Black Gangster

by Donald Goines

  23

  PRINCE STARED MOODILY out of the window. Ruby should just about be on her way back, he thought impatiently. The sound of a phone ringing came to him sharply. He listened absentmindedly as Tony talked into the receiver.

  "Just a minute," he heard Tony say before he hung up. He went into the bedroom and closed the door behind him.

  Prince stared at the closed door. Tony's curious behavior hadn't escaped his notice. From the corner of his eye he had seen the fleeting glances Tony sent his way. He started for the bedroom door but stopped. If something had happened to Ruby, his barging in wouldn't do any good. If Racehorse has hurt her, I'll hunt both of them down if it takes a lifetime, he promised himself. As he stood in the middle of the room undecided, he heard Ruby's soft, arranged knock. He rushed over and opened the door.

  After finishing his conversation in the bedroom, Tony hung up the phone. He walked over to his dresser and slowly pulled out one of the drawers. It was unbelievable, he told himself. Luck didn't generally fall his way this easily. His uncle, a higher-up in the Mafia, had called him. They were trying to find out where Prince had holed up. They wanted him so bad they were willing to pay fifty thousand big ones for whoever made the hit on him. Tony grinned coldly. That was fifty thousand Racehorse wouldn't be up on. He'd handle this himself. With everybody in the city searching for Prince, he had the man under wraps.

  When Tony stepped through the bedroom door he was surprised to see Ruby, but it didn't cause the pistol in his hand to tremble. He held the gun lightly, pointed in Prince's direction. "Well, well, I see we have our little lady back," he began. "What happened to old Horse? I'm surprised he allowed you out of his sight with all that money."

  "What's the gun for?" Prince asked sharply. "I thought you were too big to start playing cops and robbers."

  Tony glanced down at the gun. "No, no, I wouldn't say I was playing kid games. Let's just say this is the instrument I'm going to use to get big stuff." Tony grinned, revealing beautiful teeth in his tanned face. "To begin with, Ruby, you bring that bag of sweet green things over here."

  That was as far as he got. Ruby glanced up at Prince before firing through her coat pocket. The bullet struck Tony high in the chest. As he fell back, the automatic in his hand went off. Prince lurched from the impact. Ruby came out of her pocket with the gun and fired again, this time hitting Tony in the face. As he slid down the wall, she pulled the trigger twice more, but the gun snapped on empty cylinders.

  "Baby, baby, you all right?" she asked frantically as she turned to Prince. He was clutching his stomach and leaning against the door. She stared at the slowly spreading blood, her eyes wide. "Just hold on, daddy, I'll get something to bandage it up with."

  "We ain't got the time, woman," he managed to say. "We got to get the hell out of here. Those shots must have been heard by someone in the building."

  She nodded. "Okay, daddy, I won't take but a moment." She ran into the bedroom and snatched the sheet off the bed. As she came out, she bent over and retrieved Tony's gun, slipping it into her coat pocket.

  They left the apartment together. Prince had his arm around her neck for support. A few people glanced out of their apartments as they passed, but no one tried to stop them. Prince pressed the bundled-up sheet against his wound as they made their way to the street. Ruby helped him into the Cadillac. After getting him settled, she walked around to the driver's side, glancing up and down nervously. "Damnit," she swore under her breath, "I'll still have to get rid of this god damn car." She frowned, troubled. She'd have to get Prince somewhere safe before even attempting to pick up another car.

  Prince rolled over on the car seat, holding his stomach. He listened to Ruby's words but didn't hear them because of the pain, the burning fire inside his stomach.

  Ruby glanced down at him as she drove. He had to have help fast. But how? Her brain raced with only one thought: how could she help her man?

  Time, she reasoned, was precious. She didn't have time for aimless driving, so why was she doing it? She turned onto a side street and parked between two cars. She leaned over and examined the wound.

  It was the first close look she'd had of the wound. "Oh daddy, please daddy, what I'm goin' do?" She was a lost woman, clutching at the only thing she believed in in life, her man. "Tell me, daddy, what?"

