Cry Revenge (Holloway House Originals)

by Donald Goines

  As soon as she entered the house, Dan walked up on the porch. He sat down quickly on the old brown chair that was there. It was a torn rocking chair, and as Dan began to rock, he wondered idly if the thing would bear up under his slight weight.

  He didn't have long to wait before she reappeared carrying a tray with two glasses on it. "Since you mentioned pay, I didn't want to charge you for no water, so I fixed up some ice tea," she said, then laughed loudly.

  Dan noticed that she hadn't wasted any time before mentioning money, so he decided the best bet would be to give her something at once. Then he could lead her on about some more if the need should arrive. Taking his time, Dan slowly removed the bankroll he had and quickly slipped a dollar off the bottom of it. He honestly hesitated over the amount he gave her. At first he started to give her two dollars, but it seemed as if that was too much for such a small thing. He held up the dollar as he pushed the rest of the money back into his pocket.

  "Here, Miss," he said as he took a quick swallow of the almost sugarless drink, "this sure beats drinking water on a day like this."

  She took the dollar greedily from his hand, but a look of disappointment flashed across her face. It was quite obvious that she had hoped for more, but for the life of him, Dan couldn't figure out why in the hell she thought she deserved it. Not for the damn-near bitter-ass drink she served him.

  "Young man," she began, "you'd be surprised at what things cost nowadays. For a woman my age, it's almost impossible to live."

  Without taking his eyes off the conniving woman's face, he decided to make it hard on her, to see how far she would go. Since she was too old for sex, he wondered idly just which way she would try to con him out of his bread. He could tell from her earlier reactions that she definitely wasn't satisfied with the dollar. But hell, he thought, he couldn't for the life of him see where she was coming from. If he hadn't needed the use of her porch, he'd have quickly told her to kiss his ass, the scheming old bitch!

  None of these thoughts showed as he stared earnestly into her face. "You just wouldn't believe it," she stated again, "just what it takes for an old woman like me to get along on nowadays. I mean, I can make it, but if I should want a drink, now that's something that has to be put off until the first..." She caught herself in time, or so she thought. She had been about to mention the first of the month when most elderly people got their old-age checks, but through her cunning, she thought that it was best if she didn't mention when her money came.

  She hesitated briefly, then gave her phony little laugh and continued, "Yeah, we have to wait until the first good-hearted person comes along and feels sorry for us and buys us a little something." Her little birdlike eyes darted at him to see if he was getting the message. She continued after briefly giving her brittle laugh. "He he he he he," the sound of it was loud and shrill.

  Dan tried not to hear it. He imagined an open tunnel, but no parts of his imagination could cover up the aging teeth that were revealed as her mouth opened wider and wider. The sound seemed to continue forever until for a minute he thought he was about to lose his mind.

  After about ten more minutes, he wondered if he wouldn't have been better off if he had gone on to the alley across the street and found a vacant yard.

  "Here, son," the woman croaked, her shrill voice now raising the hairs on his arm. "Have some more. It ain't often that Aunt Jeanny goes and finds her such nice young company. Nowadays young people don't want to be bothered with us old folks, but I could see at once that you was of a different kind. Yes sirreee, right off, I could tell that you was like they used to be. Ain't many of the children raised thataway nowadays. No sirreee, you just don't find them like that anymore." Her voice continued to go on and on, while Dan wondered if she would ever stop.

  He closed his eyes and wished that the voice would stop. How he would like to slam something into it!

  "Boy, son," he opened his eyes and found her leaning down over him, "son, you sleepy or something? You don't look right. Is somethin' botherin' you?"

  Goddamn right it is, he wanted to scream out at her. This motherfuckin' jones is killin' me, woman. But the words wouldn't come. At least, he didn't allow them to come. He doubted if They would even shock the old woman anyway.

  "No, no," he answered quickly, "I don't care for any more tea." He had to smile at himself. He hadn't known the goddamn difference. The shit could have been piss for all the shit he knew.

  Dan glanced up the street wildly, hoping that at any moment he might see Milton returning. He cursed under his breath. No such fuckin' luck. He let his mind drift, ignoring the pleading old woman beside him.

