Cry Revenge (Holloway House Originals)

by Donald Goines

  "Goddamn it, it's going to be hell to pay for this, William," Tony stated. "I'm going to write in my state ment that I didn't want to go along with it and told you so. Yet you went against my wishes and still made the buy, even though there was the chance of us gettin' shit put on us!"

  "It happens," William managed to say.

  "Yeah, well, you explain it to the boss," Tony answered, his eyes cold and bleak.

  The two men started back toward the car, each one deep in his own thoughts. Tony worried about how this would look on his record, while William worried about whether or not the top brass would believe he was really beat out of the money. There were a lot of people in the office who objected to his even being on the payroll. It went against their sense of rights that an addict was paid a salary every week and supplied with all the heroin he could ever use.

  So why, he reasoned, should they think he would need the money when they gave him everything he wanted? There was no reason for him to beat them out of the money. Shit, they should be able to see that clearly enough.

  "Oh hell, Tony, instead of us standing here like two fools, let's ride. Maybe we will be lucky enough to ride down on them," William said as he led the way back to the car. Any kind of action was better than none at all, he believed.

  Tony followed with his head down. Things had really gone badly for them. Now they were going to ride the rest of the night like two silly-ass fools, praying that the men who took them off would be as dumb as they had been. As he climbed into the car, Tony would have bet everything he had in the world against their chances of running into the slim black man who had set them up.

  After jumping the fence, Dan and his crime partner, Emilio, ran down the alley until they came to a vacant house. They ran through the empty backyard and came out on the next street. Emilio led the way as he crossed over and walked down the sidewalk toward another vacant yard. Again, the men cut through the yard, coming out two blocks away from where they had begun.

  As Dan brought up the rear, he searched through his pockets until he found an empty one. Then he quickly separated the money, not really knowing how much he took off the roll he had snatched up before Emilio could get his hands on it.

  When they reached an alley, Emilio stopped. "Hey, Dan, I think it's time we split up the money, okay? It looked like more than any five hundred dollars to me, my man. You wouldn't be puffin' shit on me, would you?"

  Instead of answering, Dan removed the bankroll minus the few hundred he had managed to remove to another pocket. "Hey, amigo, that's what's wrong with you guys. You don't trust nobody!"

  "Yeah, man," Emilio replied. "I know just what you mean about us guys, but let's split the bread anyway, Honest John!" The sarcasm in Emilio's voice went unnoticed by Dan.

  Dan pulled out the money and quickly counted it, while Emilio stared over his shoulder. "Hey, Dan, it's like I said! It's more than any fuckin' five hundred bucks there."

  Dan nodded his head. "Yeah, Emilio, I counted seven hundred big ones, so let's make it three hundred and fifty dollars apiece. How's that for a few minutes work?"

  "Shit, man, it's sweet," Emilio replied, not really caring now if Dan had stolen a few dollars or not. Five hundred would have been a good sting for them, seven hundred was a dream. It was the best sting Emilio had made all year. Already he was planning on how he would spend his money. He reflected on his brother Pedro's warning for him not to mess with Dan. If he had followed his younger brother's advice, he wouldn't have made the three hundred and fifty dollars.

  Dan held the money out to the Mexican. For a second he thought about taking the whole thing for himself but shoved the idea out of his mind. It would cause too much trouble because he would have to almost kill the Mexican before he would be able to get away with the money. Emilio wouldn't stand still for just a punk slap. No, he would have to go all the way, and all he had on him was a knife and he knew sure as hell the Mexican had a knife also.

  "Okay, Emilio," Dan stated, giving the man his share of the money. "This should hold you for a few days, shouldn't it?" He was just making conversation as he tried to think of what would be his best move. Now that he had a nice bankroll, he wanted to make the money work for him. For the thousandth time, he wished that he could go straight to Fat George and cop. If he could, he would be able to cop enough dope to start dealing the shit himself.

