The Conjure-Man Dies

by Rudolph Fisher

  ‘There’s no hurry. You can wait up front a few minutes.’

  ‘You said if I tol’ you—’ Doty Hicks was changing from abjection and pleading to suspicion and anger. ‘What you want to say so for if you wasn’t go’n’—’

  ‘I said you must tell your story first. You’ve only told part of it. I also said that if Frimbo wasn’t dead when you came in, he wouldn’t be when you finished. That was true. He was already dead when you came in.’

  The face of the tremulous little man in the illumined chair was ordinarily ugly in a pitiful, dissolute, and rather harmless way. But as the meaning of Dart’s statement now slowly sank into his consciousness that usual ugliness became an exceptionally evil and murderous ugliness. Doty Hicks leaned forward still further where he sat, his white eyes more protruding than ever, his breath coming in sharp gasps. And suddenly, as if a high tension current shot through him, he lurched to his feet and lunged forward toward Dart’s voice.

  ‘Gimme sump’m!’ he screamed, his hands groping the table top in the dark. ‘Gimme sump’m in my hand! I’ll bust yo’ head open—you cheat! I’ll—’

  By that time Brady had him.

  ‘Take him up front,’ instructed Detective Dart. ‘Have somebody keep a special eye on him. He’s worth holding on to.’

  Struggling, cursing, and sobbing, Doty Hicks was dragged from the room.

  ‘He wanted something with which to “bust your head open,”’ reflected Dr Archer.

  ‘So I noticed,’ said Detective Dart.

  ‘Frimbo’s head was—ever so slightly—“busted” open.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Memory-suggestion?’

  ‘Or coincidence? Anybody in a rage might want to get his hands on a weapon.’

  ‘With which to “bust open” an offending cranium. No doubt. Rather over-effective way to “put a spell” on a fellow though.’

  ‘Exactly. Wouldn’t have to put a spell on him if you were going to brain him with a club.’

  ‘No. Yet—if you weren’t going to brain him—if you just wanted him to keep still while the spell was being put on—’

  ‘Yes—but a handkerchief is a pretty substantial thing, also, to use as a spell. And it wasn’t put on. It was put in.’

  ‘In other words, whoever helped Doty Hicks, wasn’t taking any chances.’

  ‘Something like that.’

  ‘Turn on the light a minute. I want to look at that—spell.’

  Dart gave the order. The extension lamp went on, throwing its sharp radiance into the darkness and giving an unnatural effect which disclosed well enough the men, the two chairs, the table, the black-hung walls, but somehow did not in any way relieve the oppressive somberness of the place—a light that cut through the shadow without actually dispelling it.

  The physician stooped and, using his forceps, took the blue-bordered handkerchief out of his bag. He dropped it on the table, and with the instrument poked it about till it lay flat.

  ‘What sort of a person,’ he meditated in a low tone, ‘would even think of using a device like that?’

  Whatever Dart might have answered was cut off by the unceremonious and rather breathless entrance of Bubber Brown. Hanks, like a faithful guardian, was at his heels.

  ‘We got two of ’em—see ’em?’ Bubber breathed. ‘Doty Hicks was no trouble—too anxious to get here. But that Spider Webb—we had to chase that nigger all over Pat’s.’

  ‘Yes, thanks. But where’s Easley Jones?’

  ‘We went to where he said he lived, couple o’ doors up the street. But the landlady claim she didn’ know him. I think she got leery when she saw my boy’s brass buttons here and jes’ shut up on general principles. But we left word for him to come by.’

  ‘That’s not so good. Guess we’ll have to put out feelers for him.’

  ‘How come ’tain’ so good?’

  ‘Nobody’s anxious to get mixed up in a murder case.’

  ‘How he know it’s a murder case?’ Bubber said, using the same logic Dart had used on him earlier. ‘All I said was Frimbo wanted to see him right away. If he don’t know it’s a murder case, he’ll figure Frimbo’s got some more advice for him or sump’m and come a-runnin’. If he do know it’s a murder case, he’s long gone anyhow, so leavin’ the message can’t do no more harm than’s done already.’

  Dart looked at Bubber with new interest.

  ‘That’s good reasoning—as far as it goes,’ he remarked. ‘But the woman—the landlady—may have been telling the truth. Maybe Easley Jones doesn’t live there.’

