When the threesome reached the parking lot, Pudge admired a fancy cream-colored convertible. Being a lover of fine automobiles, he was tempted to steal it until Baltimore explained that it was his car. Dank suggested Baltimore hide his keys when his back was turned, but Pudge reminded them he was an expert at boosting anything with wheels, that’s why he was invited in on the heist. Dank was the brawn, quick on his feet and faster with his hands. Baltimore proved to be the valuable brains behind the outfit. Together, the trio was efficient and effective. They didn’t need Henry for this one, not unless the house of cards collapsed on top of Baltimore’s business venture.
The motel where he stashed the new arrivals was an out-of-the-way “Colored-Only” lodge off Aldine Avenue, a quiet stretch of road bordering “The Ville.” Since Baltimore had procured a room with double beds and stocked the pantry with enough food to hold them over, there was nothing left to do but clue them in to the entire set up. “Let me lay it out for you, so you can sleep on it until I come back later this evening,” Baltimore said, with the utmost sincerity. “Here’s the long and short of it. There’s a white cop running smack and supplying the local dealers.”
“Aiche?” said Pudge, with a surprised expression. “You brung us up here to steal heroin? I don’t mind a lot of things, but I ain’t one to get too close to the pump.”
“Me neither, but there’s this man, a Jewish mobster, who’s willing to pay a lot of money to get his paws on a major shipment. We’re taking it not so’s we can get involved in pushing that poison,” answered Baltimore. “Our deal is sweeter than candy, so listen up and watch those cavities. All the smack pumping through these parts come from Mississippi or Chicago. Those Miss’sip boys got way too much fire power to take down, but it just so happens I got an inside track to the load rolling in from Chi-town. It’s simple. We pull a snatch and grab, nice and easy-like, and y’all catch the next train with twenty grand each to play rummy with on the way home.”
“Twenty thousand? Dollars?” Dank yelled eagerly. “Man, them’s the kinda cavities I like. Hell, my teeth starting to hurt already. When can we get at that candy?”
“Hold your horses, Dank. I need everybody to be clear on a few things. First, I’ll need Pudge to swipe a car this afternoon. Nothing too flashy, just sound enough to make it to Springfield, Illinois, ’cause that’s where the drivers like to take a dinner break. We’ll ditch the stolen car there and pick up another one on the way back. There’s less of a chance to get pulled over with one on the hot list when you cross over state lines. Next thing, these white boys are crooked cops, so if it gets ugly, shoot to kill. We don’t need state troopers spoiling our getaway. Now here’s how it’ll play out from there.” Baltimore went on to share only the details he deemed necessary. Tell a man too much and he’ll have too much to remember was his philosophy and he stuck to it.
At six o’clock sharp, Baltimore returned to the motel to get the ball rolling. He left his car in the parking lot and rode away with the fellas in the Chevrolet Pudge had boosted from a nearby supermarket. They drove it to the three-ton cargo truck Schmitty Rosenberg provided by the Mississippi River landing, and then jumped on Route Fifty-Five North, headed toward Springfield. After the sun disappeared over the horizon Baltimore pulled into a service station and filled the gasoline tank to the brim. When they reached the outskirts of the small town, Pudge swapped stolen cars and waited near the roadside diner where the robbery was set to take place. He passed the newly acquired vehicle off to Baltimore, joined Dank in the truck and then waited. Baltimore pulled over on the shoulder of the highway and kept an eye out for a St. Louis squad car traveling south. He couldn’t afford getting too close to the jack point and risk the chance of Barker recognizing him beforehand.
A little after an hour of watching cars whiz by, a police car roared past with two white men inside. Baltimore went to start up the Buick Pudge had pinched when they hit Springfield, but it wouldn’t turn over. “Come on, you raggedy death trap!” he cursed. “Come on and crank for your ole buddy Baltimore.” He continued rubbing the ignition wires together to kick it over, while peering up at the road. Just as the police car drifted out of sight, the second-hand car fired up. “Yeah, baby, yeah!” he cheered. “Let’s go get that candy.” The vehicle sputtered and spun its tires until eventually lurching onto the road.
