“Why don’t you get out and let me talk to her,” Chink said. “It’s important.”
Alamena sighed. “I’ll go up front and watch out the window for Johnny’s car.”
Chink pulled up a chair and stood in front of Dulcy with his foot on the seat. He waited until he heard Alamena enter the front room, then suddenly went and closed the kitchen door, came back and took his stance.
“Listen to me, baby, and listen well,” he said, bending over and trying to hold Dulcy’s gaze. “You’re either going to get me those ten G’s you promised to Val or I’m going to lower the boom.”
“Boom!” Dulcy said drunkenly. Chink gave a violent start. She giggled. “Thought you wasn’t scared?” she said.
Chink’s face became mottled with red. “Listen, I ain’t playing, girl,” he said dangerously.
She reached up as though she’d forgotten his presence and began to scratch her hair. Suddenly she looked up and caught him glaring at her. “It’s just one of Spookie’s fleas,” she said. He began swelling about the jowls, but she didn’t notice. “Spookie,” she called. “Come here, darling, and sit on Mama’s lap.” The dog came over and began to lick her bare legs, and she picked it up and held it in her lap. “It’s just one of your little black fleas, ain’t it, baby?” she said, bending over to let the dog lick her face.
Chink slapped the dog from her lap with such savage violence it crashed against the table leg and began running about the floor yelping and trying to get out.
“I want you to listen to me,” Chink said, panting with rage.
Dulcy’s face darkened with lightning-quick fury and she tried to stand up, but Chink put his hands on her shoulders and pinned her in the chair.
“Don’t you hit my dog, you mother-raper!” she shouted. “I don’t allow nobody to hit my dog but me. I’ll kill you quicker for hitting my dog—”
Chink cut her off. “God damn it, I want you to listen.”
Alamena entered the kitchen hurriedly, and when she saw Chink holding Dulcy pinned to her seat she said, “Let her alone, nigger. Can’t you see she’s drunk?”
He took away his hands but said furiously, “I want her to listen.”
“Well, that’s your problem,” Alamena said. “You’re a bar jockey. Get her sober.”
“You want to get your throat cut again?” he said viciously.
She didn’t let it touch her. “No damned nigger like you will ever do it. And I’m not going to watch out for more than fifteen minutes, so you’d better get your talking done in a hurry.”
“You don’t need to watch out for me at all,” Chink said.
“I ain’t doing it for you, nigger, you needn’t worry ’bout that,” Alamena said as she left the kitchen and went back to her post. “Come on, Spookie.” The dog followed her.
Chink sat down and wiped the sweat from his face.
“Listen, baby, you’re not that drunk,” he said.
Dulcy giggled, but this time it sounded strained. “You’re the one that’s drunk if you think Johnny’s going to give you ten grand,” she said.
“He ain’t the one who’s going to give it to me,” he said. “You’re the one who’s going to give it to me. You’re going to get it from him. And you want me to tell you why you’re going to do this, baby?”
“No, I just want you to give me time to brush off some of these hundred-dollar bills you see growing on me,” she said, sounding more and more sober.
“There’s two reasons why you’re going to do this,” he said. “First, it was your knife that killed him. The same one I gave you for Christmas. And don’t tell me you’ve lost it, because I know better. You wouldn’t carry it around with you unless you intended using it, because you’d be too scared of Johnny seeing it.”
“Oh no you don’t, honey,” she said. “You ain’t going to make that stick. It was your knife. You’re forgetting that you showed me both of them when you told me that man down at your club, Mr. Burns, had brought them back from London and said one was for you and one was for your girl friend in case you got too handy with yours. I’ve still got the one you gave me.”
“Let’s see it.”
“Let me see yours.”
“You know damn well I don’t carry that big knife around with me.”
“Since when?”
“I ain’t never carried it on me. It’s at the club.”
“That’s just fine. Mine’s at the seashore.”
“I ain’t joking with you, girl.”