  ‘Well then,’ Bubber concluded promptly, ‘if he lied ’bout his address in the first place, he was up to sump’m crooked all along. He didn’t have to invite me to come advise him ’bout his trouble, jes’ ’cause he saw my card. I can see why his landlady would lie—to protect him—but there wasn’t no reason for him to lie to me.’

  ‘Then what is your opinion, Brown?’

  ‘My ’pinion’s like this: I believe he gimme the right address. She’ll tell him—if he’s still there to tell. If he had anything to do with this he’ll stay ’way. If he didn’t have nothin’ to do with it, and don’t know it’s happened, curiosity to see what else Frimbo wants will bring him back.’

  ‘In other words, if Easley Jones does come back, he isn’t the man we’re after. Is that it?’

  ‘Yes, suh. That’s it. And if he don’t come back, whether it’s ’cause he lied ’bout the address or ’cause he got the message and is scared to come—y’all better find him. He knows sump’m. Any man that runs away, well, all I say is, is been up to sump’m.’

  ‘The attendant seems to have run away,’ Dart reminded him.

  ‘It’s between the two of ’em then—less’n they show up.’

  ‘What about Doty Hicks? He’s confessed.’

  ‘No!’

  ‘Sure—while you were out.’

  ‘He did? Well, I don’t pay that no mind. That nigger’s crazy. Smokes too many reefers.’

  ‘There may be a good deal in what you say, Brown. Anyhow, thanks for your help. Just go up front and keep your eyes and ears open, will you?’

  ‘Sho’ will,’ Bubber promised, proud of his commendation. But as he was on the point of turning away, his eye fell on the table where the blue-bordered handkerchief lay.

  ‘Jinx been in here, ain’t he?’ said he.

  ‘Jenkins? Yes, why?’

  ‘I see he left his handkerchief. Want me to give it to him?’

  Dart and the physician exchanged glances.

  ‘Is that his?’ the detective asked, feigning mild surprise.

  ‘Sho’ ’tis. I was kiddin’ him ’bout it tonight. Great big old ugly boogy like Jinx havin’ a handkerchief with a baby blue border on it. Can y’ imagine? A baby blue border!’

  ‘But,’ Dart said softly, ‘I asked you before if you’d seen anybody here with a coloured handkerchief, and you said no.’

  ‘Yea—but I thought you meant really coloured—like mine. That’s white, all ’cep’n’ the hem. And anyhow, when you ast me if I’d seen any o’ these people here with a coloured handkerchief, I wasn’t thinkin’ ’bout Jinx. He ain’t people. He never even crossed my mind. I was thinkin’ ’bout them three men.’

  ‘Brady, ask Jenkins to come in again.’

  When Jinx returned, the unsuspecting Bubber, whose importance had by now grown large in his own eyes, did not wait for Dart to act. He picked up the handkerchief and thrust it toward Jinx saying:

  ‘Here, boy, take your belongin’s with you—don’t leave ’em layin’ ’round all over the place. You ain’t home.’

  The tall, freckled, scowling Jinx was caught off guard. He looked doubtfully from the handkerchief to Bubber and from Bubber to the detective.

  The detective was smiling quite guilelessly at him. ‘Take it if it’s yours, Jenkins. We found it.’ Not even in his tone was there the slightest implication of any earlier mention of a handkerchief.

  ‘Ole baby blue,’ mocked
Bubber. ‘Take it boy, take it. You know it’s yours—though it’s no wonder you ’shamed to own it. Baby blue!’

  But the redoubtable Jinx had by now grown normally wary.

  ‘’Tain’ none o’ mine,’ he growled. ‘Never seen it before. This here’s the boy that goes in for colours.’

  ‘Well,’ grinned Bubber, unaware that he was driving nails in his friend’s coffin, ‘it may not be yours, but you sho’ was wipin’ yo’ face with it when you come in here tonight.’

  Dart was still smiling. ‘Never mind,’ he remarked casually, ‘if it isn’t Jenkins’ he doesn’t have to take it. That’s all for the present. Just step up front again, will you please?’

  A moment later, the doctor was saying, ‘Looks bad for Jenkins. If he’d accepted it right off, it would’ve been better for him.’

  ‘Right.’

  ‘But refusing to acknowledge it when it’s now so clearly his—that’s like being caught with the goods and saying “I didn’t take it.”’

  ‘Jenkins is lying to cover up. That’s a cinch.’

  ‘He may, of course—in ignorance—be just denying everything on general principles, without knowing specifically why himself.’