Baltimore gunned the motor and gave chase. He appeared across the highway from the roadside diner just as Barker Sinclair sat down to a cup of coffee. His partner and Henry’s ride-a-long superior, Tasman Gillespie, took his seat at the booth near the front window so he could watch the patrol car. As Barker headed for the restroom to relieve himself, Gillespie flirted with the busty waitress like he always did on the way back to the city. Baltimore waved a yellow handkerchief out of his passenger side window to alert his crew it was time to move.
Gillespie didn’t give it too much thought when a large cargo truck rolled off the highway into the tiny lot, although it momentarily blocked his vision of the police car. He glanced at the muscle-bound colored man who’d climbed out of it, seemingly to test the tire pressure on the driver’s side. Gillespie had no idea that someone else was working feverishly at hotwiring his ride home. It wasn’t until the truck had ventured back onto the thoroughfare that he hopped up from table, screaming his head off. As if it had disappeared into thin air, the patrol car and their shipment vanished into the night.
Barker flew out of the restroom, zipping up his pants and ready to strangle his partner for letting a trunk full of uncut heroin out of his sight. Within minutes, he was on the phone to St. Louis telling an interested party what had happened. Officer Brandish agreed to set up a net along the highway with designs on capturing the men driving Gillespie’s department-issued vehicle when they reentered the city limits. Barker realized the car had to be headed south because Chicago was one hundred and ninety-eight miles away. The thieves would need a big city to fence that large amount of drugs and St. Louis was the closest.
Brandish’s men could have searched the highway for days and found nothing. Dank had lowered a ramp a few miles up the road from the diner and Pudge drove the missing patrol car into the cargo compartment and locked it down tight. Once it was secured, Baltimore followed them into town, past the weary eyes of officers taking dirty money for their dirty deeds.
By morning, Brandish had relayed the bad news that Gillespie’s police car never resurfaced. Barker’s blood boiled when it occurred to him someone in his inner circle was responsible for him losing a two-hundred-thousand-dollar load of smack. Someone was going to die over the betrayal. There were no two ways about it. Retribution was imminent and lightning was destined to strike, just as Etta predicted.
20
BENT WISHES AND BAR STOOLS
It happened Thursday while Baltimore slept. Barker Sinclair, Tasman Gillespie and that fat mule Officer Tom Brandish met to decide two things, how to get their stolen shipment of heroin back and how overt their attack would be when going about it. After an early morning meeting, each of the men reported to duty so as not to draw any attention. Besides, going into work provided the perfect cover they needed to shake a lot of trees and pass it off as aggressive community policing.
On the last day of the trainee ride-alongs, Barker started out on a wild tear. He visited several of his smack dealers in colored neighborhoods before heading toward the other side of town to rattle a number of upscale cages. Henry sat back quietly, counting the hours until the shift was over. He was eagerly anticipating the cadets’ graduation scheduled for the following afternoon. If he could somehow remain calm and keep his thoughts to himself, he would become one of the first Negro police officers in the city’s history. While spending countless hours watching Barker and Gillespie terrorize the neighborhood he grew up in, he felt the clock wasn’t ticking nearly fast enough. He didn’t feel relaxed until they crossed the railroad tracks. Even though Henry couldn’t decipher exactly what had the two rogue officers in a very bad mood, he knew it wo
uldn’t likely change as long as they hadn’t come up with a solution to their problem.
During their third stop on the list of Barker’s white dealers, he and Gillespie left Henry in the car to drop in on a pool hall owner who’d made the mistake of complaining about losing money due to a skittish supply of drugs. His grievance was met with hostility and a rash of violent threats. “I don’t give a damn what you have to do, Marty,” Barker grunted, inside the man’s office. “We’re all in a pinch and it’ll be at least a week before I can get my hands on some more unless ...” he began to explain before catching himself. Business in the streets was already unsettling, and steadily declining. Telling his pushers how he’d gotten ripped off would cost him credibility in a hustle built on reputation and the ability to deliver. “Anyway, you see to it that your stash carries you through the weekend.”
