The kid lying on it had a bandage around his head that didn't quite cover the gaping wound. While they stood looking down at him, one of the male nurses stepped forward and pulled the blanket over his face.
"Well, this is one that won't be in any more street fights," the nurse said flatly.
"That's the end of Bossgame," Morales said. "What do you think happened to him?"
"I don't think, I know," the nurse replied. "We found the truck driver who swung the iron pipe right next to him. His friends took care of the truck driver, but he made sure before they got him that he would have plenty of company in hell." The nurse nodded towards the stretcher coming up behind them.
Morales walked over and pulled the cover from the second kid's face. He quickly covered it back up and turned away to avoid being sick. "There's no reason for you to look, Pat," he said when he regained his composure. "That's Little Larry on that one. Looks like he would have been better off staying in jail."
Morales started walking towards the car. Captain Mahoney caught up with him and grabbed his arm. "There's no reason for you to let this upset you, Morales. If the boy hadn't been here fighting, this would have never happened to him."
"It's hard to think that way, Pat, when you see a kid not even eighteen years old with his whole face bashed in."
"Before you go and get soft-hearted, Morales, think about that poor truck driver who probably had two or three kids at home. Try thinking about what you'd tell his wife."
"Pat, I know these kids are in the wrong; don't think I'm trying to find excuses for them. It's just that I hate to see kids throwing their lives away at such a young age."
"They're old in their way," Mahoney replied unrelentingly.
"Yes, I realize that they're old, Pat. But the way things have been going-three murders last night, and now this-we might as well put on their epitaph when we bury them: the old die young."
Mahoney rubbed his nose with the back of his hand. "Lieutenant, if we don't catch up with Prince soon, we're going to bury a whole lot more of these kids, 'cause it's a sure bet that the Mafia won't take this without some kind of retaliation."
"Don't worry, Captain, we'll get him, and it won't be long."
"I got a feeling you better make it real quick, son, real quick."
22
IT WAS AFTERNOON now and the streets had been cleared of the wreckage. The fighting had been over for some time, but the warehouse across the street from the trucking concern was still smoking. Inside the teamster office, a big man smoking a thin cigar was pacing the floor. Every time he glanced out the window he became angrier.
"I'm going to give you one more chance, Ed. You and Bill fucked this deal up, so I'm going to see if you can straighten it out." He gestured impatiently with his cigar when Bill tried to interrupt. "I don't want any more damn excuses. You're not dealing with nothing but some young punks, and your stupidity is going to cost us over three hundred thousand dollars worth of damage."
"Boss, it's not how you think it is," Ed replied, his voice trembling. "The kid that gives these punks their orders is smart."
The cigar was pointed again. "Of course the kid is smart. Maybe I should give you over to this kid, then let him take care of your job. Now just shut up," the bossman roared. "I've said I don't want any excuses and I mean it. You got three days to get that boy, three days! This time make sure you don't knock off any small fry like those two you killed and started all this trouble. I want you to get the top man in three days, or we'll replace you with someone who can do the job."
Across town in Tony and Racehorse's penthouse, Prince sat brooding over the day's events. Every time the television came on and his photo flashed across the screen, he realized bitterly that he had made an awful error. His organization had come tumbling down around his head. If he had only thought out the matter more carefully, things would have been different. All he would have had to do was back up, forget about what happened to Brute and Fatdaddy. Common sense should have told him he was overreaching. Now the only course left to him was flight. With his picture on everybody's mind, he'd have to leave the damn country.
Tony got up and switched the television back on. The newsman was just wrapping up an announcement on the arrest of some Black Cougars during the riot. He continued to speculate on a possible alliance between the Cougars and the organization behind the latest outbreak of killing.
"That's good for them bastards," Ruby said, laughing harshly. "Now all we got to do, Prince, is get us on a big iron bird and fly the hell away from here. In another week or two, the white folks will be done forgot all about you as they nail them Cougars' black asses to the fence."
"I see that bitch is still trying to think for you, Prince," Racehorse said arrogantly. His contempt for his associate was barely concealed. It showed in his laugh, in his attitude, as he continued. "In fact, baby, you ain't really got no problem. If you'll just stop listening to your woman for a minute, I'll explain something to you."
"Maybe you got something there," Prince replied slowly, hiding his rising anger. He smiled, but his eyes were chilling. "You go on and explain it to me, Horse, but leave my woman out of it. How we get along with each other doesn't concern you."
Racehorse laughed. "Maybe you're right about that," he said easily. "You can get out of this shit with your ass still in good shape, Prince, if you don't mind spending a few dollars. I got a connect in Florida where the guy will smuggle you across to Cuba in his boat, but it will cost you a nice piece of change."
"I got a few hundred dollars hid away," Prince answered.
"Your ass!" Racehorse snorted. "If you and Ruby ain't got over fifty grand hid away, you ain't got a penny."
"If we got a hundred thousand hid away, it ain't none of your motherfuckin' business!" Ruby said loudly. If looks could kill, Racehorse would have been dead. "This sonofabitch thinks he's smart, Prince. We don't need no tellin'. If the bastard has a connect that will help you, that's cool, but ain't nobody got to kiss his black ass to get along with him."
