A Rage in Harlem

by Chester Himes

  “Straighten up,” he shouted in a big loud voice. And then, as if echoing his own voice, he mimicked Coffin Ed, “Count off.”

  “And now, Little Sister,” he said to the cowering woman in the corner. “Where’s Slim?”

  Her teeth were chattering so she could scarcely speak.

  “In the – in the trunk,” she stammered.

  24

  It was hot in the small room high up on the twenty-second floor of the granite-faced county building far downtown in City Center. Pink-shirted young Assistant DA John Lawrence, who had been assigned to conduct the interrogation, sat behind a large flat-topped green steel desk, his blond crew-cut hair shining with cleanliness in the slanting rays of the afternoon sun.

  Jackson sat on the edge of a green leather chair across from him, dirty and disheveled and shades blacker than he ever looked in Harlem. Grave Digger sat sidewise on the wide window ledge, looking across Manhattan Island at an ocean liner going down the Hudson River, headed for the Narrows and Le Havre. A court stenographer sat at the end of the desk with a stylo poised over his notebook.

  For a moment motion was suspended.

  Lawrence had just finished questioning Jackson. Suddenly he stirred. He wiped the sweat from his freckled face, combed his manicured fingernails through his hair, and shifted his athletic shoulders in the Brooks Brothers gray flannel suit.

  He had read Grave Digger’s report over twice before he had begun his interrogation. He had read the report from the 95th Street precinct. The trunk containing Slim’s body had been reported by a Fifth Avenue bus driver who had noticed it lying open in the street. The police had found Slim’s body, bearing twenty stab-wounds, wrapped in a blanket weighted with rocks, and had taken it to the morgue.

  The bodies of Hank and Jodie had also been taken to the morgue. They had been identified by fingerprints as the men wanted in Mississippi for murder.

  The apartment on Upper Park Avenue had been investigated. All it had revealed as evidence had been a quantity of fool’s gold piled on the coal in the coalbin.

  He had listened for two hours to the unfolding of the saga of the high-yellow woman and the trunk full of solid gold ore with increasing stupefaction. Still he did not believe he had heard it all correctly.

  He stared at Jackson with a look of awed incredulity.

  “Whew!” he whistled softly.

  He and the court stenographer exchanged glances.

  Grave Digger didn’t look around.

  “Any questions you want to ask, Jones?” Lawrence asked with a note of appeal.

  Grave Digger turned his head.

  “What for?”

  Lawrence looked back at Jackson and said helplessly, “And you insist, to the best of your knowledge, that the trunk contained gold ore and nothing else?”

  Jackson mopped his own shining black face with a handkerchief almost the same color.

  “Yes, sir, I’d swear to it on a stack of Bibles. As many times as I have seen it.”

  “You also state, to the best of your knowledge, that the Perkins woman had already left the scene – the area – when your brother—” He consulted his notes. “— er, Sister Gabriel, was murdered.”

  “Yes sir. I’d swear to it. I had looked all over for her and she was gone.”

  Lawrence cleared his throat.

  “Had gone, yes. And you still contend that she – the Perkins woman, was held by this gang – this man Slim – against her will.”

  “I know she was,” Jackson declared.

  “How can you be so certain about that, Jackson? Did she tell you that?”

  “She didn’t have to tell me, Mr. Lawrence. I know she was. I know Imabelle. I know she wouldn’t have taken up with those people without their making her. I know my Imabelle. She wouldn’t do anything like that. I’d swear to it.”

  Grave Digger kept looking at the river.

  Lawrence studied Jackson covertly, pretending he was reading his notes. He had heard of gullible colored people like Jackson, but he had never seen one in the flesh before.

  “Ahem! And you insist that she had nothing to do with the gang’s cheating you out of your money?”

  “No sir. Why would she do that? It was as much her money as it was mine.”

  Lawrence sighed. “I don’t suppose there’s any need of asking, but it’s a matter of form. You don’t want to prefer charges against her, do you?”