  This would have been a wonderful place for him to hide out, he reflected, but after a few days around the old woman, he'd be mad. Other than that, it would have been as if he had disappeared.

  "Now, if I only had about eight dollars to hold me..., Aunt Jeanny began but was interrupted by the actions of her company.

  While the woman had been speaking, Dan had closed his eyes again. When he reopened them, the first thing he saw was Milton parking his car. He watched Milton glance up and down the street, looking for Dan in his hiding place. After carefully examining the street, Dan stepped off the porch, catching the woman in mid-sentence. He didn't bother to glance back as he took the first two steps on the jump.

  The old woman stared open-mouthed at the departing figure. "You stingy sonofabitch!" she yelled at him. Whether or not he heard her she couldn't tell because he never bothered to look back.

  Before Milton climbed the last steps to his front porch, Dan was at the sidewalk that led up to his front porch.

  "Hey, Milton," he called out, "how 'bout you slowin' down for a minute?"

  Milton stopped on the porch. A look of shock flashed across his face. Dan could tell that the man resented him coming out in the open. The very first words Milton spoke proved him right.

  "Goddamn, Dan, I thought you'd at least meet me in the rear, not come running up to me out on the goddamn street!" Milton glanced quickly up and down the street. Even though he didn't see anyone, he couldn't relax. "Why don't you cut through the yard, man, and I'll open the back window."

  "Fuck that shit," Dan growled as he reached in his pocket and removed his money. He quickly removed a twenty dollar bill and a five. "Where's that fuckin' package?" The question was more like an order.

  Milton didn't have too much nerve from the beginning, so he quickly reached down into the front of his pants and removed the bag of dope that he had concealed there within his Jockey shorts. Before handing the dope over, he reached out and got the twenty-five dollars from Dan.

  "How we goin' do this, Dan? I was going into the pad and split the dope. I just wanted a small amount of it anyway," Milton pleaded. He watched Dan concealing the drugs on his person.

  "What you talkin' 'bout, man?" Dan asked, all the time being aware of just what Milton wanted. He didn't even bother to wait for an answer but turned on his heels and started back down the way he had come.

  Milton came down the steps on the run. "Hey, Dan, what's the deal, man?" he cried as he tagged after Dan, not caring now who saw him.

  "Hey, man, I gave you some cash, Milton, you can run back and cop you another bag of stuff."

  "Yeah, I could to that, Dan, but that ain't the way it's supposed to be going down. You said when I got back that we was going to get loaded off this motha- fucker, not nothin' 'bout me going back and recop- pin' with the twenty-five dollars. Shit, Dan, you done promised me the twenty-five motherfuckin' dollars just for goin' and gettin' down for you!"

  Without bothering to look back at the shorter man ,who had to run to keep up, Dan lengthened his long stride.

  The sight of a young black boy on his paper route caused Milton to hesitate, but the thought of losing out on all the dope pushed him on. "Come on, man, let's go back to my crib and break down the drugs like you said from the get"

  Dan stopped in his tracks. "I guess you ain't goin' get the message no other way, Milt
on, but I ain't givin' up none of this bread, man. If you ain't happy with what you got, it's too motherfuckin' bad, brother, 'cause you ain't 'bout to put none of this jive in your veins"

  Milton stared at him hotly for a second. "Okay, Dan, if that's the way you goin' do it, I got to go 'long with it. But mark my words, nigger, one day you'll want me to cop again and I'll remind you about this funky shit you pulled off on me today!"

  "You just do that," Dan snapped back at him. "If I should get in the shape I was in earlier today, I need you to remind me about myself, you punk-ass nigger!"

  All Milton could do was stare angrily at the taller man. If he had been able to, Milton would have tried Dan, but he knew he didn't have it trying to fight the bigger man.

  "Okay, Dan, I deserve what you did. When you lay down with snakes, you should expect to get bit."

  Dan only laughed as he started walking away. If he could have seen the look on the paperboy's face, he wouldn't have taken it for such a joke. As Milton turned to leave, he saw the young boy push his bike out into the street and start peddling it slowly. He was going in the same direction as Dan.

