Black Gangster

by Donald Goines

  Prince moved his arm down Ruby's back, causing the sheet to slide and leave her partly revealed. "Send two cars down to black bottom to pick up Preacher and some of his bunch," Prince ordered. He bent down and ran his tongue in and out of Ruby's mouth playfully. "Send the last two cars over to Danny," he directed, as he ran his tongue around her neck. He stopped suddenly and sat up in the bed. "Roman, are you sure this guy deals from the rear of Downbeat Poolroom?"

  "He not only deals from there, Prince, but he pays guys to sit up in the front window and mash a button they got rigged up whenever trouble shows up."

  "So you really think this Alfonso is going to fight, huh?" Prince asked softly.

  "There ain't no doubt about that part of it," Roman replied. "Alfonso ain't scared.

  Prince's voice turned harsh. "I don't give a damn if he does fight, you just have those five carloads of punks piling out and into that damn poolroom at six o'clock sharp. You'll have Fatdaddy, Apeman, and Brute leading the way, so you shouldn't have any trouble. You tell them three big bastards that I said I want them to go after Alfonso personally. You make sure there ain't no mistakes, Roman, even if you have to be there yourself."

  "I'll handle everything," Roman replied uneasily. A lot would depend on what happened this evening. Even his position of second in command.

  Ruby lit a cigarette for Prince. "Tell Brute for me," she said, "to carve my initials in that punk's face." She laughed harshly.

  "I'll tell him," Roman answered gloomily as he walked towards the door. Prince's laughter followed him into the hall as the door closed behind him.

  Prince turned and crushed Ruby's lips to his own in a brutal embrace. Nothing else mattered for the next few minutes except her body, which cried for his caressing hands, though they hurt her in the urgency of his own aroused desire. She twisted and met him halfway. Small animal sounds escaped her as he gripped her tightly. Their breathing became harsh, the sounds loud in the spacious room. With an abrupt scream, she attempted to slip from his grip, but he held her tightly until he reached his peak. Her moans of joy changed to words of endearment as he slipped from her sweaty body and stretched out beside her.

  The shrill sound of the phone ringing forced Prince to move. He picked up the receiver. "Yeah, Shortman," he said as he recognized the voice. He listened silently for a minute.

  "Listen, man, I put you on that job because I thought you could take care of it," Prince said sharply into the receiver. "If you got that many customers, man, you can't ignore them to take care of just one. I don't care if he does want two hundred gallons. What you got to do is split up whatever whiskey you got, Shortman. Make sure all your customers get some of it. Give the guy who wants the two hundred as much as you can, but be sure to take care of the rest of the people." Prince slammed the telephone down in disgust.

  "I got to think for everybody," he sighed, then stretched out on the bed next to Ruby.

  She rubbed her hand across his forehead. "Everything will work out all right, honey."

  "Yeah, baby," he replied, sarcasm in his voice. "Just like it worked out when they brought me that goddamn broken-down baseball player. I asked everybody to try and find me a fuckin' man I could build an organization around, and what do they come up with?" He answered his own question. "A goddamn brokendown ballplayer."

  "Okay, daddy, you ain't got to repeat yourself ten times before I get the message. The only thing I don't understand, Prince, is what was wrong with the ballplayer. He was black, intelligent, plus he'd been to college. What else could you ask for? That's what you wanted, someone with an education behind him."

  Prince looked up at her as she rested on her elbows, staring at him curiously. He smiled briefly; she was so lovely that at times she almost took his breath away, with her delicate, cameo-perfect features. She returned his stare with widening brown eyes. He ran his hands over her honey-colored arms until she drew back with a laugh.

  "Stop, baby. I know what that's leading up to. First, explain to me why you don't want the man."

  He pulled her down and kissed her slowly. Ruby finally managed to slip out of his grip. "Is that the only answer you're going to give me?" she asked. Her voice sounded like music.

