Suddenly they froze at the sound of the front door lock being picked. Four-Four took the beer can from Deke's mouth and put it atop the table and changed the Colt to his left hand, flexing his right. Freddy swung his feet over to the floor and sat up, listening with his mouth open. They heard the door swing open and someone step inside and the door being closed.
"We got a visitor," Freddy said.
They heard the footsteps come down the centre aisle.
"A dick," Four-Four said, appraising the walk.
Freddy stepped over to the gun rack and casually took down a sawed-off shotgun. They listened to the steps move around the choir and the pulpit and approach the organ. Freddy looked at the access ladder as though in a trance.
"A big boy," he said. "Big as two men. Think I ought go up and cut him down to size?"
"Let him stick his head in, ha-ha," Four-Four laughed.
"You're not going to leave me tied up!" Deke protested.
"Sure, baby, that or dead," Freddy said.
The heavy man's footsteps passed the organ, paused for a moment as though he were looking around, then moved on slowly as though he were examining everything. Through the electronics pickup they could hear his heavy breathing.
"A fat baby with a heart," Four-Four said.
"Guts too," Deke said. "Coming here alone."
"I got something for his guts," Freddy said, swinging the sawed-off shotgun.
The footsteps circled the pulpit, stopped for a moment, then went down into the auditorium and moved along the walls. They could hear knuckles sounding the walls. The footsteps moved slowly as the man encircled the walls, sounding for a false door. Ear-shattering bangs suddenly shook the small hideout as the man began sounding the wooden floor with his pistol butt.
"Cut that damn thing down," Four-Four shouted. "The mother-raper will hear himself upstairs."
Freddy turned it down until the tapping on the floor became muted. It went on and on until seemingly every inch of the floor was covered. There was silence for a long time as though the man was listening. Then they heard the faint click of his pocket torch being turned on. Finally they heard his footsteps moving towards the door. Half-way they heard him stop and put what sounded like the palms of his hands on the floor.
"What the hell's he doing now?" Four-Four asked.
"Damn if I know," Freddy said. "Probably planting a time bomb." He laughed at his own humor.
"It wouldn't be so damn funny if you got your ass blown off," Four-Four said sourly.
They heard the imagined dick open the snap lock on the front door and pass out, closing the door behind him.
"It's time for that bitch of yours to be showing," Four-Four said disagreeably.
"She's coming," Deke said.
"She'd better come ready," Freddy said. "If she don't know where the money is, you can preach both of youse funerals." He chuckled.
"Dry up," Four-Four said.
20
Iris came in with perfect assurance. She knew she hadn't been tailed. She had shaken Grave Digger and Coffin Ed and she wasn't afraid. She knew where the cotton was and how they could get it. She knew with this information she could handle Deke. And she had confidence that Deke could handle his gorillas.
Deke and his gunmen heard her when she entered.
"That's her now," Deke said, sighing with relief.
Freddy got up from the couch and took down the shotgun again. Four-Four jacked a shell into the chamber of his. 45 automatic and slid back the safety. Both were tense but neither spoke.
Deke was listening to her walk. He could tell from the rhythm of her steps she was walking with assurance.
"She got it," he said with a confident look.
"She'd better have it," Freddy said dangerously.
"I mean the information," Deke said hurriedly for fear they might mistake his meaning.
Neither answered.
Grave Digger lay face down betwen two benches, breathing into a black cotton handkerchief, his hand on his pistol underneath his body. His black suit blended with the darkness and she didn't see a thing as she passed. He waited until he heard her footsteps ascending the rostrum, then scuttled down the center aisle on hands and knees to open the front door for Coffin Ed, hoping the sound of her footsteps would cover whatever sound he made.
But they heard it anyway.
"What the hell's she got with her?" Four-Four said.
"Sounds like her dog," Freddy said and started to laugh, but the look from Four-Four cut it off.