  "I'll be seeing you around," Emilio said as he began to slip away. He thought about ripping the tall Negro off but decided against it. It would be too hard to do without a gun. The black would fight like hell to keep his share of the money, so Emilio finally gave up the idea. If he had thought about it before, he could have set something up-having a couple of his brothers waiting in an alley, then leading the Negro down that alley. But he hadn't been sure that the black could pull the burn off. From the beginning, he had doubted the Negro's word. He hadn't really believed that Dan had a live trick who would spend the kind of money Dan said he would. But it had come true.

  Dan watched the Mexican walk away slowly, then he made his move. He didn't want Emilio to see which way he went because he knew if the Mexican had any help, he would try to rob Dan for the other three fifty. That was the way it was when you did business with dogs. You had to be prepared to defend yourself at any time because some kind of burn was sure to come your way.

  Dan made his way through a yard that had a small white dog in it. The dog set up enough noise to wake up the neighborhood, but Dan was gone before the people inside the house could come out to see what the loud commotion was all about.

  When he was sure he was far enough away so that he wouldn't have to worry about Emilio or any of his friends trying to hijack him, Dan stopped and lit a cigarette. He sat on the edge of a garbage can in an alley and smoked the cigarette down to a butt. At once, he snapped his fingers, then got up and made his way cautiously from the alley. Before crossing any welllighted streets, he made sure no cars were coming down the street.

  It took Dan twenty minutes, but he finally made his way over to Curtis' house. After ringing the doorbell for about five minutes, he shook his head in disgust and started back down the stairway. Where the hell could that bitch be? he wondered, as he came back out on the street. He knew that he was going to have to cop some stuff from somewhere, but he had wanted to cop from Curtis. Curt had the best dope in town for a dealer pushing small quantities. Curtis didn't use, and for that one reason the dope was generally good.

  As Dan stood on the sidewalk, undecided on which way to go, a carload of drug addicts rolled up. One of them got out and came across the street. He stopped in front of Dan.

  "What it is, my man?" he yelled out as he came up and held his hand out for some skin.

  "It ain't here, that's for sure," Dan stated and enjoyed the look of disappointment on the man's face. As Dan stared at the addict, he tried to remember the man's name but couldn't come up with it. The worried brown face that he stared at was a familiar one, but he couldn't place the junkie's name.

  "Damn," the man said, then he broke into a smile. "I think I know where Curt is at," he said suddenly.

  "Where?" Dan asked sharply.

  "Down on Main Street, I believe," the addict answered. "When I was over earlier, his woman said something about Curt was going to take her out later this evening, but I didn't think they'd be gone this soon." The man started back across the street toward the waiting car.

  "Hey," Dan called out, "how about giving me a lift down to Main Street? I'm lookin' for the same thing you are." He crossed the street after the shorter man.

  "You'll have to ask the driver, Dan," the man said as they drew near the car. "I'm only ridin'; it ain't my ride."

  The driver of the old model car rolled his window down. He had already heard the conversation as the two men crossed the street.

  "Hey, brother," Dan said as he approached the car, "how about lettin' me ride down on Main Street with the rest of you?"

  The driver stared at Dan coldly. "Hey, man, I ain't got no gas
, but if you come up with a dollar or two, it will be cool with me"

  Dan stared at him angrily for a minute. He knew the man was going right where he wanted to go, whether or not Dan went along with them. So it wasn't really a matter of gas. The man was just hustling for a little coin, that's all.

  "Okay, man," Dan stated, not wanting to argue about a dollar since he had a pocket full of them. Any other time, though, he would have talked the man into letting him ride along, maybe promising him some of the dope until after he copped. Then he would just disappear on the driver and not give him anything.

  "Wonderful," the driver said, and held out his hand for the money before Dan could get in the car. As soon as Dan laid a dollar in his palm, he opened the car door and let him in on the driver's side. The other people in the car, three women and three men, made room in the rear, grumbling about it at the same time.

  Dan nearly got into an argument as he stepped on one of the men's feet climbing over a couple who wanted to stay near the window.

  "Goddamn it, man, why don't you watch what you're doing," the man yelled out loudly.