Marty was shaking, partly because Barker had him by eight inches and thirty pounds. The squirrelly pipsqueak was a longtime junkie as well. He didn’t have it in mind to share what little heroin he did have with his customers. “But I can’t cut it no more,” the scared pool hawk debated, against his better judgment. “I’ve stripped it down once as it is. If I sift it again, it won’t go right and my neck will be on the line.”
“Listen, you slimy little toad!” Barker yelled. “I know for a fact you’ve stepped on my deliveries twice when your pool tournaments lasted two days, so don’t go screwing with me now. Just do what I tell you and we’ll all come out on top when the smoke blows over.” What Barker assumed was correct. Marty had secretly created a slush fund to facilitate serving his own habit. He mixed in as many additives as he could get away with as it was. Stripping the chemical content further was sure to render it unfit for human consumption, but going against psychotic cops meant a certain death sentence. Marty reluctantly agreed and did what he was told.
More than a few minutes had passed while Gillespie and his drug boss puttered inside the pool hall harassing Marty. Henry’s frustration took a toll on him. Against departmental policy, he got out of the squad car to stretch his legs. He pondered over the things he’d observed while trying to piece them together. It was unnerving to watch his mentors’ nasty dispositions spiral out of control since the day began with Gillespie filing a false report to the shift commander about having the police car he’d signed out stolen from his front driveway. None of it made sense at the time so Henry pushed it to the back of his cluttered thoughts and said to hell with it, when suddenly he heard a man bellow loudly as glass shattered behind him. Henry ducked his head and cautiously turned toward the noise, expecting to see some poor soul come crashing through the pool hall window. Instead, the action was coming from somewhere farther down the sidewalk. A white man dressed in a soiled warehouseman’s jumpsuit sprinted from the jewelry store with a cloth sack hanging from his hand. “Stop him!” the immigrant jeweler wailed in Henry’s direction. “Police! Police!” he shouted frantically.
Every bit of moisture vanished from Henry’s mouth when he realized the man was begging him to foil the robbery. He was for all intents and purposes on duty to uphold the law. Without waiting for Gillespie to join in the chase, Henry took off after the thief on foot. He mentally replayed all of the drills from the academy regarding the correct methods in apprehending criminals. As Henry grew nearer to the man who was running short on enthusiasm and gasping for breath, Gillespie and Barker exited through Marty’s front entrance just in time to catch a glimpse of the pursuit in progress.
“Where the hell is he going?” Barker questioned, casually viewing Henry close fast on the suspect. “Dammit, let’s go see what he’s gotten himself into.” They sprinted for their vehicles parked at the far curb and barreled down the street after them.
“Stop, police!” Henry growled bitterly but the thief kept on running. “Stop or I’ll shoot,” he managed, short of breath himself. Henry nearly tripped over the man when he actually gave in and threw his hands up. “All right now, don’t move. Don’t you move an inch!” The man peeked behind him, fearing that the copper just might make good on the threat to fire at him. When he saw a colored man with his gun drawn, the robber chuckled and then started down a narrow passageway. Annoyed when it appeared he might have to scurry after the man again, Henry took out his night stick. He flung it at the crook’s legs like he’d practiced a million times. His eyes widened when it worked to perfection, causing the jewel thief to stumble. As he lay sprawled out on the cement groveling painfully, Henry had the last laugh. “Ah-huh, I bet it ain’t so funny now. I got you, sucker. Yeah, I got you.”
When the veteran cops located them, Henry was walking his captive out of the alley with abrasions on his face and a nice set of handcuffs to replace the diamond bracelets he’d made off with. Just wait until the boys hear about my first arrest, Henry thought, just wait. I’ll finish at the top of the class behind this. No sooner than he’d patted himself on the back, Barker tore into him with venom dripping from his twisted mouth.
“Have you lost your goddamned mind, boy?” he shouted at Henry, followed by fast violently strides. “What do you think you’re doing?”
