by Mary Monroe
“Hey, Chunk, Baltimore,” hailed Pudge. He appeared more serious than before, wearing a satisfied grin, soft suede loafers, an off-white Stetson hat, and a perfectly tailored mustard-colored suit with a French-cut shirt and jazzy cuff links. Baltimore wanted to stand and salute him because it was the first time he’d exhibited an impeccable taste in clothing. “Sorry, I’m late,” Pudge apologized needlessly. “I told Dank about the trouble, and he wanted to ride along. Though I’d hate to wrinkle my new vines,” Pudge added, admiring his own wardrobe.
“That’s right, Mistah Floyd. You reminded me of the man I used to be, and then you put some righteous cabbage in my bank account,” said Dank, modestly dressed in dark washable clothing he didn’t mind getting dirty. “I’ll go in with you again.”
As Baltimore reached down inside his pocket, Pudge refused it immediately. “I can’t speak for Dank, but don’t insult me by making this about money. Henry’s the only reason you haven’t been walking this earth alone. That’s reason enough for me. Just tell me how we’re gonna get it done.”
There was no other way to say it. Pudge had slipped out of his cocoon and turned into a vibrant, confident social butterfly. And, just when Baltimore thought he’d seen it all, Ash Can Corvine appeared with a skinny younger man inching up beside him, like a timid animal.
“Who’s this you got with you, Ash Can?” Baltimore asked, hoping he’d be someone with a few of the answers he needed.
“Okay, Im’a say this up front so it won’t be no, uh-uh, second-guessing about it,” Ash Can stammered apprehensively. “I know y’all was thinking on coming to my house, but this is better ’cause I’m here now. Uh, this is Peedy. He’s the night bellhop over at Crest Mont. He’s been up to the room where they’s holding your friend. Every time they call for room service, the tray is to be left outside the room, on this cart.” Ash Can licked his lips and swallowed hard, turning toward his friend for him to cosign on what he’d reported. “Ain’t that so, Peedy?”
“Yeah, suh, that’s how it is every time,” Peedy confirmed. “They ring a food order down, and we hustle it up and leave the cart outside of the room. Only once, I forgot to bring ’em something to wash it down with. That’s when I saw they had this man in there with ’em, tied to a chair. He wasn’t dead, though,” he hurried to report when Baltimore’s chest heaved out. “They’s keeping him alive on purpose, appeared to me.” Before the younger bellman uttered another word, Ash Can hushed him up.
“Okay, there it is, all laid out,” Ash Can huffed, squeezing a worn cotton cap in his hands. “Peedy’s going in to work now so’s he can’t be late. I told him this kind of news would be worth something to you,” he added quietly. Dank took one step toward the old hotel employee, but Baltimore waved him off.
“He’s right, Dank. It’s worth a lot.” Baltimore peeled out four fifty-dollar bills and handed them to the frightened young man. “‘Understand I need you to be right about every piece of this.”
“Yeazah,” he answered quickly. “Every bit of it is, I swear ’fore God.”
Before they parted, Ash Can lingered, as if he had something else on his chest, so Baltimore gave him a forum to get it off. “Say what you got to, Ash. This ain’t no time to be mincing words.”
“Okay, okay, I’m not meaning this in a bad way, but I hope I never see your face again, Baltimore. People known to fall dead when you come around. I’m just asking to be left alone.” All of the men in Chunk’s office sided with Ash on his astute observation. Baltimore considered arguing that each one of the people who happened to die because of him had it coming, but it didn’t actually ring true for the girl who’d been smashed by the beer truck, so he kept quiet about the whole thing. Ash deserved to make a living without fearing Baltimore or men like him showing up again, demanding information and putting his life at risk. Ash’s request was granted like before, but this time Baltimore gave his word.
CHAPTER 16
THE 2:19 TRAIN
As soon as the sun dipped behind the Kansas City skyline, the telephone call Baltimore had been waiting for came through at the Phillip’s service station on East Ninth and Park Avenue. Peedy hadn’t been on duty at the Crest Mont but twenty minutes when he received a notice that a dinner tray needed to be hustled up to the private suite on the third floor. He rang Baltimore right away, like instructed, and then stalled until he saw Pudge’s Ford sedan roll by the Park Avenue side window. As Peedy made his way up the small elevator, with three dinner plates under tin servers to keep them warm, the taxi parked right in back of the “white only” hotel facing Ninth Street. Two colored men walked away from the taxi, draped in black full-length coats buttoned halfway down to conceal the heat they packed underneath them. Peedy’s bony knees trembled as he stopped the food cart at the door of the suite. He exhaled slowly and then knocked three times.
