Curtis looked at her. "Honey, if you feel thataway about it, maybe I can set up something different than what we are going through right now."
"Like what, Curt?" she asked curiously.
"I don't really know offhand, Shirley, but if I could find some guy I could trust, I'd put a bag in his hands, or better yet, I'd rent a place for him to live and sell the jive out of."
"It sounds good, Curt, but can you find somebody you can put that much faith in?"
He tossed his hands in the air. "Ain't no sense of worrying about all that mess right now, Shirley, 'cause I don't even know when I'll be able to cop again. After that shit last night, fat-ass George is frightened to death of niggers."
"Well, maybe it's all for the best. We got a small start, Curt. If you got a job for a few weeks, with the check I get, it would be enough for us to get along on," Shirley stated.
Curtis got up from the table. "Let's not start on that shit, girl. A job is for a lame, and I don't want no part of it."
Shirley whirled around and slammed some dishes down in the sink. She didn't bother to answer him again, but she showed her disapproval by her actions. Curtis ignored her and went back into the bedroom. As he dressed, he thought about what she had said and laughed. He was used to making two, maybe three hundred dollars a day now, and to go back to a job would be like giving up. He liked the recognition that went along with getting big money, as well as the money itself.
The telephone rang sharply in the front room. Curtis listened with one ear as his woman answered it. "Curt, it's for you," Shirley called out.
He picked up the phone in the bedroom. "Hey, what is it?" he inquired as he reached for a smoke.
"What!" he yelled suddenly, forgetting about the cigarette he was reaching for. He held the phone close and listened quietly, then he asked one question. "Which hospital is he in?"
Shirley came into the bedroom and watched Curtis as he held the telephone close to his ear. He hung up slowly, a vacant look in his eyes.
"What's the matter?" she asked, sensing something was wrong, even though she didn't know what it could be.
"It's my brother," he began. "Some Mexicans caught him coming home from the gym and jumped on him. I ain't got the full truth about it, but it seems as if they thought he knew where Dan was hiding out. How fuckin' stupid can a goddamn person be?" Curtis cursed angrily. "How the fuck would Billy know any fuckin' thing about Dan?"
"You want me to go to the hospital with you?" she asked, after a moment of silence.
"Naw, baby, that won't be necessary. You stay here and take care of the kids. As soon as I hear something, I'll call and let you know"
Shirley followed him to the door and held it open as he went out. "Okay, honey," she said as she stood in the doorway. "Don't forget to call either way. I want to know what's wrong with Billy as bad as you do"
Curtis ran down the stairway, and when he reached the front door of the modern apartment house, he almost collided with an elderly man who lived in one of the downstairs apartments.
Curtis continued to run after sidestepping the old man until he reached his car. He started it up and drove swiftly away. When Curtis reached the hospital, he didn't waste any time searching for a place to park. He just pulled up beside a red line painted on the curb and parked.
The Martin Luther King hospital was used mostly by the poor blacks and Mexicans in the nearby communities. As soon as Curtis reached the in-patient waiting room, he began to look for his mother and sister. The hospital waiting room was full of Negroes waiting for friends and relatives. As Curtis made his way up to the desk, he could smell the odor that only a hospital carried.
The round-faced black nurse behind the desk glanced up at Curtis with a bored expression on her face. "Yes?" she inquired in a high, thin voice that he would have never guessed came from a woman with so much bulk.
"I'm here to see about my brother who was brought in earlier. His name is Billy Carson. I think he was...." Before he could finish, she interrupted him.
"Oh, yes, you're asking about the young man who was attacked near the high school." Her face became serious and there was compassion in the look she gave him.
"He's not hurt seriously, is he?" Curtis asked sharply, shaken by the woman's open concern.
"I'm afraid he's still in intensive care, but you can go to room 104 and find out more. I think your moth er is already back there, young man," she said as he turned to leave.
Curtis walked down a long hallway until he saw a sign with the room numbers. He turned right and began passing patients lying on stretchers. A group of people were sitting next to a doorway and as he passed he saw that it was the X-ray room.