  One of the women got up and let Dan have her seat, then she sat on his lap. As the addict who had gotten out of the car to cop got back in and delivered the news, a groan went up from the occupants of the car. Now they knew there was a chance that they might have to cop somewhere else that evening, and the idea of copping some dope from someone who used didn't appeal to any of them. As the car roared down the street, the thunder of the busted muffler drowned the disappointed grumblings of the people inside the car.

  7

  CURTIS WATCHED HIS WOMAN walk over to the jukebox. As he glanced around, he noticed he wasn't the only male in the crowded bar who watched Shirley's hips swaying under the tight-fitting black pants outfit.

  Ruben Fernandez, the bartender, leaned over his bar and grinned at Curtis. "You got a pretty woman there, Curtis."

  Before he could say anything else, the swinging doors opened and Fat George walked in, escorting his woman, Maria. She was a large, heavyset Mexican woman who had once been one of the best prostitutes in the neighborhood. Then George got her and stopped her from working. Now, she came back to her old hangouts just to visit.

  Maria waved around at the people as she made her grand entrance. She was dressed in an after-five gown that was too expensive for the bar she was in. On her hands diamond rings glittered. She had on so much jewelry that it seemed to be phony, but the people who knew her and George realized that she wore the real thing.

  "Hey, amigo," George called out as he came near Curtis, "how's tricks?"

  Curtis grinned at the fat Mexican. "You know about that better than I do, George, since you've got to hire a bodyguard to take your money to the bank."

  George grinned, then waved to Ruben Fernandez. "Hey, Fernandez, give everybody a drink on me." Then he took in the crowd of people at the tables and changed his order. "That is, the ones sittin' at the bar." He smiled brightly and looked at everybody.

  As Shirley came back from the jukebox, she embraced George's wife in the middle of the floor. Maria's loud voice could be heard over the blare of the jukebox. "My, Shirley," she shouted, "it seems years since the last time I saw you." They both knew that she had been over to Shirley's house only two days before, making a drop for George.

  Curtis moved over, making room at the bar for George. "How has business been going, George?" he inquired pleasantly.

  George shrugged his shoulders. "Some days a man can't make a dollar; it's best to stay in bed."

  "In your case, a dollar means a few thousand, huh?" Curt asked, making conversation.

  As the two men chatted back and forth, Ruben went up and down the bar pouring drinks for the customers. When he finished, he came back down and stood in front of George. "Was that invitation for the bartender, too?" he asked, knowing beforehand that he was welcome to a drink at George's expense.

  "Yeah, Ruben, as long as you don't drink no phonyass colored water and charge me for the best whiskey in the house!"

  Ruben smiled, then removed a bottle of Johnnie Walker Red from the back bar. He poured himself a stiff drink, then poured another one for George.

  As George tossed off his drink, Curtis leaned over and whispered in his ear, "I'm thinkin' about buyin' maybe a half a kilo, George. That is, if I can get the right price."

  "Hey, amigo," George replied, "with me, you always get the right price, and the best jive in the city. Right?"

  There was no guile in Curtis' voice as he answered. "I'll give you your proper, George. Since I've been dealin' with you, I ain't had no reason to complain. Everybody who cops from me seems to like what I give them," Curtis stated honestly, then added, "as long as I stop short of the number of cuts you say I can put on my jive."

  "What you mean, Curt, stop short?" George inquired, smiling all the time.

  "You know," Curtis began, "if you say the stuff will take a five, then I put a four on it. That way, I always have the bomb. If I was to put the whole five on it like you say, my stuff would just be ordinary, you dig?"

  George shook his head. "Maybe you've got a point there, but the joint I run across town, we don't get no complaints, and I put the whole fuckin' five cut to the mess that I drop off there." George put his empty glass down and pointed at it after catching Ruben's eye.

  Ruben had backed away from them so that he wouldn't appear to be listening to what they were talking about, even though everybody in the bar knew that they were both dope men. The word was spreading on Curtis. It was whispered around that he was on his way to becoming a big pusher.

  "Fill mine up and put something in Curt's glass too," George ordered as the bartender came up carrying the bottle of Johnnie Walker.