“If you think I’m joking with you, just try me. I can put my hand on my knife this minute. And if you keep pressing me about it I’m liable to get it and stick it into you.” She didn’t sound the least bit drunk any more.
Chink scowled at her. “Don’t threaten me,” he said.
“Don’t you threaten me then.”
“If you’ve still got yours, why didn’t you tell the cops about mine?” he said.
“And have Johnny take the one I got and cut your throat and maybe mine too?” she said.
“If you’re all that scared, why didn’t you get rid of it?” he said. “If you think Johnny’s going to find it and start chivving on you.”
“And take a chance on you turning rat and saying it was my knife that killed him?” she said. “Oh no, honey, I ain’t going to leave myself open for that.”
His face began to swell, but he managed to keep his temper.
“All right then, let’s say it wasn’t your knife,” he said. “I know it was but let’s just say it wasn’t—”
“All together now,” she cut in. “Let’s say bull.”
“All right then, let’s say it wasn’t your knife,” he said. to shake Johnny down for ten grand. I know that for sure.”
“And what I know for sure is that you and me ain’t been drinking out the same bottle,” she said. “You must have been drinking extract of gold or U.S. mint juleps, the way you keep talking about ten grand.”
“You’d better listen to me, girl,” he said.
“Don’t think I ain’t listening,” she said. “I just keep hearing stuff that don’t make any sense.”
“I ain’t saying it was your idea,” he said. “But you were going to do it. That’s for sure. And that means just one thing. You and Val had something on Johnny that was worth that much money or you’d never have gotten up the nerve to try it.”
Dulcy laughed theatrically, but it didn’t come off. “You remind me of that old gag where the man says to his girl, ‘now let’s both get on top.’ That I’d like to see—just what me and Val had on Johnny that was worth ten grand.”
“Well, baby, I’m going to tell you,’ he said. “It ain’t as if I need to know what you had on him. I know you had something on him, and that’s enough. When that’s tied together with the knife, which you claim you’ve still got but ain’t showing nobody, that means a murder rap for one of you. I don’t know which one and I don’t care. If it don’t hurt you, don’t holler. I’m giving you your chance. If you pass, I’m going to Johnny. If he plays tough I’m going to have a little talk with those two Harlem sheriffs, Grave Digger and Coffin Ed. And you know what that’s going to mean. Johnny might be tough, but he ain’t that tough.”
Dulcy got up and staggered over to the sideboard and drank two fingers of brandy straight. She tried to stand, but she found herself teetering and flopped into another chair.
“Listen, Chink, Johnny’s got enough trouble as it is,” she said. “If you press him just a little bit now, he’ll blow his top and kill you if they burn him in hell for it.”
He tried to look unimpressed. “Johnny’s got sense, baby. He might have a silver plate in his head but he don’t want to burn any more than anybody else.”
“Anyway, Johnny don’t have that kind of money,” she said. “You niggers in Harlem think Johnny’s got a backyard full of money trees. He ain’t no numbers man. All he’s got is that little skin game.”
“It ain’t so little,” Chink said. “And if he ain’t go
t that kind of money, let him borrow it. He’s got that much credit with the syndicate. And whatever he’s got ain’t going to do neither one of you no good if I drop the boom.”
She sagged. “All right. Give me two days.”
“If you can get it in two days you can get it by tomorrow,” he said.
“All right, tomorrow,” she conceded.
“Give me half now,” he said.
“You know damn well Johnny don’t have no five G’s in this house,” she said.
He kept pressing her. “How about you? Ain’t you stole that much yet?”
She looked at him with steady scorn. “If you wasn’t such a goddam nigger I’d stick you in the heart for that,” she said. “But you ain’t worth it.”
“Don’t try to kid me, baby,” he kept on. “You got some dough stashed. You ain’t the kind of chick to take a chance on getting kicked out on your bare ass.”
She started to argue but changed her mind. “I’ve got about seven hundred dollars,” she admitted.
“Okay, I’ll take that,” he said.
She got up and staggered toward the door. He stood up too, but she said, “Don’t follow me, nigger.”