“What?” Henry answered, as proud of himself as a man could be. “I know I’m not full-fledged ’til tomorrow, but I figured I’d get a head start when I seen this man trying to make off with this bag of loot. It took some doing but I caught him, got him good too. Took this knife off him myself,” Henry gloated, showing off the long blade he confiscated single-handedly.
“Naw, what I mean is what do you think you’re doing putting your hands on a white man like that?” Barker reprimanded. “Hand him over to me and don’t you ever go after anybody that ain’t as black as you. Damned spook’s as dumb as dirt, I swear. What are they teaching y’all at the academy these days?”
The man Henry risked his life to apprehend lifted his head and spat in his captor’s face. “Ain’t no nigger hauling me off to jail,” he reveled smugly. “I’d die first.”
“Next time you’ll get your wish,” Henry whispered under his breath as Barker marched the man he’d arrested back to his unmarked car.
“Talk to your boy,” Barker told Gillespie, just as he drove away with the criminal locked down in the back seat.
“Don’t you say nothin’ to me,” Henry warned, as they followed closely behind Barker’s car to the station house. It was difficult to watch another man taking the credit for his hard work.
“Are you threatening to get something off your chest, Cadet Taylor?” Gillespie snapped back.
“Ain’t no threats, Gillespie, just a heads up,” he answered plainly. “You go on ahead and push me. I’m ready to push back.”
“It ain’t too late to blackball your coon ass, you know.”
“With what I know about you and Detective Sinclair, I reckon we’ll all get what’s owed us. Think on that before you go running your mouth over me.” Henry had been pushed to his limit whether he knew it then or not. Baltimore’s words rang in his head until he shook them out. “They ain’t gone let you wrestle in no white boys, just colored criminals and runaway dogs. They should’ve had you take the dog catcher test!” Henry had seen Baltimore beat a man to death with his bare hands during a heated conversation gone wrong, now he was wishing someone had knocked some sense into him. What Barker had put on him hurt a lot worse than a busted lip and left much deeper bruising. By the end of the day, Henry was forced to second guess his decision to join the force and reexamine himself as a man.
As the sun faded into the landscape, Delbert loitered outside of the superintendent’s office. He had been having dinner with M.K. and Ollie, laughing it up about the scheme they pulled with the carnival contest and how much fun it was congratulating the winners when Hiram Knight stormed into the dining hall demanding M.K.’s presence immediately. The party ended abruptly as Dr. Knight sneered down his nose and then breathed fire from it.
Almost an hour had passed and still M.K. hadn’t returned to the residence dorms for a game of poker with the fellows
, so Delbert went looking for him. “Nurse Bernard, have you seen Dr. Phipps? He took off with Dr. Knight and no one’s seen hide nor hair of him since.”
Willie B.’s wife Helen glanced up from her evening report and smile amicably. “Sorry, Dr. Gales, but I haven’t seen him since he signed out for dinner. You might want to check the third floor, either the tub room or the soiled linens closet. That’s where he usually takes that second-year nursing student he’s sweet on. If he don’t watch his step, he’s liable to help her get booted but good.” Helen drew a line through several items on her report, before continuing. “Poor girl can’t see for dreaming. She’s missed curfew so many times, Knight’s probably been getting an earful from Nursing Director Robinson and is passing it on down the line.”
Delbert had his suspicions that M.K. was keeping time with one of the young ladies from the nursing program, but that confirmed it. He thanked Helen and then wandered up to the third floor and searched the hiding places she mentioned. When his friend hadn’t turned up in either of them, Delbert felt compelled to hang around until M.K. finished taking a tongue lashing from the chief.
“M.K., this is not what I expected out of you, son,” Dr. Knight scolded him, with his hand on his star resident’s shoulder. “Well, it is what it is, I guess. Crying over spilt milk won’t help the situation, but I know one thing that will. There’s nothing left to do now but buying the cow,” he concluded, much to M.K.’s chagrin.
Ms. Etta's Fast House Page 17