“Room service is here, suh!” he announced, leaning in closely to the door. When he heard footsteps approach, he backed away. “Don’t mess up, don’t mess up,” he whispered to himself before the doorknob twisted.
A brown-haired white man opened the door. Peedy made sure not to look inside right away, which was easy to do because the stout fellow with a tree-trunk build blocked his view. “What you doing there, boy?” the white man asked the black one. “You ain’t supposed to be hanging around here.”
“Nah, suh,” Peedy answered, his head bowed. “I’m itching to make a few extra dollars so’s I can take my Marigold out to the dinner t’morrow night.” His impromptu excuse must have sounded legit, because the tree trunk grinned at Peedy as if he were a child with a crush on a schoolgirl, as opposed to a grown man with a wife and children.
“Marigold, huh?” the man grunted, surveying the dinner plates underneath the tin covers. “Here, take this,” he offered, extending his hand, with three nickels and five pennies in it. “Get her a hot dog or something.” When the white man turned to maneuver the cart through the door, Peedy took his shot and raised his eyes without lifting his head, as men in his position were accustomed to doing on a daily basis.
“Yeazah, thank you, suh,” said Peedy, pretending to unlock the back wheel of the cart. “Marigold likes hot dogs.” He caught a glimpse of a large black man slumped back in a chair, bound at the chest and ankles. Peedy also remembered seeing the bottoms of a man’s slacks and shoes poking out as he sat down, out of sight and secretive-like. “That’s all I could get a look at before it was time to dash off with the twenty-cent tip,” Peedy explained to Baltimore at the end of the hall. “The colored man in that room must be a real big shot,” Peedy guessed, with four fifties in his possession to confirm it. He quickly informed Baltimore and Dank where the colored man was tied down, where the cart most likely would be stationed inside the room, and about the second man, whose legs he saw from the knee on down. “One other thing, Mistah Floyd,” Peedy recalled. “The fellas in that suite forgot to order sodas.”
Three meals seemed odd to Baltimore, but he didn’t question what Peedy had seen. Perhaps they were feeding Henry to keep his health up until he became expendable or named his coconspirators. There was no time to waste, considering that other hired gunmen could be en route to fortify their position or to move Henry to a more secluded spot. “Thanks, Peedy. You go on and make yourself scarce now,” Baltimore warned. “It’s about to get real busy in a minute. Come on, Dank. I believe these fellas need something to go with dinner.”
There would be no reason to cover their faces on this snatch and grab, because they didn’t intend on leaving any witnesses behind. Dank unfastened his coat and wielded the sawed-off shotgun with his muscular arms, as if it were a child’s toy. Baltimore gripped fully loaded forty-fives as he tapped lightly on the door of the private suite. He nodded at Dank, giving him a way out had he changed his mind, but someone approached the door from the other side, and the opportunity to back out vanished. The tree trunk opened the door, but he was talking over his shoulder to one of his partners inside the room. “Yeah, the jig’s prob
ably expecting another tip for the sodas,” he joked, turning to discover his life was milliseconds from ending. He stood there, with both hands outstretched, expecting to be given a small serving tray of soda pop bottles, and then his eyes widened. “Waaait!” he begged, covering his face in a defensive manner.
The man’s voice was gobbled up by the sound of Dank’s shotgun cutting him in half. Baltimore tore a huge gash in the man’s head as he stumbled backwards into the heart of the room. The food tray was exactly where Peedy said it would be, although most of the food had been splattered on the wall, commingled with blood and brain matter. A second man, whose pants and shoes he saw, was frozen stiff by the surprise of gunfire. He merely sat there in that chair, shaking and hyperventilating, with his mouth hung open and gasping for air. “No, don’t get up,” Baltimore said coldly. He fired twice, blowing holes in the man’s kneecaps before putting him out of his misery. The sound of a lone scream bounced off the walls as a third man poured in from the adjoining bedroom, and then a fourth. Instinctively, Baltimore kicked Henry’s chair over to avoid getting him killed in the cross fire. Baltimore leapt behind the overturned sofa, losing sight of Dank momentarily. Bullets whizzed by his head, goose feathers fluttered in the air. Baltimore inched his head up to get a bead on the two men shooting back at him. He saw one of them kneeling against the wall, and the other near the window. “Dank, the moonlight!” he yelled, praying that Dank comprehended what he was getting at. “The moonlight!” he yelled again.