  “Prefer charges against her? Against Imabelle? What for, Mr. Lawrence? What’s she done?”

  Lawrence closed his notebook decisively and looked over at Grave Digger. “What’s city got on him, Jones?”

  Grave Digger turned back, but still didn’t look at Jackson.

  “Reckless driving. Destruction of property. Some of it is covered by the automobile insurance. And resisting arrest.”

  “Are you going to take him?”

  Grave Digger shook his head. “His boss has already gone his bail.”

  Lawrence stared at Grave Digger.

  “He has!” Jackson exclaimed involuntarily. “Mr. Clay? He’s gone my bail? He hasn’t got any warrant out for my arrest?”

  Lawrence turned to stare at Jackson.

  “He stole five hundred dollars from his boss,” Grave Digger said. “Clay swore out a warrant for his arrest but late this morning he withdrew the charge.”

  Lawrence ran his fingers through his clipped hair again.

  “All of these people sound as though they’re raving crazy,” he muttered, but when he noticed the stenographer taking down his words he said, “Never mind that.” He looked at Grave Digger again. “What do you make of it?”

  Grave Digger shrugged slightly. “Who knows?”

  Lawrence stared at Jackson. “What have you got on your boss?”

  Jackson fidgeted beneath the stare and mopped his face to hide his confusion. “I ain’t got nothing on him.”

  “Shall I hold him as a material witness?” Lawrence appealed again to Grave Digger.

  “What for? Witness against whom? He’s told all he knows, and he’s not going anywhere.”

  Lawrence let out his breath. “Well, you’re free to go, Jackson. The county has nothing on you. But I advise you to contact all those claimants immediately – those people whose property you destroyed. Get them squared up before they press charges.”

  “Yes sir, I’m going to do that right away.”

  He stood up, then hesitated, fiddling with his chauffeur’s cap.

  “Have any of you-all heard anything from my woman – where she’s at or anything?”

  All three of them turned again to stare at him. Finally Lawrence said, “She’s being held.”

  “She is? In jail? What for?”

  They stared at him in an unbelieving manner. “We’re holding her for questioning,” Lawrence finally said.

  “Can I see her? Talk to her, I mean?”

  “Not now, Jackson. We haven’t talked to her yet ourselves.”

  “When do you think I’ll be able to see her?”

  “Pretty soon, perhaps. You don’t have to worry about her. She’s safe. I advise you to get about squaring up those claimants as soon as you can.”

  “Yes sir. I’m going to see Mr. Clay right now.”

  When Jackson had left, Lawrence said to Grave Digger, “It’s pretty well established that Jackson is as innocent as a lamb, don’t you think?”

  “Sheared lamb,” the court stenographer put in.

  Grave Digger grunted.

  “Have you had any news on your partner, Jones?” Lawrence asked.

  “I was by the hospital.”

  “How is he?”

  “They said he would see, but he’d never look the same.”

  Lawrence sighed again, squared his shoulders and assumed a look of grim determination. He pressed a button on his desk, and when a cop poked his head in from the corridor, he said, “Bring in the Perkins woman.”

  Imabelle wore the same red dress, but now it looked bedraggled. The side of her face
where Grave Digger had slapped her had flowered into deep purple streaked with orange.

  She gave Grave Digger a quick look and shied away from his calculating stare. Then she took the seat facing Lawrence, started to cross her legs but thought better of it and sat with her knees pressed together, her back held rigid, on the very edge of the seat.

  Lawrence looked at her briefly, then studied the notes in front of him. He took his time and reread all the reports.

  “Jesus Christ, all this cutting and shooting,” he muttered. “This room is swimming in blood. No, no, don’t take that,” he added to the court stenographer.

  He looked up at Imabelle again, slowly stroking his chin, wondering where to begin questioning her.

  “Who was Slim?” he finally asked. “What was his real name? We have him down here as Goldsmith. In Mississippi he was known as Skinner.”

  “Jimson.”

  “Jimson! Is that a name? Christian name or family name?”