They heard the soft tap on the organ pipe that was the signal for entrance. Four-Four pushed a button and a panel in the back of the organ raised, revealing a small square space beneath the pipes. He pushed the second button and a heavy steel trapdoor opened upward. He raised the ladder and her gilt high-heeled sandals and legs encased in Paisley silk slacks came into view as she descended. He pushed the buttons closing the door behind her when her enticing buttocks showed. Then he raised the cocked. 45 automatic and levelled it towards her back.
Her feet touched the floor and she turned around. She looked into the muzzle of the. 45 and it looked like the head of a Gorgon. Her body turned to stone. Only the lids of her eyes moved as they continued to stretch as though her eyeballs were squeezed from her head. Slowly, without breathing, her eyes sought the face of Freddy and saw no pity; they slid off and she saw Deke tied to the chair, looking at her with raw anxiety, sweat streaming from a face contorted with terror; next they took in the shotgun in Freddy's hands and finally his nasty-mouthed sadistic face.
Nausea came up in her like the waves of the ocean and she gritted her teeth to keep from fainting. Her terror was so intense it became sexual — and she had an orgasm. All her life she had searched for kicks, but this was the kick she never wanted.
"Who was with you?" Four-Four asked.
She swallowed twice before she could find the handle to her voice, then it came in a husky whisper: "No one, I swear."
"We heard something strange."
"I wasn't tailed, I know," she whispered. Sweat beaded on her upper lip and her eyes were limpid pools of terror. "I'm clean, please listen to me," she begged. "Don't just kill me for nothing."
"Tell them, baby, tell them quick," Deke babbled in terror.
"It's in the cotton," she said.
"We know that," Four-Four said. "Where's the cotton?"
She kept swallowing as though choking. "I'm not going to tell you just to get killed," she whispered.
With a sudden movement that made her start, Freddy whipped the second straight-backed chair around behind Deke and said, "Sit down."
Four-Four stuck his pistol in his belt and took a coil of nylon clothesline from the floor beneath the gun rack. "Put your hands behind you, in back of the chair." She was slow in obeying and he slapped her across the face with the rope. She did as ordered and he began tying her methodically.
"Tell them," Deke begged piteously.
"She'll tell us," Freddy said.
Four-Four was tying her chair back to back with Deke's when they heard someone whistling in the street. They froze, listening, but the whistling stopped and there was silence. Four-Four finished tying them together on the two chairs back to back, then they all started nervously as they heard the front door of the church being opened. There was a soft sound like the padded feet of an animal and the door closed softly.
"We better look," Four-Four said. His voice stuttered slightly and his eyelids blinked rapidly as with a tic.
Freddy's nasty-looking mouth seemed breaking apart and his lips trembled. He got another. 45 automatic from beneath the couch, jacked a shell in the chamber and slid off the safety. His motions were jerky but his hands were steady. He stuck the pistol in his belt and held the shotgun in his right hand. "Let's go," he said.
Grave Digger and Coffin Ed were deploying along opposite walls when Freddy came from behind the organ, searching quickly with the muzzle of the shotgun like a rabbit shooter. Coffin Ed went down out of si
ght but Freddy saw the moving shadow. The church exploded with the heavy thumping boom of a twelve-gauge shell of buckshot firing and the heavy charge took a section out of the back of the bench beneath which Coffin Ed had flopped. Grave Digger threw a tracer bullet and in the lightning flash from the trajectory saw the bullet burn through Freddy's sport-shirt collar as he dove towards the floor, and the outline of Four-Four coming from in back of him full speed with the. 45 searching.
Grave Digger went down himself, scuttling like a crab, as bursts from the. 45 splintered benches above his head. For a moment there was stealthy movement in the dark with no one visible. Then the side of the organ began to burn where the tracer bullet had punctured it.
When Coffin Ed peeped up five rows away from where the shotgun charge had knocked a hole in the back of a bench, the rostrum was deserted and no one was in sight. But he saw the top of a head coming around the front bench on the center aisle and threw a tracer bullet at the round mop. He saw the bullet go through the bushy hair and penetrate the front of the platform supporting the rostrum and the choir. The scream was commencing as he ducked.
