Black Gangster (27 page)

He caught himself and glanced around quickly to see if anyone had noticed. The two men in the front seat were busy talking about some girls they had lined up, so he bowed his head and said Amen.

At the same time across town, Fox, fresh out of prison, was making preparations to leave. He had had two warnings from the Black Cougars to stop selling dope, but because he was Prince's pipeline he had continued. He packed his bags with care. He glanced over at the two white envelopes full of money. Prince had given him ten thousand dollars to make another buy with, but he had decided that his buying days were over. He had eight more pieces of dope that belonged to Prince, but he was going to sell them outright and put that money on top of the ten thousand to take care of his traveling expenses. He grinned coldly, locked his suitcase, and placed it on the floor beside the other three. In a few more weeks, when Christmas rolled around, he'd be out on the West Coast with a pocketful of cash, while Prince ran around like a chicken with its head cut off, wondering whatever happened to his connect and his money.

Fox opened the closet door and took down his overcoat. He laid it on his suitcase, then glanced at his reflection in the mirror. He drew in his gut. It wouldn't be too bad in one of those swimsuits, he told himself, and a little black rinse would eliminate the gray hair on his head. Fox glanced at his watch impatiently. He wished the hell his customer would pick that shit up. He wanted to get out of the Motor City as fast as possible, although he kept telling himself that he wasn't afraid of Prince. As far as he knew, Prince didn't have the slightest idea he was getting ready to run. It was damn well time, anyway, he reasoned. The way things were going, it wouldn't be long before Prince's little playhouse came tumbling down.

Fox carried his bags into the front room and set them down beside the door. He glanced at his watch irritably. He almost decided to take the dope with him and forget about the sale, but his anger had been aroused by the Black Cougars telling him he couldn't sell dope in the city. He slammed his coat down and cursed. Wasn't no black sonofabitches goin' stop him from selling dope if he didn't want to stop, he raved to the empty room. Common sense told him to forget about the sale; he could always get rid of the heroin somewhere along the way. But he thought about the dopehouses the Black Cougars had closed up and cursed again. He wouldn't allow them the satisfaction of thinking they had run him out of town.

A sharp knock on the door snapped him out of his thoughts. He opened the door slightly, keeping the chain on the door. He saw the man he was waiting for and unhooked the chain. Before he could step out of the way, the door slammed back against him. Chinaman came in first, followed by the tallest man Fox had ever seen. Fox backed up swiftly, but he wasn't fast enough.

Before he could reach the shelter of the next room, the huge man caught him. The man's hands circled his neck, and he could feel his feet leave the floor. The hands tightened slowly as he wiggled frantically to break the hold. He beat like a child in the tight embrace of an adult. He kicked in vain as the black hands applied more and more pressure until he thought he had a band of steel around his neck.

He never even noticed when Chinaman picked up the dope he had left out on the table and carried it into the toilet. The sound of the toilet flushing came to him, but it was too late; he would never hear anything again.

Not a word had been spoken between the two men. They searched the apartment, then the body. The envelope inside Fox's coat was removed and each man took his share of the money. Then they left as they had entered, and only the sound of the winter wind broke the silence of death.

Donnie, still sitting in the backseat of the car, pointed at the truck cruising past the gas station. The driver of the truck hit his lights twice, then started to speed up. The car shot out of the gas station and began to follow the truck, unaware of the car already following the truck behind them.

Donnie leaned over the front seat. "Pass him, Van, so we can lead the way." The driver pressed down on the gas and Donnie waved out the window as they passed. The driver of the truck raised his hand to acknowledge the motion.

It took less than twenty minutes for them to leave the west side and reach the north end of the city. They pulled up in a garbage-littered alley, the lights of the lead car picking up rats of every size and description.

Donnie's driver laughed as he turned into the backyard. The fence had been removed so that cars and trucks could easily reach the house. The yard was barren of grass; it had been cleared out so that cars could drive in without any problems. On one side, boards and other rubbish had been stacked up out of the way. Further back, there were traces of where a barn used to be.

Van parked the car on the side, leaving enough room for the truck to back up to the rear door of the small frame house. The men in the car climbed out and waited until the truck driver managed to back in.

Danny jumped out of the truck grinning. "Goddamn, man, we never would have found this joint out here in the sticks."

Donnie returned the smile, but only with his lips. His grayish eyes glittered with anger. He still couldn't get over the idea of Prince sending Danny along. He needed men who would help carry the goddamn huge whiskey still inside the house, and he knew from past experience that all Danny would do would be stand around and play with his pistol as though he were Al Capone.

Donnie gritted his teeth and turned to the other men. "Okay, guys, the quicker we get the damn thing in, the sooner we can go home." His voice was mild, but he always got the results he wanted. Men liked to work for him because he would always work beside them. He never stood around and just watched.

The men opened up the back door of the truck. The huge cooker stood just inside the door. It was an old oil container, the type that can be seen in people's backyards or sitting behind farmhouses in the country. The only difference was that this one had been cut open, copper soldered around in the inside, then welded back together. Four of the men tried to lift it, but they just grunted under the weight.