  ‘Yea,’ said Dart ironically. ‘He may. Brady, did you get that last down exactly?’

  ‘Sho’ did,’ said Brady.

  ‘It wouldn’t take much more,’ mused Dart, ‘to justify arresting our lanky friend, Jenkins.’

  ‘He hasn’t admitted ownership of it.’

  ‘No. But knowing it’s his, we can probably—er—persuade him to admit it, if necessary.’

  ‘But you’ve already got to hold that Hicks—on his own confession.’

  ‘His confession—if that’s what it was—mentioned a sort of accomplice, as I remember it.’

  ‘So it did,’ reflected Dr Archer.

  ‘Jenkins might be that accomplice.’

  ‘Well—there’s one strong argument against that.’

  ‘Name it.’

  ‘Jenkins’ character. He just isn’t the cooperating kind.’

  Detective Dart grinned.

  ‘Doc, did you ever hear,’ he said, ‘of the so-called filthy lucre?’

  Dr Archer’s serious face relaxed a little.

  ‘I even saw some once,’ he murmured reminiscently.

  CHAPTER XI

  FROM the hall came the sound of an unsubdued and frankly astonished masculine voice, high-pitched in tone, firm, smooth in timbre, decidedly southern in accent, exclaiming:

  ‘Great day in the mornin’! What all you polices doin’ in this place? Policeman outside d’ front door, policeman in d’ hall, policeman on d’ stairs, and hyer’s another one. ’Deed I mus’ be in d’ wrong house! Is this Frimbo the conjure-man’s house, or is it the jail?’

  ‘Who you want to see?’

  ‘There ’tis again. Policeman downstairs tole me come up hyer. Now you ask me same thing he did. Frimbo jes’ sent for me, and I come to find out what he want.’

  ‘Wait a minute.’

  The officer thus addressed came in to Dart.

  ‘Let him in,’ Dart said. But the order was unnecessary for the newcomer was already in.

  ‘Bless mah soul!’ he ejaculated. ‘I never see so many polices in all my life. Look like a lost parade.’ He came up to the physician and the detective. ‘Which a one o’ y’all is Mr Frimbo?’ he inquired. ‘When I was hyer befo’ it was so dark I couldn’ see, though ’cose I heard every word what was said. Fact, if one o’ y’all is him, jes’ speak and I’ll know it. Never fergit that voice as long as I got holes in my ears.’

  ‘You’re Easley Jones?’

  ‘At yo’ service, brother.’

  ‘Mr Frimbo is gone, Jones. Gone on a long journey.’

  ‘Is that a fact? Well, I’m a travelin’ man myself. I run on the road—y’ know—New York to Chicago. But say—how could he send me word to come back here if he’s done gone away?’

  ‘You received the message?’

  ‘Sho’ I did. Ha! That landlady o’ mine’s all right. Y’ know, she figured I been up to sump’m, so she made out like she didn’ know me when that cop come by jes’ now. But I knowed I ain’ done nothin’ wrong, and I figured best thing to do was breeze on back and see what’s up. Where’s he gone, mistuh?’

  ‘Frimbo’s dead. He was killed while you were here tonight.’

  For the first time, the appearance of Easley Jones became definite, as if this statement had suddenly turned a floodlight full upon him. He was of medium height, dressed in dark clothing, and he carried a soft grey felt hat in his hand. The hat dropped to the floor, the man stood motionless, his brown eyes went widely incredulous and his light brown face, which was spattered with black freckles, grew pale so that the freckles stood out even blacker still. Loose-mouthed, he gazed upon the detective a long moment. Then he drew a deep breath, slowly bent his kinky head and recovered his hat, stood erect again, and sighed:

  ‘Well I be dog-goned!’

  ‘I’m a police officer. It was I who sent for you, not Frimbo. It speaks in your favour that you have come. If you will be kind enough to sit down there in that chair, I’d like to ask you a few questions.’

  ‘Ask me questions? ’Deed, brother, I don’ know what good askin’ me anythin’s go’n’ do you. Look like to me I ought to be askin’ you the questions. How long he been daid?’

  ‘Sit down, please.’

  There was no evading the quiet voice, the steadfast bright black eyes of the little detective. Easley Jones sat down. At a word from Dart, the extension light went out. Thereupon, Easley Jones promptly got up. He made no effort to conceal the fact that the absence of surrounding illumination rendered the situation decidedly uncomfortable for him.