  11

  FAT GEORGE MOVED AROUND the house quickly. For a man his size, it was unnatural. Sweat ran freely from his brow, but it didn't stop him; if anything, it added speed to his packing. Bags upon bags were now sitting at the door awaiting the moment when they would be picked up and taken out to the waiting car.

  "Goddamn it, woman," Fat George cursed, "can't you move your ass any faster?"

  Maria looked out around the doorway from inside the kitchen. "I don't know why the hell we have to rush so, George. If I listen to you, we'll end up leaving half our fuckin' stuff right here."

  "If you don't hurry the hell up, I'm going to do just that, leave all this shit for somebody else!"

  "Well, if you do, I'll be that somebody, George, because I done told you I'm not running away and leaving my stuff!"

  "Shit!" The word seemed to explode from him. As he set his last bag down, George leaned against the doorway. The apartment was large and expensive. It was easy to see why Maria had second thoughts about leaving. The furniture was the latest in modern. The couch was deep gold with a matching pair of heavy armchairs. The thick carpets were some of the most expensive that money could buy. The long heavy drapes that were still hanging from the windows were again done in the rare gold color that Maria had found. She had had the drapes shipped to her all the way from Mexico City.

  "If you want something to do, George," Maria called out, "why don't you start taking down the damn drapes. That way, you'll save me a lot of trouble."

  "Drapes hell," George roared from the doorway. "I don't seem to be able to get through to you, Maria. We have to get the fuck out of here. Not this afternoon or later on this evening, but now!"

  "Shit, George, I'm asking you again, what the hell is the rush? Maybe if I knew why, then I could go 'long with this shit, but as long as you keep me in the damn dark, it ain't nothing serious about all this hurry, hurry, hurry shit of yours!"

  George let out a sigh. Maybe it would be better if he let her in on it, he reflected. Then she would be able to understand the importance of it and hurry the hell up!

  "Listen, Maria," he began. "Maybe it would have been better if you knew. That phone call I got this morning, honey, was a warning. Somebody told those silly-ass Fernandez brothers that I sold some drugs to Dan and Curtis. Now, you and I know this ain't nothing but bullshit, but they don't."

  "The Fernandez brothers," she drawled. "Who the hell are they but a punk named Pedro and his goddamn brother Emilio. Is that the reason why you're running scared? Goddamn, George, get some backbone! My God! Are we supposed to allow two wouldbe gangsters to run us out of our home?"

  George let out a sigh. "You don't understand, woman. It's not just the two brothers. There's a fuckin' war going on between the Chicanos and the niggers, and if the Chicanos should get the idea that I'm helpin' the spades out, goddamn, woman, do I have to spell it out for you?"

  Maria came out of the kitchen. Her hands were on her hips in an attitude of anger. "It still ain't nowhere near as bad as you make out. George, you're Mexican yourself, so am I. Do you think our people will think we are going against them? Hell no, not for one minute! I know them better than that, and you should too."

  "Yeah, any other time I'd go along with what you say, but the phone call, Maria, the person who took the chance on calling me knew what he was talkin' about! Right now can't anyone make reason to Pedro since his sister got killed. He won't listen to anybody. So should I stay here and try and reason with a fool?"

  "Well, you should do something. You got enough money to hire some people to handle guys like Pedro. So why run?"

  "That's just it. I don't want to hire people to handle Pedro. Then everybody will think I'm really on the side of the niggers. No, Maria, that's what I don't want. If somebody had to hurt Pedro because of it, it would look bad. So, I'll do the next best thing. I'll get the hell out of town for a few weeks until things die back down. It shouldn't take long. That's why I say to you to leave most of this shit. It will be here when we get back."

  "Okay, okay, George, but what about the way people are going to talk when they hear that a young punk like Pedro ran you out of town?"

  "It's not Pedro we're running from, Maria. It's those crazy-ass punks who run around with him. Every one of them is out to build up a rep, Maria, and I don't want them to get one off of me!"