  “Clefus Jimson. That was his real name.”

  “And the other two. What were their real names?”

  “I don’t know. They used a lot of names. I don’t know what their real names were.”

  “This Jimson.” The name felt unpleasant in his mouth. “We’ll just call him Slim. Who was Slim? What was your connection with him?”

  “He was my husband.”

  “I thought as much. Where were you married?”

  “We weren’t exactly married. He was my common-law husband.”

  “Oh! Were you – did you keep in touch with him? That is, while you were living with Jackson?”

  “No sir. I hadn’t seen him or heard anything about him for almost a year.”

  “Then how did he get in touch with you – or you in touch with him, however it worked?”

  “I ran into him at Billie’s by accident.”

  “Billie’s?” Lawrence consulted his notes again. “Oh yes, that’s where the other two were killed.” My God, the blood, he was thinking. “What were you doing at Billie’s?”

  “Just visiting. I’d go up there afternoons when Jackson was at work, just to sit around and visit. I didn’t like to hang around in bars where it might cast reflections on him.”

  “Ah. I see. And when you met Slim you and he connived together to cheat Jackson on the confidence game–” He glanced at his notes. “The Blow.”

  “I didn’t want to. They made me do it.”

  “How could they force you to do it if you didn’t want to?”

  “I was scared to death of him. All three of them. They had it in for me and I was scared they’d kill me.”

  “You mean they had a grudge against you. Why?”

  “I’d taken the trunk full of gold ore they used to work their lost-gold-mine racket with.”

  “You mean the fool’s gold that was found in the coalbin where you and Slim lived?”

  “Yes sir.”

  “You took it when?”

  “When I left him in Mississippi. He was playing around with another woman and when I left I just up and took it and brought it to New York. I knew they couldn’t work the racket without it.”

  “I see. And when he found you at Billie’s he threatened you.”

  “He didn’t have to. He just said, ‘I’m gonna take you back and we’re gonna rook that nigger you been living with.’ Hank and Jodie was there too. Hank was all hopped up and in that mean dreamy way he has when he’s hopped and Jodie was gaged on heroin and kept snapping that knife open and shut and looking at me as if he’d like to cut my throat. And Slim, he was half-drunk. And Hank said they were going to take the gold ore and start operating right here in New York. There wasn’t nothing for me to say. I had to do it.”

  “All right. Then you contend that you participated under duress. That they forced you on threat of death to work with them in their racket?”

  “Yes sir. It was either that or get my throat cut. There was no two ways about it.”

  “Why didn’t you go to the police?”

  “What could I say to the police? They hadn’t done nothing then. And I didn’t know they were wanted in Mississippi for murder. That happened after I’d gone.”

  “Why didn’t you go to the police after they had cheated Jackson out of fifteen hundred dollars?”

  “It was the same thing. I didn’t know then that Jackson had got hep that he’d been beat. If I’d gone to the police then and Jackson hadn’t preferred charges, the cops would have just let them go. And they’d have killed me then for sure. I didn’t know then about Jackson’s brother. I just knew that Jackson himself was a square and he couldn’t help me none.”

  “All right. But why didn’t you go to the police after they’d thrown acid into Detective Johnson’s face?”

  She glanced fleetingly in the direction of Grave Digger, and drew into herself. Grave Digger was staring at her with a fixed expression of hate.

  “I didn’t have any chance,” she said in a pleading tone of voice. “I would have, but I couldn’t. Slim was with me all the time until we got home. Then after Hank and Jodie came down the river in that motorboat they rented, they got out underneath the railroad bridge and came straight to the place where Slim and me was at. Then there wasn’t any use of thinking about going.”

  “What happened there?”

  Sweat filmed her bruised face beneath their concentrated stares.