  ‘Why—this is jes’ like it was befo’—befo’. Listen, brother, if you ’specks to get a straight tale out o’ me, you better gimme plenty o’ light. Dark as ’tis in hyer now, I can’t make out what I’m sayin’.’

  ‘Nothing’s going to hurt you. Just sit down and answer truthfully what I ask you.’

  ‘Aw right, mistuh. But tellin’ a man somebody been killed, and then turnin’ out all the lights and talkin’ right from wha’ he was—dat ain’t no way to get the truth. I ain’ ’sponsible for nothin’ I say, I tell you that much, now. And jes’ lemme hear one funny little noise and you’ll find yo’self starin’ at a empty chair.’

  ‘You won’t get far, my friend.’

  ‘Who? I tol’ you I was a travelin’ man. If anything funny happen, I’m go’n’ prove it.’

  ‘You run on the railroad?’

  ‘Yas, suh. Dat is, I rides on it.’

  ‘Company?’

  ‘Never has no company. No suh. Always go alone.’

  ‘What railroad company?’

  ‘Oh. Pullman—natchelly.’

  ‘Porter, of course?’

  ‘Now what else do the Pullman Company put niggers on trains for?’

  ‘How long’ve you been with them?’

  ‘Ten years and five months yestiddy. Yestiddy was the first o’ February, wasn’t it?’

  ‘What run?’

  ‘You mean now?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘New York to Chicago over the Central.’

  ‘Twentieth Century?’

  ‘Yas indeedy—bes’ train in the East.’

  ‘What’s its schedule?’

  ‘Two forty-five out o’ New York, nine forty-five nex’ morning in Chicago.’

  ‘Same hours on the return trip?’

  ‘Yas, suh. ’Cep’n’ weekends. I lay over Saturday night and all day Sunday—one week in Chicago, nex’ week in New York. Tonight’s my Saturday in New York, y’see?’

  ‘That’s how you happened to choose tonight to see Frimbo?’

  ‘Uh-huh. Yea.’

  ‘What time did you get here tonight?’

  ‘Ten-twenty on the minute.’

  ‘How can you say that so positively?’

  ‘Well, I tole y
ou I’m a railroad man. I does ev’ything by the clock. When I arrive someplace I jes’ natchelly look at my watch—fo’ce o’ habit, y’see.’

  ‘You went straight into the waiting-room?’

  ‘Yea—they was a flunky standin’ in the hall; he showed me in.’

  ‘Describe him.’

  ‘Tall, black, and cock-eyed.’

  ‘Which eye had the cast in it?’

  ‘Right eye—no—lemme see—left—tell you the truth I don’ know. I never could tell, when it come to folks like that, which eye is lookin’ at me and which ain’t. But it was one of ’em—I knows that.’

  ‘Who was present when you arrived?’

  ‘Nobody. I was first.’

  ‘What did you do?’

  ‘I sat down and waited. Nothin’ else for me to, was they?’

  ‘What happened?’

  ‘Nothin’. Too much nothin’. I sat there waitin’ a while, ’bout eight or ten minutes I guess, and then a little feller come in that looked—well, he looked kind o’ dopey to me. Nex’, right behind him, come a sporty lookin’ gent in grey—kind o’ heavy-set he was, and tight-lookin’, like he don’ want no foolishness. Then two other men come in together, a long thin one and a short thick one. We all set around a minute or so, and then this short one begin to walk around and look at them decorations and charms in yonder, and the tall one with him. He started talkin’ to the tall one ’bout them little freakish-lookin’ figures on the wall, and them knives and spears. He say, “Boy, you know what them is?” His boy say, “No, what?” He say, “Them’s the folks this Frimbo’s done chopped loose, and these implements hyer is what he chopped ’em loose with.” So the other say, “What of it?” And the little one say, “Know how come he kilt ’em?” “No,” the long boy says. So the little one say, “’Cause they was so ugly. That make it look bad for you, son.” Long boy say, “Why?” Shorty say, “’Cause they was all better lookin’ than you is!” I figgered he might know sump’m ’bout them things sho’ ’nough, so I went over where he was and struck up a conversation with him. Turned out he was a sort o’ home detective, and I figgered he might be of some use to me, so I invited him to come by and see me some time when I was in town. Said he would. Say—I guess that’s how y’all knowed where to find me at, huh? He must ’a’ tol’ you.’