He started to ignore her but changed his mind and sat down again.
Alamena heard her leave the kitchen and started back from the front room, but she called, “Don’t bother, Meeny.”
After a moment she returned to the kitchen with a handful of greenbacks. She drew them across the table and said, “There, nigger, that’s all I’ve got.”
He started to get up and pocket the money, but the sight of the green patch on the red-and-white checked cloth nauseated her, and before he could reach the money she had bent over and vomited all over it.
He grabbed her by the arms and slammed her into a chair, cursing a blue streak. Then he took the filthy money to the sink and began washing it.
Suddenly the dog came tearing into the kitchen and began barking furiously at the door that led to the service entrance, which was in the corner of the kitchen. It opened into a small alcove which led into the service stairway. The dog had heard the sound of a key being inserted quietly in the lock.
Alamena came running into the kitchen on its heels. Her brown face had turned pasty gray.
“Johnny,” she whispered, pressing her finger to her lips.
Chink turned a strange shade of yellow, like a person who’d been sick for a long time with yellow jaundice. He tried to ram the half washed, dripping wet money into his side coat-pocket, but his hands were trembling so violently he could scarcely find it. Then he looked wildly about as though he might jump out of the window if he weren’t restrained.
Dulcy began laughing hysterically. “Who ain’t scared of who?” she choked.
Alamena gave her a furiously frightened look, took Chink by the hand and led him toward the front door.
“For God’s sake, shut up,” she whispered toward Dulcy.
The dog kept barking furiously.
Then suddenly the sound of voices came from the back stairway.
Grave Digger and Coffin Ed had converged from the shadows the instant Johnny put his key in the lock.
In the kitchen they heard Grave Digger saying, “Just one minute, Johnny. We’d like to ask you and the missus some questions.”
“You don’t have to shout at me,” Johnny said. “I ain’t deaf.”
“Occupational traits,” Grave Digger said. “Cops talk louder than gamblers.”
“Yeah. You got a warrant?” Johnny said.
“What for? We just want to ask you some friendly questions,” Grave Digger said.
“My woman’s drunk and ain’t able to answer any questions, friendly or not,” Johnny said. “And I ain’t going to.”
“You’re getting kind of big for your britches, ain’t you, Johnny,” Coffin Ed said.
“Listen,” Johnny said. “I ain’t trying to be no big shot or play tough. I’m just tired. A lot of folks are pressing me. I pay a lawyer to talk for me in court. If you got a warrant for me or Dulcy, then take us. If you ain’t, then let us be.”
“Okay, Johnny,” Coffin Ed said. “It’s been a long day for everybody.”
“Are you wearing your rod?” Grave Digger asked.
“Yeah. You want to see my license?” Johnny said.
“No, I know you got a license for it. I just want to tell you to take it easy, son,” Grave Digger said.
“Yeah,” Johnny said.
While they were talking, Alamena had let Chink out of the front door.
Chink had buzzed for the elevator and was waiting for it to come when Johnny let himself into the kitchen of his flat.
Alamena was washing the tablecloth. The dog was barking. Dulcy was still laughing hysterically.
“Why, imagine seeing you, daddy,” Dulcy said in a blurred drunken voice. “I thought you were the garbage man, coming in that way.”
“She’s drunk,” Alamena said quickly.
“Why didn’t you put her to bed?” Johnny said.
“She didn’t want to go to bed.”
“Nobody puts Dulcy to bed when she don’t want to go to bed,” Dulcy said drunkenly.
The dog kept barking.
“She was sick on the tablecloth,” Alamena said.
“Go home,” Johnny said. “And take this little yapping dog with you.”
“Come on, Spookie,” Alamena said.
Johnny picked up Dulcy in his arms and carried her into the bedroom.
Outside in the corridor, Grave Digger and Coffin Ed joined Chink at the elevator doors.
“You’re trembling,” Grave Digger observed.
“Sweating, too,” Coffin Ed added.
“I just got a chill is all,” Chink said.