  He could hear her voice, he understood. He could feel her hands on his face. She kissed him, clutched his head to her bosom, almost smothering him in her fear. Tears ran down her face.

  "Can you understand me, darling?" she murmured in his ear. "I'll get you a doctor, daddy, don't worry. I'll have one as soon as I find one."

  She fingered the gun in her coat pocket. It wouldn't be impossible to walk a doctor out of his house. That was her least worry. She rested his head against the door.

  "Daddy, daddy, I got to take you out to your grandmother's. Prince, you hear me, daddy? I got to get you to your grandmother's, so I can go get the doctor." Her voice was husky. She prayed fervently as she drove. Feverishly, she picked out gaps in the traffic and sped through the night.

  Prince managed to regain consciousness enough to speak. "It's up to you, mama, it's up to you," he murmured, his voice drifting off.

  She stared down at him, her face glistening from the steady flow of tears. "Don't worry, baby, don't worry," she managed to reply.

  She pulled up in front of the old house and parked. The street was deserted. The winter wind had driven most of the inhabitants inside. The isolated people she saw were scurrying for the warmth of their shabby dwellings.

  Ruby managed to get Prince's arm around her neck. She was able to support most of his weight as they made their way to the porch of the run-down house. She pounded on the door, her eyes searching the street for prowling police cars.

  "Child, child, what done happen to you?" the elderly woman cried as she came out the door. Together, the two women managed to get Prince inside and stretched out on the sofa.

  Prince's grandfather watched the proceedings with a cold stare. He cursed suddenly and stood up. "I told you, ma, when we was watchin' TV and that boy's face came on the screen, that he done went and got in more trouble than he could get out of." He walked over and looked down at Prince. There was no compassion in his face. "I done spent ninety years in this world and I ain't never been inside no jail."

  Ruby stood up and spoke to the old woman. "You will watch him for me, won't you? I got to get out of here and run down a doctor somewhere."

  "We don't need no nigger here that all the police department is lookin' for." The elderly man ran his fingers through his kinky, snow-white hair. "Ain't havin' no trouble out of no white folks 'cause of that boy there."

  Ruby glanced at the old woman. "Don't worry, child, I'll take care of him. Don't you worry none on what that old fool is saying. He know I'm goin' take care of this boy. You just hurry and get that doctor. That's what you do. You just hurry on along."

  Ruby leaned over and kissed Prince. When she got up, she pecked the old woman on the cheek. "I'll be back as soon as possible." She glanced again at Prince before going out the door.

  As the sound of the closing door faded, Prince pulled himself up and clutched at his grandmother's arm. "It hurts so," he gasped. Then he lay back and died. There was nothing heroic in his death, just the passing of a boy who would never have the chance to see twenty-five. The two old people began to weep, tears of frustration and despair coursing down their cheeks. For the grandfather, it was the last of his bloodline. The youth he had treated with such callousness was gone. For something to do, he picked up the black bag Ruby had left behind and threw it into a corner, out of the way.

  Lieutenant Gazier was quiet as the detective car moved in and out of traffic. The trouble was coming to an end, yet he hadn't been able to find that incident that would bring him the recognition he longed for. All it would take was a small break. Whoever got the opportunity to arrest Prince would make all the headlines, and that would guarantee a boost to his career. S
uddenly he sat bolt upright in the seat. He turned around and stared at the white Cadillac they had just passed.

  "Turn around and catch up with that Caddie," Gazier ordered. The uniformed officer quickly threw the car into a U-turn and fell in behind the Cadillac.

  Ruby watched the movement in her mirror. She knew at once that it was a police car behind her and quickly ran over her chances of escaping a bust. If it was an officer who didn't know her, she had a chance. To try to escape in the Cadillac was insane; the police car was smaller and faster. She decided to bluff; she didn't believe there was a pickup out on her. She pulled over and parked with the motor running.

  The police car came up, passing slowly. Ruby stared hard at the officers, trying to see if she could recognize them. She couldn't see their faces, but the officer driving was in uniform. Her heart skipped a beat, it might be the break she'd been looking for. She waited for it patiently. That was all they needed, one good break, and she and Prince could still pull out of trouble.