The people sitting on the benches outside the Xray room watched the tall, well-dressed black man as he went past. There was something about his bearing that made people look at him a second time. It was not because he was slim and supple, all bone and muscle and sinew; what caught their attention was the brutal leanness about his face. He looked like a hawk hunting its prey.
As soon as he made another right turn, closely following the directions, he saw his mother staring wildly up and down the hallway. Tears were streaming down her dark cheeks. His sister stood helplessly by.
"Momma," he heard his sister say as he walked up, "it's goin' be all right. It could be worse."
Rita looked over her mother's shoulder and saw her brother coming toward them. A look of relief flashed across her features when she saw him.
"Momma, here's Curtis now," she said, hoping to give her mother some relief, but the words had the opposite effect.
Mrs. Carson whirled around on her older son with fury blazing from her eyes. "There you are! I don't know why you bothered to come down here! Maybe it's just to see what kind of handiwork your gangster friends did to your brother. You ought to be ashamed to even show your face down here!" Her voice was loud and hysterical, her emotions getting the best of her.
Curtis was taken by surprise at the anger of his mother. He felt it was uncalled for. He hadn't done a thing to deserve it.
Her words continued to beat at him, even though Rita tried desperately to shut her up. "It's all your fault, it wasn't Billy they wanted, it was you! But since they couldn't find you, they took their anger out on him. Now he's layin' in there, unable to move, because of you!"
The words "unable to move" shook him more than her senseless anger. "He ain't paralyzed?" Curtis asked, bewilderment and shock in his voice.
Rita shook her head. "I didn't tell you on the telephone because the doctors hadn't finished checkin' him out yet. But the men who jumped on him also shot him while he was layin' on the ground. One of the dirty bastards shot Billy in the back!" Tears began to flow down her cheeks.
Oh, my God, Curtis thought angrily, it was all becoming like a nightmare. Why? Why? Why? The words kept flashing through his mind. It couldn't be because of him. Curtis thought back and knew he hadn't done anything to any Mexicans to make them want to take their anger out on him. So why was Billy attacked?
"Why?" He didn't ask the question to anybody in particular. The word just came out.
"Why, why?" his mother screamed in his face. "Because of that no-good sonofabitch that you had over to the house a few weeks ago. The bastard ate at my table! Now this has happened to my boy!"
Dan! The name came and went in Curtis' frantic thoughts. "You mean because of that nigger Dan?" He looked at Rita.
Rita nodded her head. "Billy said they thought he knew where Dan was hiding out. When he couldn't tell them where Dan was, they jumped on him."
Curtis heard what she said, but he didn't want to believe her. Could it be possible for somebody to be that foolish? To make him responsible for what somebody else had done? It was possible. The more he thought about it, the more he was sure that Pedro and his wild bunch of hoodlums were responsible for this. It would be like the foolish young Mexican to do something stupid, make somebody else pay for something that they didn't have anything to do with.
"Just shut your mouth, boy! I don't want to hear no excuses now. Your brother is layin' in there, ruined for life because of you. So why don't you just go on back to wherever you came from. We don't need you here, Curtis; just go on. She never considered the pain she was causing her older boy. Her words beat at him like falling bricks. As he listened to her, a feeling of terrible shame overcame him.
"Momma, why don't you stop that," Rita said, her anger growing. She didn't hold Curtis responsible and hated to hear her mother talk to him like that.
Curtis' eyes were filled with pain. As he stared at his mother, a feeling of great depression overcame him. He couldn't do anything about what had happened; it was over and done with, but he could make the people responsible for it pay. And he meant to make them pay dearly. At first, he had felt pity for the Fernandez family, but now there was no pity in his heart. His mother's words beat out any pity that he might have had for anyone. Now, there was only the thought of revenge. Not only on the Mexicans but on Dan, who had caused all of it to happen in the first place.
"Rita," Curtis began, "I'm goin' take off. It ain't nothing I can do around here. With Momma feelin' the way she does, it ain't no reason for me to hang out here, but I'm going to take care of the matter. The people who caused this are going to pay, and don't think for a damn minute that they ain't! I just want you to know that I ain't' done nothing to nobody to make them do this thing to Billy."