A figure with burning hair loomed in the flickering red light from the burning organ with a. 45 searching the gloom and Grave Digger peeped. The shotgun went off and splintered the back of the bench in front of him and the church quivered from the blast. Grave Digger fell belly down and began crawling fast, shaken by his narrow escape. Forty-five bullets were breaking up the benches all around him and he didn't dare look. He lay on his belly beneath the benches, looking towards the sound, and made out the vague outline of trousered legs limned against the platform that had caught on fire. He took careful aim and shot a leg. He saw the leg break off like a wooden stick where the tracer bullet hit it dead centre, and saw the trouser leg catch fire suddenly. Now the screaming slashed into the pool of silence like needles of flame and seared his nerves.
The burning shape of the body issuing these screams fell atop the broken leg, on the floor between two benches, and Grave Digger pumped two tracer bullets into it and watched the flames spring up. The dying man clawed at the book rack above him, breaking the fragile wood, and a prayer book fell on top of his burning body.
The burning-headed gunman was down beneath a bench, rubbing his oily hair with blistered hands, while Coffin Ed was peeping above the benches, searching for him with his long-barreled. 38 in the red glare from the brightly burning organ.
The smoke had penetrated the hideout below, and the prisoners tied back-to-back on the two chairs had gone crazy from terror. They were spitting curses and accusations, and trying desperately to get at each other.
"You're a pimp for your mother and sister, you money-sucking snake," Iris screamed with face distorted and eyes terrified like the eyes of a burning horse.
"You two-bit stooling whore, I'll kill you," Deke grated.
Their legs were tied together like their arms but their feet touched the floor. They were straining with arched bodies and gripping feet to push each other into the wall. The chairs slid on the concrete floor, back and forth, rocking precariously. Arteries in their necks were swelled to bursting, muscles stretched like frayed cables, bodies twisting, breasts heaving, mouths gasping and drooling like two people in a maniacal sex act. Her make-up became streaked from sweat and her wig fell off. Deke doubled forward on his feet tied to the chair's legs, trying to bang Iris sideways against the gun rack. Her chair rose from the floor and bloodcurdling screams came wetly from her scar-like mouth as his chair tilted forward from his superhuman effort and they turned slowly over in a grotesque arc. He fell forward, face downward, striking his forehead on the concrete floor, as she came overtop in her chair. The momentum kept them turning until her head and forehead scraped on the concrete in turn and he was lifted from the floor. They landed up against the wall, her feet touching it, his chair on top supported only by the angle of hers on the floor. She kept trying to use her feet to push back from the wall, while he twisted violently, trying to rub her face against the concrete. The motion rocked them from side to side until both chairs fell sideways with a crash and they were left on their sides on the concrete floor between the gun rack and the table, unable to move. The thunder of the gunfight above that had shaken the room had quieted to darkening with smoke. Both were too spent to curse, they remained still, gasping for breath in the slowly suffocating smoke.
Upstairs in the church, light from the burning gunman on the floor lit up the figure of the gunman with his head on fire crouched behind the end of a bench ahead.
On the other side of the church Coffin Ed was standing with his pistol levelled, shouting, "Come out, mother-raper, and die like a man."
Grave Digger took careful aim between the legs of the benches at the only part of the gunman that was visible and shot him through the stomach. The gunman emitted an eerie howl of pain, like a mortally wounded beast, and stood up with his. 45 spewing slugs in a blind stream. The screaming had risen to an unearthly pitch, filling the mouths of the detectives with the taste of bile. Coffin Ed shot him in the vicinity of the heart and his clothes caught fire. The screaming ceased abruptly as the gunman slumped across the bench in a kneeling posture, as though praying in fire.
Now the entire platform holding the pulpit and the choir and the organ was burning brightly, lighting up the stained-glass pictures of the saints looking down from the windows. From outside came a banshee wail as the first of the cruisers came tearing into the street.
Grave Digger and Coffin Ed ran barefooted through the flame and kicked in the back of the organ with scorched feet. But they couldn't budge the steel trapdoor.