Racehorse threw up his hands. "See, that's what I mean. Your bitch has got too much mouth. What she needs is a good old-fashioned ass-kickin', then she'll be in her place."
Tony spoke up before the argument could get out of hand. "All this arguing ain't going to help anyone. Whatever you say ain't going to change the fact that you got big problems, Prince. If Racehorse has a connect for getting you out of the country, you'd better listen to him, because you're hot as hell."
"That makes sense, Tony," Prince said softly. "I'd like to see an end to this fussing as much as anyone else." He got up and walked to the window. "It's a sure thing we won't be able to make a move before it gets dark, though." He stared out of the window quietly, filled with bitterness. He promised himself that he'd never allow them to put him behind bars again. No, it would be better to hold court in the streets, no matter where they stopped him.
He turned back to the room. "It won't be much longer before it's dark. Then, Ruby, you can slip out and pick up the money. We might as well try to get away tonight."
"The man would like to get his hands on Ruby just about as bad as he'd like to get hold of you, Prince," Racehorse said. "I don't think there's any heat on me and Tony, though, so why don't you pull our coat to where the money is and let us pick it up for you."
Ruby laughed sarcastically. "I wouldn't trust you with my mammy's bloomers, let alone a big piece of money, Racehorse."
"I don't know what makes you say shit like that, bitch," Racehorse answered quickly. "You should know we wouldn't burn Prince. Why, we couldn't afford to. He's the only person who could bust us, so you know we'd treat him right."
"Tell me the blind can lead the blind, or that a fly can fuck an elephant," Ruby shot back, "but don't bring us this weak shit about who you won't burn. You'd burn your mammy for her last days on earth if you thought you could get them, so take that bullshit to someone whose head screws on."
Racehorse glared at Ruby. "The hell with what that bitch is talking about, man," he said angrily. "What do you think about the idea, Prince? Damn what your cunt is talking about."
Before Ruby could reply, Prince cut her off. "Shut up, Ruby, I'll handle this." He turned to Racehorse. "Whatever she said, Horse, I'll just about go along with. What's to keep you two from running off with the money once you get it? You done told me you got a connect to get into Cuba, so what the fuck?" He waved his hand to avoid an interruption. "I'll tell you how we can do this. I'll give you twenty grand for going with Ruby to pick up the money, Racehorse. And to make sure you don't burn me, leave your gun here."
Racehorse cursed. "Fuck that shit!"
Prince shrugged. "Ruby, take a hundred dollars and buy you a wig; maybe you can slip into the apartment that way. It will be a helluva lot cheaper."
Racehorse changed his mind quickly as Ruby stood up. "Okay, baby, I'll go for it." He removed his pistol and held it out to Prince.
Prince gave the gun to Ruby. "When he goes in the apartment, honey, I want you so close to him you'll look like you're part of him, understand?"
She nodded her head. "Okay, daddy, but I'll still stop and pick up that wig before we go to the apartment."
Prince sat back down. "Okay, baby, do it like you want to. Just make sure you take care of the business. We ain't got no room for mistakes this late in the game."
"Don't worry, honey," she answered as she followed Racehorse from the room. "I'll be back as soon as possible."
Across town in another apartment, Preacher was rushing his wife. "Hurry up with that goddamn packing," he yelled. "I done told you we ain't got no time. Just bring what you can for now. You can have your mother pick up the rest of the stuff." He glanced at his watch. "Hurry, goddamn it!"
His youthful, brown-skinned wife came running out of the bedroom with a suitcase in one hand and a small child in the other. She put down the suitcase in the middle of the floor, next to two others. "I ain't got but one more to pack, honey, just wait a minute," she said and started to turn around.
Preacher snatched her arm. His eyes were wild. "Can't you get it through your head, woman? We got to get the fuck out of here now! Not later, but right now!" He pulled her by the arm and pushed her towards the door.
She stumbled, then straightened up. As she reached the door, there came a thundering knock from the outside. Preacher dropped the suitcases in the middle of the floor as his woman backed away, her face filled with fear.
Suddenly the door came crashing in. Preacher's wife began to scream in terror.
As the policemen came rushing into the room, Preacher raised his hands and screamed, over and over, "Don't kill my wife, don't kill her. She ain't did nothing. Don't kill her."
The first policeman to reach him knocked him to the floor. "If you move, nigger," he growled, "I'll kill you." The officer stood over him with a gun pointed at his head.
Preacher's wife raced across the room and grabbed the policeman's arm. "Don't kill him," she screamed, trying to knock the gun from his hand.
"Goddamnit," the officer cursed, trying to fight her off with one hand. Before one of his partners could step in to help, the gun went off. The slug hit Preacher in the middle of the forehead. He fell onto his back, dead before he reached the floor.
In the ensuing silence, one of the officers cursed. "I'll be a sonofabitch," he said to no one in particular.
Preacher's wife fell across his body and began to sob. The officer who had pulled the trigger kept repeating, "I didn't mean to shoot him, I didn't mean it." The rest of the policemen stood dumbfounded. It had taken everyone by surprise.