  Prince laughed lightly. "Okay, baby." He released her arm. "Dig this now. First, if we used the ballplayer, we wouldn't be able to control him. The man has got too much pull, baby. He's still tight with different honkies that got pull. Just because he was in that car accident, it didn't break off his contacts. He still goes to functions that are slanted towards Whitey. He gets coverage in the newspaper whenever he opens his goddamn mouth on anything."

  Prince held up his hand, cutting her off. "I know, it sounds like that's what we need, but it's not. If we could control him, yes, but since we can't, no. He gets ballplayer insurance for his accident, so he's not dependent on us for money. What we need, and what we must have, is an angry black man who needs cash money. Do you understand what I mean? If we get one dependent on us for money, we can manipulate him like we want to. Not like he wants to." His voice had risen slightly.

  "Okay, I understand now," Ruby replied. "You know, Prince, I was just thinking."

  "I'll bet!" he replied quickly, rubbing her arm.

  Ruby pulled away. "Prince, seriously now. Have you given it any thought about being the head leader of this thing you want to get started?" She rushed on before he could answer. "You're black, tall, too, so all you'd have to do would be to let your hair grow out longer. You know what I mean, let your natural get that look that Whitey thinks all militant brothers wear." She stopped hesitantly, then continued. "You can speak in front of a crowd of people, so that ain't no problem."

  Prince gave her a startled glance, but it was instantly obliterated by his usual self-contained smile. "I've got too many things to take care of now, honey. Where in the fuck would I have time to organize and lead a black militant group?"

  "You could do it if you tried," she replied wryly. "Just think a minute, Prince. If you were the leader, you would always have an excuse for whatever happened."

  He had already thought about it. The only trouble now was how to accept the idea without giving her too much credit for coming up with it. He had thought about taking over the leadership of his future militant organization on many occasions but had denied himself the opportunity because of the work involved. Now, since Ruby had brought the matter up, he was sure he could work out a solution just by giving her a lot of the work.

  "I'll tell you what, honey. I'll let you take care of getting the hall rented for our first meeting, plus getting everybody lined up. If you have any trouble, come to me."

  Ruby stared at him with respect as he began to outline her duties. She listened to him closely as he explained step by step what had to be done. As the beauty of his plan began to unfold, she had to force herself to smother a smile. Her ultimate interests were nearly as ambitious as his were, but as she listened to Prince she realized he was opening avenues she had never imagined possible.

  As Roman left the apartment, his steps were uncertain and wavering. He realized that he would have to carry out Prince's plans, but of one thing he was sure. No matter what happened, he would not be one of the actual participants. There was no way for him to avoid the fact, he reasoned coldly, that he was frightened to death of some of Prince's grand schemes. There was logic in most of them, he admitted, but he wasn't fooled. Prince was using them all as though they were chess pieces. Roman was aware that he was not being used as a pawn, not even as a knight or rook. Prince had reserved a special slot for him. He was being used as the strong piece on the board, the dominating queen. Before the king could fall, which Prince considered himself, the queen would more than likely be toppled; but the fact still remained that the queen would be given up to protect the king.

  Roman started the car up and drove slowly across town towards the warehouse. He glanced at his watch, still deep in thought. It would take a lot of arrests before either Prince or himself became vulnerable, but he d
ecided to make sure there were more people than even Prince had thought about in front of him. He stopped at a phone booth. Better to deal through a phone, he decided, and called Preacher. In a matter of minutes he had given Preacher all the responsibility for the hit.

  He walked back to the car, smoking nervously. He wondered what his woman was doing. He decided to drive over to his apartment and wait there for the results of the orders he had passed on. If everything went off as he planned, he had nothing to worry about. If it didn't, well, he'd worry about that when it came up. The idea of what had happened to Square Dave flashed through his mind and he shivered from a cold stab of fear.

  The afternoon traffic was beginning to get heavy so he drove faster, almost running a red light. He forced himself to slow down. Dot would be there when he got home, he told himself, but he realized instantly that he didn't care if she was there or not. What he was terrified about was the thought of what he had set in motion.