When the first of the police arrived they had reloaded and were shooting into the floor, trying to find the lock. Screams were heard coming from below and a dark cloud of smoke enveloped them. More police arrived and all worked frantically to open the door, but it wasn't until eight minutes later, when the first firemen arrived with axes and crowbars, it got opened.
Grave Digger pushed everyone aside and went down first with Coffin Ed following. He grabbed the chairs with the two figures and righted them. Iris was facing them and she was strangling in the smoke and tears were streaming down her face. Before moving to release her, he leaned down and looked into her face.
"And now, little sister, where's the cotton?"
Firemen and policemen were crowding around, coughing and crying in the dense smoke.
"Let them loose, take them out of here," a uniformed sergeant ordered. "They'll suffocate."
Iris looked down, thinking furiously, trying to figure an angle for herself.
"What cotton?" she said, to give herself time.
Grave Digger leaned forward until his face almost touched hers. His eyes were bright red and veins stood out in his temples. His neck swelled and his lumpy unshaven face contorted with rage.
"Baby, you'd have never come here if you didn't know," he said in a cotton-dry voice, gasping and coughing for breath. He raised his long-barreled. 38 and aimed it at one of her eyes.
Coffin Ed drew his pistol and held back the policemen and firemen. His acid-burned face was jumping as though cooking in the heat and his eyes looked insane.
"And you'll never leave here alive unless you tell," Grave Digger finished.
Silence fell. No one moved. No one believed he would kill her, but no one dared interfere because of Coffin Ed; he looked capable of anything.
Iris looked down at Grave Digger's burned stockinged feet. Fearfully her gaze lifted to his burning red eyes. She believed it.
"Billie's doing a dance with it," she whispered.
"Take them," Grave Digger said, as he and Coffin Ed turned, hurrying off.
21
The dance floor of the Cotton Club stood on a platform level with the tops of the tables and also served as a stage for the big floor-shows presented. At the back were curtained exits into the wings which contained the dressing-rooms.
When Grave Digger and Coffin Ed peered from behind the curtains to one
of the wings, they saw the club was filled with well-dressed people, white and colored, sitting about small tables with cotton-white covers, their eyes shining like liquid crystals in faces made exotic by candlelight.
A piano was playing frenetically, a saxophone wailing aphrodisiacally, the bass patting suggestively, the horn demanding and the guitar begging. A blue-tinted spotlight from over the heads of the diners bathed the almost naked tan body of Billie in blue mist as she danced slowly about a bale of cotton, her body writhing and her hips grinding as though making easy-riding love. Spasms caught her from time to time and she flung herself against the bale convulsively. She rubbed her belly against it and she turned and rubbed her buttocks against it, her bare breasts shaking ecstatically. Her wet red lips were parted as though she were gasping, her pearly teeth glistened in the blue light. Her nostrils quivered. She was creating the illusion of being seduced by a bale of cotton.
Dead silence reigned in the audience. Women stared at her greedily, enviously, with glittering eyes. Men stared lustfully, lids lowered to hide their thoughts. The dance quickened and people squirmed. Billie threw her body against the cotton with mad desire. Bodies of women in the audience shook uncontrollably from compulsive motivation. Lust rose in the room like miasma.
The act was working to a climax. Billie was twisting her body and rolling her hips with shocking rapidity. She worked completely around the bale of cotton, then, facing the audience, flung her arms wide apart and gave her hips a final shake. "Ohhh, daddy cotton!" she cried.
Abruptly the lights came on and the audience went wild with applause. Billie's smooth voluptuous body was wet with sweat. It gleamed like a lecher's dream of hot flesh. Her breasts were heaving, the nipples pointing like selecting fingers.
"And now," she said, slightly panting when the applause died down, "I shall auction this bale of cotton for the actors' benefit fund." She smiled, panting, and looked down at a nervous young white man with his girl at a ringside table. "If you're scared, go home," she challenged, taunting him with a movement of her body. He reddened. A titter arose. "Who'll bid a thousand dollars?" she said.
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