Ruby took her time picking out a strawberry-red wig. When she had finished making her purchase, she strolled around the store slowly so that, when she left the shopping center, it would be dusk-dark.
Racehorse sat on the passenger side of the Cadillac chain-smoking. "Goddamn it, you didn't have to take all fuckin' night, did you?" His voice was edgy from the strain of waiting.
She slid under the steering wheel without bothering to answer. Racehorse stared at the expanse of beautiful black thigh as her skirt inched up higher. "I thought the only thing you liked was snow, Racehorse," she said coldly, glancing at him from the corner of her eye. "My thigh ain't nowhere near white, nigger, so you might as well stop fiendin' on it."
He laughed shortly, then reached over and put his hand high up on her thigh. "You know, Ruby, you and me might be able to work something out." He waited to see if she would interrupt, then continued. "I know there ain't no heat on me, and I don't think there's too much on you." Racehorse stopped talking and worked his hand higher on her thigh.
Ruby dropped one of her hands from the steering wheel and removed his hand from her leg. "Whatever you're trying to say, you might be able to say it better if you would just try concentrating on it instead of trying to stick your hand under my dress."
"Well now, I might at that, but I enjoy it better this way," he replied as he began to feel her leg again. "Ruby, have you ever thought about pulling up on Prince?"
She shrugged her shoulders. "What woman hasn't ever given in to the thought of leaving her man?"
The ambiguous answer seemed to satisfy Racehorse. "Why don't you try thinking about it now then? When we pick up that money, Ruby, ain't nothin' between us and the airport but air." The idea of pulling up with the money had occurred to him the moment Prince had told him to go along with Ruby to pick it up. The idea of taking her along was only a temporary measure until he could get his hands on the gun. Then he'd make other arrangements. The thought of making love to Ruby was pleasant enough, but the idea of staying with her was madness. He couldn't stand a willful-minded woman.
She grabbed his hand again, but this time she clawed it deeply with her fingernails. He snatched it back with a yell. "Next time, find you something else to paw on," she said, spitting the words out. "I told you once, nigger, ain't nothing about me should remind you of snow, and since you're so mad about white bitches, you'd better find you one of them to put your funky hands on."
Racehorse moved across the seat and stared at the scratches on the back of his hand. They made the rest of the trip in silence, and he thought of how to get his gun away from her. He wanted that money, as well as the joy of killing Ruby.
She parked the car a block away from her apartment building. They walked together up the sidewalk, each involved in their own thoughts. When they reached the building, Ruby pointed the way to Racehorse, then followed him up the stairs. She gave him the key and stood back as he opened the door. Before he could move out of the way, she kicked him in the back, sending him falling through the open doorway.
"Well, now, pretty boy," she said slowly as he lay at her feet. "You done any thinking on how we should rip my man off for his money? Any more thinkin', that is, 'cause that shit about you and me didn't work out too well."
He pushed himself up on his hands and glared up at her. The pistol in her hand didn't waver. It was pointed directly at his head. He stared up at her. Her eyes were black chips of ice. They glittered with an unholy light that made him tremble uncontrollably.
"Wait a minute, Ruby. I was just kiddin' with you, girl. You know I know you ain't goin' leave Prince. I was just playin', woman, that's all."
She started laughing, a wild, almost hysterical sound. She walked past him and picked up a cushion. Before he could raise any higher than his knees, she whirled back around. The sound of the shot was muffled by the cus
hion, but she fired twice more.
Racehorse slipped back to the floor, trying in vain to raise his hand. Blood gushed from the corner of his mouth as he lay stretched out on his back. All of the gunshots had hit him in the chest and stomach.
Ruby watched him for a minute, then disappeared into the bedroom. She came out carrying a black bag. She stared down at the body once to make sure he was dead, then slowly let herself out the door. She glanced up and down the hallway making sure no one had been drawn by the noise. Her high heels mingled with the noise from the other apartments as she ran downstairs. A chill wind was blowing as she stepped out on the street, and she clutched her collar around her neck.
The black doctor's bag she carried was stuffed with money. As she neared some dilapidated storefront buildings, she clutched the bag tighter. Wineheads and junkies loitered in front of the stores. Normally the sight of gangs didn't disturb her, but because of the large amount of money she carried, her nerves were on edge.
After the first glance, the junkies ignored her and went back into their nods.
As she neared a group of men who were passing a wine bottle back and forth, a young drunkard staggered into her path and tried to wrap his arms around her. Removing her hand from her coat pocket where she held the gun, she gave him a hard shove in the chest.
The unexpected push sent the man down hard. He climbed back to his feet, cursing, as his friends laughed. He shook a clenched fist after her, but it was too late. She had forgotten about him before he was out of her sight. Her real concern had been the addicts.
Ruby relaxed and breathed more slowly after she reached the car. She jumped in and locked all the doors. She glanced idly at the black bag. For the sixty thousand dollars inside that bag, the addicts would have killed their mothers, let alone her.
Black Gangster Page 21