  When she was just about to believe they were going to leave her alone, the police car stopped. Ruby react ed. As the officer on the passenger side jumped out, she removed the pistol from her coat pocket and rolled down the window.

  Lieutenant Gazier almost ran around the police car. He thought he had recognized the driver. He didn't want to believe his luck was so good. She would be even better than her boyfriend, because with her he would end up with both of them. Woman or not, he promised himself, he'd get his information from her before they got to the station.

  He was still smiling when he reached the Cadillac. Ruby, recognizing Gazier, fired point blank into his face. As the body of the detective fell beside the car, she plunged her foot on the accelerator. The car leaped away. Before the other officer could react, the Cadillac was almost past him. He drew and fired wildly. Two of his shots crashed through the side window. The car swerved and struck a fire hydrant.

  Silence prevailed for a brief moment. Even the streets seemed to be bidding farewell. Ruby twitched on the car seat, blood gushing from a head wound. For one brief instant, life held her, and she thought: What will my man do now?

  Donald Goines

  SPECIAL PREVIEW

  STREET PLAYERS

  This excerpt from Street Players will introduce you to "Earl the Pearl, " a ghetto spawn who clawed his way to the top and fights like hell to stay there. He views the street from his penthouse and is everybody's mellow fellow, a big spender, the toast of the inner city. He's as cool and sharp as an ice crystal. Even Joe Chink can't touch him. Then somebody puts the heat on, and his friends start dropping like flies, threatening to take Earl with them. But he bounces back... for awhile.

  I

  EARL'S APARTMENT WAS elaborately, tastefully and expensively furnished. The three young men lounging on the floor had completely disregarded the plush gold velvet couch and matching chairs to stretch out on the high-pile, red wall-to-wall carpet. Charles, a tall Negro with brown, bumpy skin and a high natural, began crawling towards the coffee table while Earl and the others watched listlessly. "Anybody want me to roll them a joint?" he asked.

  "You can twist me another, as long as you're at it, man," Billy, a slim, dark-complexioned black man called from the far corner. Billy pushed the cushion from beneath his head and rose to a sitting position, patting his hair lightly, pushing the process back in place. He eyed Earl, who was standing across the room looking out of the picture window. "Say, Earl," he said, "let's call up some square bitches and have them come over and dig this penthouse of yours, man."

  Earl, tall and brown-skinned, ran his fingers across his moustache, smiled, and walked to the glass-topped coffee table where Charles was busy twisting reefers. He picked up a joint and pointed it towards Billy before lighting up. "That's the reason I got this penthouse, Billy, instead of some run-down, cold-water flat across town," he said.

  "What the hell you mean by that?" Duke, the fourth member of the group, asked as he came over and joined the men at the table. He accepted one of the joints Charles held out to him.

  Earl took a slow drag from his reefer before answering. "I'd feel like a damn fool if we had some square bitches sitting around getting high and one of my whores should happen to come home," he said.

  Billy picked up a cushion and tossed it over beside the table so that he could kneel on it. "What difference would it make? You're supposed to be the one doing the pimping, Earl, not one of your whores."

  Duke laughed loudly. "I ain't got nothing to do with it, Earl, but Billy is pulling your coat to the real."

  "Pimping is my livelihood, nigger, so I don't need any goddamn instructions!" Earl replied sarcastically. "Neither you nor Billy would give me a goddamn penny towards my rent or car note if I blew my whores, so don't worry about how I take care of my business."

  "Goddamn, baby," Billy replied, jokingly. "If someone who didn't know us heard you talking, they wouldn't believe we was real cool with each other."

  "That's right," Duke yelled, putting his two cents in. He removed a large bankroll and began counting hundred-dollar bills on the table. "I'll gladly loan you any parts of this case, if you need it, man. Go ahead, take what you want."