"I know," she answered quickly, "but you take care of yourself, Curt. Momma is just upset right now. After she gets used to it, she will realize that it wasn't because of you that it happened. I'm just sorry that she carried on the way she did, that's all." Rita spoke truthfully, trying to remove some of the pain she saw in his face. Her mother had been very unjust as far as she was concerned. But when it came to mothers, you couldn't tell them anything. You just had to go along with them, even though a lot of times they were wrong.
"Call me at my house when you leave, okay, Rita?" Curtis asked as he started to go.
She nodded okay, then watched him as he turned on his heels and left. There would be hell to pay somewhere in the city, she knew, because Curtis wasn't the kind of man who took abuse lightly.
9
"WHAT THE HELL DID YOU say you did?" Emilio Fernandez yelled at his younger brother.
"I said we caught that spade Billy coming from school and kicked the shit out of him."
"Why?" Emilio asked, sighing and sitting back down on their aging couch. His mother and sister had left earlier to go to the funeral home nearby to leave a proper suit for Ruben.
"Why?" Pedro repeated. "We wanted the coon to tell us where that punk Dan was hangin' out, that's why."
"Brother, just stop for a minute and think. Billy don't even run around with his brother, Curtis, so why pick on him? He wouldn't know where Dan was hangin' out because they are two different kinds of studs. Even you, Pedro, should be able to realize that."
"All these spade dudes know about each other, Emilio. You just like to hang around them too much 'cause you're shootin' that fuckin' shit now!" Pedro eyed his brother angrily.
"Bullshit, Pedro, and you know that's all it is. You just wanted to kick the shit out of somebody, and he happened to come along. I guess you figured it all out, 'cause when you have trouble with Curtis, don't come runnin' home telling me all about it."
"I don't give a flyin' fuck about no Curtis, man! To me, he ain't nothin' but another burr-head," Pedro replied arrogantly.
As Emilio stared at his brother, he had to shake his head in wonder because he knew Pedro meant what he said. Here he had gone out of his way and angered one of the meanest studs in the city, and Pedro didn't give a shit about it. As he stared at his brother, he had second thoughts because, behind the dark eyes that stared out at him, he could see the hint of fear. His brother was just putting on a big front while shaking in his pants.
"Okay, Pedro," he said, "it's your problem. I got my own troubles to worry about. It's too much trouble trying to live without going out of my way gettin' in some silly-ass gang fight. You and that fuckin' bunch of Chicanos that you run around with are going to bite off more than you can handle one of these days!"
Pedro laughed harshly. "I'm not about to lose no sleep on account of no nigger, Emilio, even if you do." Pedro stood up and began to pace.
"You ain't shittin' me," Emilio replied. "I know damn well you're worried, and you should be. Curtis won't take this lightly, but maybe if you guys didn't hurt his brother too bad, we might be able to get Fat George to hush it up."
For a few seconds Pedro didn't bother to answer, then he stopped his pacing. "Listen, man, he was hurt bad. That dumb-ass Vic Mohica shot him in the back while he was on the ground"
"What?" Emilio roared, jumping up from the couch and snatching his brother's arm. "You mean Billy was shot, too?" Emilio couldn't believe it; he didn't want to believe it.
"Just hold on, Emilio. I tried, I honestly tried to stop it, but it got out of hand. You know how these things are in a street rumble."
"Street rumble my ass," Emilio growled. "What kind of street rumble is it when six or seven guys kick the shit out of one kid? Street rumble! Bullshit!" Emilio started to pace, then snapped his fingers. "Jesus Christ, we let Mama Mia and Maria go to the fuckin' funeral home without no protection. Goddamn," he yelled as he ran towards the front door.
Pedro followed closely behind his brother. "Hey, Emilio, don't you think you're carrying this thing a little far? This stud wouldn't do nothing to our mother."
Emilio whirled on him. "You stupid bastard, if you fucked his brother up for nothing, do you think he gives a shit about our mother or sister? All he wants is black vengeance, and that means he'll strike at whoever the hell he can!"