  “Well, you see, Jodie thought I’d ratted to the police, until Slim showed him where I couldn’t have ratted. I hadn’t never had no chance. Jodie was gaged and evil and if it hadn’t been for Hank, Jodie and Slim would have got to fighting again. Hank was the only one carried a gun, and he put his gun on Jodie and stopped him. Then Jodie wanted him and Hank to take the gold ore and lam and leave me and Slim there. Slim said they couldn’t take the gold ore without taking him and me too. Then Hank said he agreed with Jodie. They couldn’t take Slim on account of the acid burns on his neck and face. The cops could identify him too easy. They’d put two and two together and know just who he was. Hank said for Slim to hole up somewhere until his face got healed and they’d send for him, but meantime they’d take the gold ore. Slim said nobody was taking his gold ore, he didn’t give a damn what they did. Then before Hank could stop him Jodie had stuck him in the heart and kept sticking him until Hank said, ‘Let up, God damn it, or I’ll kill you.’ But by then Slim was dead.”

  “Where were you when all this was happening?”

  “I was there, but I couldn’t do nothing. I was scared to death that Jodie was going to start sticking me too. He would have if Hank hadn’t stopped him. He was like a crazy man.”

  “But why did they put the body in the trunk?”

  “They wanted to get rid of it to keep from having another murder rap hanging on them in New York. Hank said he knew where they could get some more fool’s gold in California. So they just left enough in the trunk to weight it down and threw the rest in the coalbin. They were planning to drop the trunk into the Harlem River. Hank said he was going to get a truck to move it and Jodie was supposed to stand downstairs and keep on the lookout. I was supposed to scrub the blood off the floor. I was too scared to think about leaving with Jodie standing downstairs. I didn’t know he had gone with Hank until Jackson and his brother came to take the trunk.”

  Lawrence rubbed his chin angrily, trying to get the picture into focus. His eyes seemed out of focus too.

  “Just where did you fit into their plans?”

  “They were going to take me with them. I was scared they were going to take me out and kill me on the road somewhere.”

  “But you had already gotten away by the time they returned and killed Goldy?”

  “Yes sir. I didn’t know anything about that.”

  “Why didn’t you notify the police then?”

  “I was planning to. I was going down to the police station and tell the first policeman I saw. But that man attacked me before I had even gotten there, and before I had a chance to say anything the police h
ad rushed me off to jail for just trying to protect myself.”

  Lawrence paused to study the report again.

  “I told Detective Jones where to find Hank and Jodie just as soon as I got a chance,” she added.

  Lawrence blew out a sighing breath. “But you induced your boy-friend, Jackson, and his brother – er, Sister Gabriel – to move the trunk containing Slim’s body without telling them what was in it?”

  “No sir, I didn’t induce them. They had their minds made up to take it and I was afraid if I told them they’d stay there trying to get the gold ore and let Hank and Jodie come back and find them and there’d be more killing. I knew Jackson believed it was real gold ore and I could see his brother believed it too. I figured the best thing was to let them take the trunk and get away as fast as they could. Then they’d be gone before Hank and Jodie got back.”

  “You said that Jodie was standing downstairs as a lookout.”

  “That’s what I thought at first, but when Jackson and his brother came upstairs I knew Jodie must have gone with Hank. I figured that after they’d gotten away safe I could tell the police about everything and wouldn’t anybody else get hurt.”

  Lawrence looked over at Grave Digger. “Do you believe that?”

  “No. She saddled Jackson and Goldy with the body and planned to lam on the first train leaving town. She didn’t give a damn what happened to any of them.”

  “I just didn’t want to see anybody else get hurt,” Imabelle protested. “There was enough people killed already.”

  “All right, all right,” Lawrence said. “That’s your story.”

  “It ain’t no story. It’s the truth. I was going to tell the police everything. But that big black mother – that man attacked me before I had a chance.”

  “All right, all right, you’ve told your story.”

  Lawrence turned to Grave Digger. “I’ll hold her for complicity.”

  “What for? You can’t convict her. She claims they forced her to do it. Jackson will support her contention. He believes it and she knows he believes it. It’s proven they were dangerous men. Who’s left to deny her story? All the witnesses against her are dead, and any jury you find will believe her.”