  After filling the drinks, Ruben started to back away, but Shirley and Maria climbed up on their stools. "Bring us a bottle of that bubblin' stuff," Maria called out loud enough for half the bar to hear.

  The four people watched as Ruben expertly popped the top off the champagne. "Any of you gentlemen want to indulge?" he inquired, as he shook ice cubes around in a glass until the glasses were cooled. After pouring the drinks for the women, he came down to the men, holding the bottle in front of him. "Well?"

  "Shit, Fernandez, you know I don't drink nobody's fuckin' wine," George stated.

  "I'll take a glassful," Curt said softly.

  As Ruben poured out the drink, Curtis caught the eye of an addict who had just come in the bar. The thin, light-complexioned man stood at the doorway, glancing around coldly at all the people enjoying themselves. His enjoyment would come out of the end of a needle, if he happened to be lucky enough to make a good buy instead of some of the junk that was being sold for dope.

  Curtis caught the man's nod and got up from the bar. "I'll be right back; I got to go to the little boys' room," he said as he left his small party at the bar.

  The addict waited until Curtis was almost to the men's room before he moved slowly in that direction. George knew at once what was happening but doubted if Ruben did. Ruben wouldn't stand for any dope selling in the bar when he worked his shift. That was the reason the rear door had been closed and blocked off by beer cases. The young pushers in the neighborhood had started selling stuff right out of the back door. They would hand the stuff over to the various addicts, then the addicts would continue right on out the back door.

  Curtis was back in a minute. He climbed up on his stool and picked up his glass of wine. "Damn, that felt good; I feel like a new man," he said loud enough for the bartender to hear.

  The high-pitched sound of Maria almost drowned out his words as she laughed at something Shirley had said. Another record dropped on the jukebox and couples began to push out on the small area that was marked off for dancing. It was just a little circle that was between the tables. There was no stage for a band to play on. The bar was just a small neighborhood joint where a person could come to sit and drink.

  The crowd was a mixture of soldiers from the nearby base and a
large number of blacks with just a sprinkling of Mexicans, mostly in mixed couples. Next door was a club that catered to the Mexicans in the neighborhood. The jukebox there carried mostly Mexican music, so it caused a lot of Negroes to bypass the club. That was exactly what the owner wanted.

  Outside the club, the car with Dan and the other drug addicts pulled up. As Dan got out of the rear seat, he glanced up just in time to see the car carrying Benson and Tony in it. They noticed him at the same time he saw them.

  William slammed on the brakes. Before the car came to a complete stop, Tony was jumping out with a pistol in his hand. Dan glanced over his shoulder and saw the fat Mexican with the gun. In his panic, he forgot that he couldn't get out the back way of the bar, and ran through the front door. As soon as he entered, he realized his mistake.

  Dan spotted Curtis and Fat George sitting at the bar. He ran over to them instantly. His mind was working like lightning. Maybe, just maybe, he hoped, one of the dope men might have a gun on them.

  "Curt," he said, gasping for breath, "I had to run ahead, man," he managed to get out. "There's a couple of studs comin' in here, man, who plan on stickin' up the bar so that they can knock off you and George. I mean it, man, I didn't want no part of it when I heard about them plannin' on knockin' you off, Curt." As he spoke, sweat broke out on his forehead. "I mean, as long as they were talkin' about just Fat George here, I didn't give a shit, but when they included you, Curt, I had to draw a line."

  Ruben had moved up as Dan spoke. He reached under the bar. "There won't be any stickups in my place," he warned.

  Fat George was trembling visibly. His fat cheeks shook with fear.

  "To put the icing on the cake," Dan added, "you better hide your money somewhere. They'll be coming through the door in a second, Curt." He backed up quickly, trying to hide next to the doorway.

  The first one through the swinging doors was Tony, his police special in his hand. As he came through the doorway, he stopped and blinked, trying to focus his eyes in the dimness of the bar. Before he could adjust them, Ruben swung the shotgun he held onto the top of the bar and pointed it at the man in the doorway.