  The "big three," led by Brute, stepped out of a cab at the same instant as a black sedan with six young men in it pulled up to the curb. The evening sun shining in the distance seemed to grow dimmer before the formidable sight of the hoodlums. A young kid not yet in his teens stopped in front of Brute and said, "I got a bus on the phone to block up one end of this street. Which end?"

  Fatdaddy grinned at the kid. "Take your boys and block up that end," he said and pointed his finger to the south. The kid waved his arm as he went down the street; in seconds he was joined by twenty more kids his age, all wearing turtleneck sweaters.

  "I'll bet not one of them is thirteen yet," Fatdaddy said to no one in particular.

  Apeman turned and motioned to the four cars that pulled up by the first one. "Take your bunch and block off that end, Danny, since that bunch of kids are handling the other end. You make sure don't no fuckin' cops get close enough until we get finished."

  To the idle bystanders in front of the poolroom, the street seemed to erupt with tough hoodlums carrying chains and wearing brass knuckles. When the mass of thugs bore down on them, one tall, scrawny kid turned and ran into the poolroom, giving alarm to the toughs inside. The small group in the poolroom broke up and ran in different directions. Before they could fully arm themselves with pool sticks and cue balls, the mob, led by Apeman, burst through the front door. The lookout man stepped on the alarm buzzer a second before Apeman leaped the counter.

  "You bastard you!" Apeman grunted. He swung and shattered the man's teeth with a handful of brass knuckles.

  "Ough, ough, oh my God!" the lookout man screamed as he covered his bloody mouth with his hand. Another blow to the head sent him sprawling to the floor.

  Brute and Fatdaddy fought their way to the back room, leaving in their wake a trail of human wreckage from the tire irons they swung.

  Preacher fell to the floor from a blow from a cue stick. "Goddamnit!" he cursed, as he rolled under the nearest table.

  The scrawny kid who had given the alarm was on the floor shrieking, his mouth a gaping, bloody hole. Apeman continued to rain blows upon him. In panic, the boy rolled under the nearest pool table, unfortunately right next to Preacher.

  "Well, well," Preacher said as his hand flashed under his coat and came out with his razor. He lashed out, slashing the boy across the neck. Blood gushed from the open wound in the kid's neck, and a scream died in his throat.

  At the sight of what he had done, panic welled up inside of Preacher. He stared out at the struggling forms, waiting for an opportunity to escape. He glanced at the dead kid once more.

  Somewhere amid the fighting men, someone was weeping. The sound seemed to fill the small confines of the filthy poolroom. The cigar butts and cigarettes that littered the floor now had something to swim around in. Blood. Pools of it.

  Preacher made his escape quickly, not bothering to look back.

  Brute ran around the end pool table and kicked savagely against the back room door. Fatdaddy, running up, took the door off its hinges with a powerful lunge. Leaping across Fatdaddy's prone figure, Brute stopped and looked around the empty room.

  "Don't stand there lookin' stupid," Fatdaddy roared as he jumped to his feet. "Out the back way, damn it!"

  "Goddamn, there's punks lying all over the place," Brute said, glancing over Fatdaddy's shoulder. "We got to get the fuck away from here," he cried in near panic.

  "Just be cool," Fatdaddy cautioned, snatching a quick look at the poolroom. "All we got to do is walk out the back door and stroll down the alley. Make sure you wipe your prints off that tire iron, Brute."

  Both men walked slowly down the alley until they reached a lot that had once been a building before the 1967 riots. They cut through the debris of the burnedout building and came out on the next street. Fatdaddy smiled as sirens sounded in the distance.

  "Pull off that jacket," he ordered as a bus turned the corner. "Lay it across your arm like I got mine."

  Brute followed directions. He climbed into the bus behind Fatdaddy and both men walked to the rear and sat down quietly.

  Across town in an upstairs flat of a two-family house, Dot watched Roman as he paced up and down. Small specks of gold seemed to dance off of Roman's brown silk suit as the sunlight played tag across his back. "You're the walkingest damn man I've ever seen," Dot snapped.

  He turned sharply to her. "Just shut your goddamn mouth," he snarled, ignoring the tempting view of her crossed legs.