Suddenly, Dank cocked his shotgun and blasted it at the window. The man who’d taken cover there was pelted with chards of broken glass. He stood up, clawing at his eyes and throat. A long, slender piece of glass had arrowed through the back of his neck. Blood squirted out like water spouting from a geyser as he fell to the floor.
“Tucker, they get you?” someone yelled from the opposite side of the sofa that Baltimore was using for a barrier.
“No, I got both of ’em,” Baltimore said in a hushed tone that distorted his voice.
“Good. Let’s get outta here then,” the white man answered back unwittingly. He huffed and climbed to his feet; three gunshots blasted him until he didn’t move another muscle.
Dank hopped up and darted over to see about Henry. Baltimore didn’t dally. He figured after all he’d been up against, the least Henry could do was live through it. Henry pushed his dry, crusty lips out to speak. “Baltimo’, I’m sorry,” he gurgled, saliva caked up in the corner of his mouth.
“Nah, you’re stupid,” Baltimore corrected him. “And you’d better not get the notion to die on me, either. Let’s beat it outta here before you make a bigger fool out of me.” He and Dank cut the ropes around Henry’s torso and ankles. The ropes were so tight, they had cut off Henry’s circulation. His feet were numb, so they dragged him down the hallway with a bedsheet tied to his waist. When nosey hotel guests stuck their noses out, Baltimore took potshots, sending them reeling back into their rooms. The service elevator stopped on the first floor. Dank headed for the side door, like they had in the initial heist, but Pudge had the car out back, running and ready. “Uh-uh, Dank!” Baltimore prodded. “This way!” Dank sprinted for the back door and kicked it open. He hadn’t ever been so happy to see that old, ugly taxi as he was then. With Dank safely outside, Baltimore went back to see what was holding Henry. He raced frantically in the direction of the elevator landing. Two black men were wrestling Henry back onto the service car when they saw help coming to his aid.
“Let loose of him!” Baltimore demanded, his lips dripping with venomous agitation. “I said, let him be,” he said, taking aim.
“It’s not going down like that,” one of the clean-cut colored men replied. “We off duty, but we keeping him. Taking him to turn him over right now.”
“Henry, I’m guessing those be colored po-lice what got you,” Baltimore hissed. “Yeah, one step above slave catchers.” He steadied his aim, with both guns pointed firmly at their heads. “Let loose of him, slave catchers,” he warned again, as they used Henry for a shield. Inching forward slowly, the off-duty cops cowered. They were obviously unarmed and praying he wouldn’t shoot while they had his friend. When they made a dumb move to drag Henry inside the elevator, Baltimore pumped several slugs at the pulley cables until they popped free from the elevator harness.
Realizing their getaway route had just been shot to hell, they released Henry and commenced pleading for their lives. Baltimore told his friend to get out back, but Henry hesitated. “Fool, these house niggahs was gonna give you over to be hung. Now I’ve got something to do. If you stick around pining for ’em, that might put you with them,” said Baltimore. Henry looked at the men, who’d simply made a terrible decision. They crossed Baltimore. Moments later, the back door slammed shut as Dank helped Henry out to the car. Before reaching Pudge’s taxi, they heard four shots sound loudly from the inside.
“Buck up, Henry,” Dank told him. “No witnesses. No how.”
Henry jerked his arm away from Dank’s helpful grasp. “I know. You ain’t got to tell me how it be.”
Out of nowhere, Baltimore bolted through the door, shouting. “Go Pudge! Go!” he hollered loudly. Dank watched as Baltimore sprinted alongside the taxi and climbed onto the running board as if he’d done it a million times. “We’ve got to move before every cop in town is after us. Pudge, you might have to put this Ford away for a while, in case somebody got the plate number.”