As the two men hurried down the sidewalk, their mother and sister were getting ready to leave the funeral home.
Curtis sat across the street from the old Spanish mortuary. If he had it figured right, some members of the Fernandez family would have to show up sometime today. He glanced in his mirror as a car turned down the lonely street and drove slowly past. Curtis wiped the sweat from his brow. His only worry was the license tags he had removed from another car and put on top of his. He fingered the sawed-off shotgun, then leaned it against the window sill. His face had taken on a cruel snarl that belonged to the past-on some jungle hunter. There was no mercy at all in his expression.
As he sat waiting, he could still hear the words of his mother beating at him. It was a shame that things had to turn out this way, but he couldn't let the Mexicans get away with it. If they did, there was no telling who they might attack next. His best bet was to knock off the remaining two brothers. That way, he wouldn't have any more trouble out of the Fernandez family because there wouldn't be any of the males left to worry about.
As these thoughts flashed through his mind, he saw the funeral parlor door open and two women come out. As he looked closely, he saw that it was an old woman and a girl. As they drew near, he recognized Maria, the young sister in the Fernandez family. That must be the mother with her, he reflected, hesitating briefly. He didn't want to make war on the women, but he wanted to strike back so that they would be as hurt as he was. He sighed as the women drew nearer, then he slowly raised the sawed-off shotgun and held it on the window frame. As the two women came abreast of the car, he pointed the gun directly at the young girl, then pulled both triggers. The roar of the gun almost deafened him, but he still managed to get the car in gear and pull away from the curb.
Young Maria took the full blast of both barrels. The shotgun knocked her into her mother with such force that she pushed her mother off her feet. The buckshot ripped open the young girl's side all the way up to her armpits. Blood spattered the older woman, who still hadn't figured out what had happened.
She managed to push her daughter off of her and climbed slowly to her feet, then leaned down and shook her daughter. At the sight of the blood, she let out a scream that
was far louder than the noise the shotgun blast had made. People came running from all directions to help, and in the crowd were her two sons.
Emilio took his mother in his arms. He held her tightly, staring down over her back at the body of his baby sister. Tears of rage filled his eyes as he glanced up at his brother, who was looking at the carnage dumbfounded.
All Pedro could do was shake his head. "I never figured it would get out of hand like this," he murmured to himself, unaware that he was actually talking out loud.
"You sonofabitch," Emilio cursed, clutching his weeping mother in his arms. "Now, goddamn it," he cursed at the sky, "I'm goddamn sure of it!"
Pedro was so shocked by what he saw he could only bend over his sister's body and cry. "It's not my fault," he cried over and over again until somebody took him by the arm and led him away. He never knew who it was that led him to the funeral home and sat him down in a chair. He couldn't see because of the tears that ran so freely down his cheeks.
Curtis drove six blocks before stopping and removing the license plates from his car. He then drove to an empty alley and broke the shotgun down. He left a piece of it in a burning garbage can, then drove farther and tossed another piece away. Each time he made sure the piece he tossed away was cleanly wiped. The killing of the young girl didn't bother him, though. He was numb from the pain of the early morning incidents.
Before arriving home, he stopped and called, giving Shirley plenty of warning not to allow anybody inside the apartment until after he got there. She listened quietly to his orders, then hung up.
Curtis climbed back in his car and drove slowly home. His whole world seemed to have changed in less than twenty-four hours. It was hard to figure, but he knew now that nothing would ever be the same. He realized also that he had another job to do. There was no way he was going to allow Dan to get away with the shit he had started. Somebody had to make him pay for it, and Curtis felt in the mood to be the one to do it.
The thought flashed through his mind as he drove aimlessly for a minute that he would have to purchase another gun. It would have to be a gun that couldn't be traced back to him. He gave the thoughts free rein, and soon he knew right where to go to find the kind of weapon he needed. He pressed down on the gas. But first things first. He wanted to make sure Dan was where he thought he might be, then he would get the gun. It wouldn't take long. Dan wasn't that hard a man to find, especially when he was so determined.
Cry Revenge (Holloway House Originals) Page 9