  Roman went back to pacing, so Dot picked up a novel and glanced at it. But she couldn't keep her mind on the book. Something had happened, and for some reason Roman hadn't let her in on it. She knew he was upset about something, though. They had been living together for four years now, ever since she turned sixteen. She remembered her father's harsh laugh as she packed her few belongings and left. He had believed Roman would make her a prostitute, but she had known better. Ever since she could remember, her father's brutal advice had kept her aware of what was going on. "Always remember," he used to tell her, "that you're black and poor, so don't never do nothing that you ain't going to get paid for. I'd rather see you selling your ass than out free-fuckin', 'cause whenever you get knocked up, it's goin' be yours to take care of. Ain't no room in this house for no goddamn kids, so make sure you got some way to support yourself and whatever you bring into this world."

  When her mother had tried to warn him about talking to her like that, he had snatched Dot by the arm and stared down into her young face. "That shit your mother is talkin' ain't nothin' but neck," he had said. "I'm your daddy and I love you, but I damn sure don't love you more than I love myself. If we was out in a desert somewhere and didn't have but one glass of water between us, who do you think would drink it, me or you?"

  She had stared up into his face and realized just what he was trying to tell her. She smiled coldly to herself as she remembered his last warning. While she was packing, he had stepped into her small bedroom and said, "Always remember, Dot, what I been telling you. It's all right to love somebody, but don't never put nobody in front of you. Not even your Jesus, baby. If you do that, you'll have far less chances of being hurt by other people. Look out for you, girl, 'cause ain't nobody else in this world goin' ever love you the way you love yourself."

  It had been good advice, she reasoned; ever since that day she had made sure she never did anything unless there was something in it for her. There had been many girls in the neighborhood better looking than her, but she had kept Roman at arm's length until he promised to send her to school if she became his girl. And it had all paid off.

  Roman had thought he was getting the best of her, since it didn't cost anything to send her to high school, but when she enrolled in college, he had blown up once she told him what it was going to cost; but she stuck to her demand and he paid her tuition. Now she was in her second year, with more clothes to wear than any girl in her class. Yes, she had to admit, her father's warning had paid off. "Always remember, girl," he used to say, "you got something between your legs that sells better than cotton i
n New York."

  A sharp rap at the door interrupted her thoughts. Roman rushed over and opened it. "Man, am I glad to see you," he said and stepped back, allowing Prince to come in, followed by Ruby and Brute. Fatdaddy closed the door after he entered and leaned against it.

  "Pull that short-ass skirt down, Dot," Roman ordered as he noticed Brute leering openly.

  Brute, sitting on the edge of his chair, spoke up. "Ah man, it don't hurt nothing to let me look. Do it, Dot?" he asked sharply and smiled at her as she grinned back.

  Her small fox-like features had a sardonic sneer that revealed her opinion of men without her speaking it. She enjoyed their discomfort. At times she went out of her way to arouse Roman's anger with her teasing ways.

  Ruby sat beside her, crossing her golden brown legs carelessly. "What's wrong, Roman?" she asked softly, her voice sounding like chimes.

  "Why don't you check your woman, Prince? We got more important business than to have some goddamn women flashin' their ass," Roman said sharply.

  Prince smiled. "I like to see my boys happy," he said quietly, "and besides, Brute seems to be really enjoying himself."

  Roman snorted. "I don't know what you could be thinking about at a time like this, Prince. It's been all over the goddamn news all evening, man. Two of them guys died from that rumble and they're looking for at least one more to die before the night's over."

  Dot sat up suddenly. She hadn't known they had been responsible for that fight. No wonder Roman had been on edge all evening, she thought.

  "So who gives a fuck?" Fatdaddy said, returning from the portable bar. He gave Prince a drink. "You been carrying on about them punks ever since you heard the news, Roman. What the hell do you want Prince to do, play God and bring them back?"

  "Ruby," Prince said sharply, "take Dot in the bedroom and explain to her about the organization we're going to start up." His eyes warned Roman and Fatdaddy to shut up.