The driver carried on without a care in the world. “Don’t pay that no never mind. I change the plates every other week as it is,” he chuckled gleefully. “Everything is alright now. We have about twenty minutes if y’all are still gonna make that 2:19 train heading north.”
“I know, Pudge,” Baltimore said sorrowfully. “And not a moment too soon, either. It won’t be long before the station is flooded with policemen searching for two or more colored men who don’t belong. We’ll be on our way to Saint Louie by then. Don’t that sound just jake, Henry?”
Not much on words after causing two black men’s deaths, Henry nodded his head, affirming that it was alright with him, as if he had a choice. He’d been pulled from the fire by Baltimore too many times to trick himself into thinking otherwise. Sometimes a man has to strike out alone, Henry thought to himself when they neared the Union Station train yard. Oddly enough, Baltimore was thinking the very same thing, but only for another reason. That made the third time he’d almost lost his life trying to save Henry’s, and although he loved the man like a brother, that act was getting old. Perhaps the time had come to get some new friends. Either way, their destiny lay together for the next six hours, until the train stopped in Henry’s hometown. Come hell or high water; they had to get on it.
Blaring police sirens filled the cool night air as the taxi rambled into the train station. Pudge slammed on the brakes when he became overwhelmed by a stream of police cars pouring in from every entrance. “This is as far as I go, Baltimore,” Pudge sighed. “They’ll be all over the place in a few minutes. If you were smart, you’d get out now while the getting’s good. Come on. Turn around and head back with me and Dank.
Henry moaned, holding his side with both hands. Baltimore craned his neck to look out of the steamed windows. “Dammit, I didn’t know this town had so many cops. Pudge, you wouldn’t happen to have a bottle on you?”
“Sure, I do,” Pudge answered. “You know I keeps a little something on hand for cold nights.” Pudge opened his glove box and reached inside it. “Here take it, Kentucky bourbon.” Baltimore shook his hand, did the same to Dank, and then accepted the bottle of booze from the driver.
“Come on, Henry. We’re leaving tonight,” Baltimore grunted when his pal wouldn’t move. “Tomorrow ain’t promised!”
With that admonition, Henry rolled his body toward the back passenger side door. He looked up at Pudge and Dank, nodded his thanks, and threw himself out of the car. The taxi made a broad U-turn and then sped off in the other direction as winds howled through the train yard
. “It’s cold out here, Baltimo’, real cold,” Henry said, his teeth chattering.
“I know. That’s what this liquor’s for.”
“But you don’t drink.”
“I’ve got my friends to keep me warm. The lightning is for what ails you,” Baltimore answered. “Now let’s head on over to the freight-car platform. They’ll never look for us among the mongrels.”
Despite hundreds of Kansas City police officers searching through the train station, diligently checking each passenger car, not one of them thought to look inside the cattle freighters, where Henry and Baltimore shared the long ride to St. Louis with seventy-three of the foulest-smelling dairy cows from Texas. Funny thing, the cows didn’t seem to mind their company at all.
When the train reached the next destination, Baltimore helped Henry off and bid him farewell for the time being. Tears gathered in Henry’s eyes, but he fought the salty sentiment, sensing it was the end of an era with Baltimore, although that wouldn’t stop him from doing what he had to. “I ain’t gone ever forget what you done for me,” Henry said, his voice raspy and low. “Nor what kinds of things we’ve been through side by side.”
“Me, neither, Henry,” Baltimore replied, climbing back inside with the cattle. “Me, neither.” He was resigned to taking the train due north until someone decided to unload that freighter full of beef. It would give him a chance to think about Macy, Uncle Chunk, Pudge and Dank, Rot, Ash Can Corvine, and even Hattie. All the wrong he’d done in the past week worked on him, like Chick predicted it would, but the good times he’d had in Kaycee blotted those others out like they never even happened.
Reminiscing about Franchetta and the girls made Baltimore feel a little homesick. Maybe he’d slide by Whiskey Bottom and look in on his mother and baby sister, if the old man wasn’t around to stop him. But first, he’d have to pay a special trip to Harlem and make good on the debt that had started all of this nonsense in the first place. That ought to stop that old bad luck shadow from easing up behind him for a good long while, Baltimore figured. He was willing to bet on it.