  "Okay, George, I understand now, but I still think you're going about this wrong. At least you should have had the fuckin' sense to hire some kind of protection for us. If it's as dangerous as you say, shit, we need a fuckin' bodyguard right this moment."

  "If you'd quit running your fuckin' mouth and do like I ask, we won't need anything but your ass helping to lug these fuckin' bags out to the car. Come on, Maria, we can be in Mexico before daybreak if we get a good start this evening."

  As he spoke, George reached over and opened the door. Maria was in the middle of leaning down to pick up two of the bags when she stopped suddenly and froze. "Oh, my God," she murmured softly.

  George didn't have to glance around her to know what was happening. It was all like a bad dream. Ever since he first got the telephone call, it was as if he was on a stage watching other people act out their parts. No matter what he did, he didn't believe he could change what was about to happen.

  "Well, how about this shit, Emilio," Pedro said as he came through the door. "Our little nigger-lover was about to fly the coop. What's wrong, George, ain't the spades got any more money for you to suck out? Or by chance did you learn that we had heard about your constant dealing with them after you were warned not to fuck with them for a while?" Pedro's arrogance was obvious to all watching.

  12

  REALIZING THAT IT WOULD be a waste of time trying to reason with Pedro, George ignored him and spoke directly to Emilio.

  "Emilio, I don't know how your brother came up with his fucked up ideas, but he's wrong as usual. I ain't had no dealings with them spades, man. The last time I sold some drugs to them was before your brother Ruben got killed!"

  The words were hardly out of his mouth when Pedro reached over and knocked George to the floor with a straight right to the head. "You nigger-lovin' bastard," Pedro panted, "don't let me hear you using my brother's name in your filthy mouth again, you understand?" There was a wild look in his eyes and, as George glanced up from the floor at him, the thought flashed through his mind that the young bastard was completely crazy. It came as a shock to George. He had known that Pedro was wild, but he really had nothing to do with him before. This was one of the few times they were ever in each other's company.

  "Emilio," George called from the floor. "Listen to reason, man. Don't make a mistake that both of us will be sorry for."

  There was a look of indecision on Emilio's face. From it, George got a ray of hope. Before he could go on though, Pedro nodded his head and another Mexican came in and then slam
med the door shut.

  "Vic," Pedro spoke to the Mexican who had just shut the door, "what do you think? Should we shoot this bastard, or maybe cut him up a little?" Pedro's voice was now soft, barely heard by the people in the room.

  Maria spoke up. She knew the other Mexican who had come in with them. "You, Jay Novello, I know you and all your family. Now, you know me, too. Would I lie to you, Jay?" She didn't give the young man a chance to respond but continued, "Even though this shit you guys got going with George doesn't concern me, I want to speak up. Jay, you tell them if I'm lying, hear?"

  Pedro attempted to shut her up, but her voice began to rise so high that the only way he could shut her up would have been with force.

  "Listen, boys, I don't have anything to lose, one way or the other, because I'm not involved," she stated loudly.

  George knew that she was repeating that statement so that she would clear herself, but he didn't mind. He had taught her to look out for number one.

  "Now, Jay, and you too, Emilio, you boys know me, so you know I don't have nothin' to lose in this matter, so what I say is true. When George says he hasn't done any business with the blacks lately, he's tellin' the truth. For one reason, he hasn't got any stuff. I mean it. We have had to go across town to Mickie's to cop a blow just for me, so you know he ain't got nothing. If he had it, would he go over to Mickie's and waste his money? No, not George, and you guys know it!"

  Pedro let out a laugh. "You say Mickie's, huh?" he inquired, staring her in the eye.

  "Sure, sure, that's who I said," Maria answered, now more sure of herself.

  "Would you bet your life on it?" Pedro asked sharply, his eyes never leaving her face.

  "What do you mean, will I bet my life on it?" Maria asked quickly, not liking the look in the young man's face.

  "I mean, Maria, if we take the time to check this shit out and find out you're lying, your ass will be tied into this shit as deep as George's, because then we'll know that you lied trying to save his fuckin' worthless life!"