  Charles twisted up the last reefer. "Why don't you motherfuckers quit bullshittin'. If it wasn't for them bitches Earl got out on the track, he couldn't borrow five dollars, let alone some big stuff. That ain't nothing but neck-and the side of it at that-that you're talkin' out of!"

  Earl spoke up with the youthful gaiety and irresponsibility of a young man who didn't care what others thought of him. "Ain't nobody asked your greasy black ass to loan me no money, so you can quit flashing that little roll of yours. You sure in the hell ain't impressing nobody with that A-D-C trap money."

  Duke stuffed his bankroll back into his pocket. "Okay, nigger, I hear you rappin'. Just 'cause you got this pad up here, you must think that makes you one hell of a pimp."

  Earl laughed harshly. "They rent these penthouses to anybody, Duke. All you got to do is be handling."

  All of the men laughed, while Duke sneered, revealing a perfect set of evenly spaced, well-kept teeth. There was a constant undercurrent of competitiveness between the men in the apartment. None really trusted the others, not where their women were concerned. It was great sport for one to end up by taking one of his friends' girls.

  Duke continued his harassment. "I still don't know how you went about getting this place, Earl. You sure don't look like no peckerwood. What did you do, send one of your white girls up to rent it?"

  Again the men in the room laughed. Earl adjusted his pants and straightened his shirt. "Whatever I did, Duke, you can bet I did it like a player. In fact, if you should want a place here and can't get it because of your extremely dark man-tan, you can let your white girl rent it, and you put on a white jacket and carry her bags in for her.

  "That ain't nothing but bullshit ya keep kickin' back and forth," Billy said suddenly. "I don't understand it, but every time you two get together, it always ends with both of you trying to drop lugs on each other."

  Charles nodded in agreement. "That's right. Instead of pimps, you act like two bitches."

  Earl and Duke glared at the other two men. Neither man actually wanted to discontinue the light exchange. Both men had a hidden dislike for one another, and yet they ran together almost every day.

  "Let's ride down on the whores and see who's catching them the biggest," Duke said suddenly as he stood up.

  A dry, bitter laugh escaped from Earl. "Since you ain't got no whores down on the track, how in the hell are you goin' find out who's catchin' what, and how?" Earl grinned at the other men, then added, "Unless what you really mean is, let's ride down and see what them thoroughbred bitches I got are doing."

  "Not really, Earl. You know you ain't the only person in this room who happens to have a soul sister working down on the track."

  "Bravo, bravo!" Billy shouted, clapping loudly. Earl watched Billy with the attitude of a man well aware of the
deceitful nature of the people he deals with.

  Charles bent over and knocked the ashes off his joint. "Well, all the reefer is gone now, so let's do something."

  "Here," Billy said, tossing a small package on the table. "Let's snort this little bit of poison up before we pull."

  Earl stared at the package as though someone had tossed a snake on his table. "Well I'll be damned, Billy. You mean to tell me you've been carrying all that smack around in my car all day without me even knowing about it?"

  "You didn't have nothing to worry about, Earl, and besides, it ain't nothing but a fifty-dollar bag," Billy answered.

  Duke bent over the table and tore off a piece of matchbox cover. He quickly creased the torn piece down the middle and stuck one end of the quill into the white powder. With an adept motion, he picked up some of the white powder with his quill and quickly stuck it into his nose. Snorting loudly, he looked around the small group. "What's the matter, baby?" he said directly to Earl. "Is a little bit of money real ly making you get shitty?"

  Earl spoke up sharply. "You can call it anything you want to, Duke, but I don't want you or Billy or any goddamn body in my house, car, or just in my company carrying no dope without me knowing about it!"

  Charles tried to relieve the sting of Earl's words. "That's about the way Dicky-boy will feel about drugs by the time he gets out of prison," he said quietly.

  His words put Billy on the defensive immediately. Everyone in the house knew just what he was saying. "What you're talking about ain't shit, Charles," Billy stated loudly. "That dope that was found in Dicky's car belonged to the white bitch, Pat. If he hadn't had the funky bitch sitting damn near in his lap, the dope wouldn't have been found at his feet."