“Damn right,” Grave Digger said. “That’s the way to get chilled permanently, fooling around with another man’s wife, and in his own house, too.”
“I just been tending to my own business,” Chink said argumentatively. “Why don’t you cops try that sometime?”
“That’s the thanks we get for giving you a break,” Grave Digger said. “We held him up until you had time to get away.”
“Don’t talk to that son of a bitch,” Coffin Ed said harshly. “If he says another word I’ll knock out his teeth.”
“Not before he talks,” Grave Digger warned. “He’s going to need his teeth to make himself understood.”
The automatic elevator stopped on the floor. The three of them got in it.
“What is this, a pinch?” Chink asked.
Coffin Ed hit him in the solar plexus. Grave Digger had to restrain him. Chink walked out of the house between the two detectives, holding his stomach as though to keep it from falling out.
17
CHINK SAT ON the stool within the glaring circle of light in the Pigeon Nest, where Detective Sergeant Brody from Central Homicide had questioned him that morning.
But now he was being questioned by the Harlem precinct detectives, Grave Digger Jones and Coffin Ed Johnson, and it wasn’t the same.
Sweat was streaming down his waxen face, and his beige summer suit was wringing wet. He was trembling again and he was scared. He looked at the wet money stacked on one end of the desk through sick, vein-laced eyes.
“I’ve got a right to have my lawyer,” he said.
Grave Digger sat on the edge of the desk in front of him, and Coffin Ed stood in the shadows behind him.
Grave Digger looked at his watch and said, “It’s five minutes after two o’clock, and we’ve got to have some answers.”
“But I’ve got a right to have my lawyer,” Chink said in a pleading tone. “Sergeant Brody said this morning I had a right to have my lawyer when I was questioned.”
“Listen, boy,” Coffin Ed said. “Brody is a homicide man and solving murders is his business. He goes at it in a routine way like the law prescribes, and if some more people get killed while he’s going about it, that’s just too bad for the victims. But me and Digger are two country
Harlem dicks who live in this village and don’t like to see anybody get killed. It might be a friend of ours. So we’re trying to head off another killing.”
“And there ain’t much time,” Grave Digger added.
Chink mopped his face with a wet handkerchief. “If you think anybody’s going to kill me—” he began, but Coffin Ed cut him off.
“I personally wouldn’t give a goddam if you were killed—”
“Take it easy, Ed,” Grave Digger said, and then to Chink, “We want to ask you one question. And we want a true answer. Did you give Dulcy the knife that killed Val as Reverend Short said you did?”
Chink squeezed out a laugh. “I’ve already told you, I don’t know anything about that knife.”
“Because if you did give the knife to her,” Grave Digger went on talking softly, “and Johnny got hold of it and killed Val with it, he’s going to kill her, too, if we don’t stop him. That’s for sure. And maybe if we don’t get him soon enough he’s going to kill you, too.”
“You cops act as if Johnny was a black Dillinger or Al Capone—” Chink was saying, but his teeth were chattering so loudly he sounded as though he were speaking pig latin.
Grave Digger cut him off, still talking in a soft, persuasive voice. “And we know that you’ve got something on Dulcy, or else she wouldn’t have let you in Johnny’s house and taken the risk of talking to you for thirty-three minutes by the clock. And if it wasn’t something goddam serious she wouldn’t have given you seven hundred and thirty bucks to keep quiet.” He banged the meaty edge of his fist on the stack of squashy money, jerked it back and wiped his hand with his handkerchief. “Dirty money. Which one of you puked on it?”
Chink tried to meet his gaze defiantly but couldn’t do it, and his own gaze kept dropping until it rested on Grave Digger’s big flat feet.
“So there are only two possibilities,” Grave Digger went on. “You either gave her the knife or else you found out what Val knew about her that he was going to use to make her dig ten grand out of Johnny. And we don’t figure you found that out since we talked to you because we’ve been shadowing you, and we know you went straight from your room to Johnny’s club and from there to see Dulcy. So you must know about the knife.”
The Crazy Kill Page 13