Donnie walked up on the porch and spoke to the boy standing in the open doorway. "Bobbie, we goin' need all the help we can get. Is there anybody else in the house besides you and your woman?"

Bobbie, short and thin, shook his head. "My old lady ain't even here." He pushed open the door and came out. "We better prop the door open with something so we can carry that thing all the way in with out stopping."

He jumped up on the truck while Donnie searched the yard for something to hold open the screen door. "Goddamn," Bobbie exclaimed. "I don't know if I want to try cookin' with this big bastard or not. If it should blow up, man, it'll take the whole fuckin' house with it."

"Don't worry about it," Donnie replied as he put a brick against the door. "As long as you watch it the same as you did the smaller one, it ain't goin' be no trouble. If you go to fuckin' around and don't take care of business, you might just end up gettin' blowed all the way to hell."

"I don't think he got nothing to worry about," Van yelled, leaning against the whiskey still, "'cause I don't think we goin' be able to get this big sonofabitch in the house."

"I guess ya'll won't get the motherfucker in the house," Danny said, sitting down on the porch, "if all you goin' do is beat your gums about it."

Donnie just rolled his eyes at Danny as he climbed up in the truck with the other men. "Van, you help me with the back of this thing, man. The rest of you try and pick up the front."

Bobbie and the other two men moved to the front of the oil container. "Why don't we push it to the edge of the truck, Donnie, then we can get under it and carry it the rest of the way in the house?" Bobbie asked.

The men pushed and pulled until they got it moving, then three of them jumped off and waited until Donnie and Van got their end to the edge. Danny sat on the porch smoking. He grinned coldly as the men managed to get the still up and start for the porch, then stepped back as they made their way up the steps. They got as far as the door, then stopped. The still was too large to go in the door.

"The fuckin' thing is too big, man. It ain't about to go through that goddamn door," Bobbie yelled.

"Well I'll be a sonofabitch," Danny said sarcastically. "That's what I call being really bright. Here I am out here freezing my motherfuckin' ass off, and ya come up with some shit like this."

The men just gazed at the doorway as though looking at it long enough would make it wider.

Donnie glanced around at the nearby houses. "You guys keep your voices down. We ain't got no license to make whiskey, so just be cool." He stared up at the stars. It was still dark, but a tinge of light was beginning to break through. "We got to figure out some way to get it through that doorway before daylight." He glanced at his watch. "We still got a few hours, if we work fast. The squares that live around here won't be gettin' up before five-thirty or six, so let's get busy."

"Man, it's getting cold as hell out here," Danny complained, tightening his overcoat collar around his neck.

"Try doing some work, then," Donnie snapped, then spoke to the other men. "All we got to do is take the door frame loose. It should be wide enough then."

Suddenly a spotlight covered the porch. A loud voice ordered them to stand still. "Don't move," the voice continued. "We got the place surrounded."

Before anyone could reply, Danny made his move. Donnie had started to raise his arms to surrender when gunshots exploded next to him. He glanced around stupefied. "You dumb bastard," he began, but something heavy struck him in the chest. He could feel himself falling from the porch as the night exploded in gunshots.

Danny leaped from the porch, his gun spitting fire. He took two steps towards the alley, then fell as bullets struck him from every side. The other men on the porch were caught in the crossfire. Two of them had guns, but it was useless. When the firing stopped, they were stretched out on the ground.

Donnie managed to climb onto his elbow. He could hear the sound of the policemen inside the house swinging their axes, destroying the barrels of whiskey mash. As his arm slipped from under him, he wondered idly what the noise meant. When the first policeman reached him, he had already left the world of fear and doubt. No more would he have to worry about the rent or whether he would be lucky enough to escape from the quicksand of his everyday life.

PRINCE SAT AT ONE of the front tables by the dance floor inside the Roost. The clubhouse was crowded and swinging. People pushed and shoved to get near his table, and he smiled benevolently at his admirers. Everything was going as he had hoped. His only concern now was what was holding up Fatdaddy and Brute. He glanced at his diamond-studded watch. It was getting close to four o'clock in the morning and again he wondered if he had made a mistake in moving against the highly organized trucking company.

Through the din in the club there came a loud thump on the door as if a drunk had fallen against it; then it was repeated. Some of the crowd stood poised, ready to run if it was a bust. Before anyone could move, the sound of a car peeling rubber as it left the curb was heard over the roar of the record player.

One of the doormen glanced out to make sure it wasn't a raid, then the other removed the bars from across the door. As soon as the door was opened, the bodies of Fatdaddy and Brute came falling into the clubhouse. A few mild screams were heard before the girls' companions could hush them up. Prince pushed his way through the milling crowd and stared down at the corpses of his two lieutenants.

"It looks like somebody beat them to death," Preacher said from beside him. There was no emotion in his voice; it was as though he were watching a movie on the late show.

Prince stared in shock at the men at his feet. "You three," Prince said, pointing his finger at three men standing near. "Take these bodies out the back way and drop them off. I don't give a damn where, just make sure they ain't found near here." He swept the crowd with his cold stare. "I want the rest of you to stay right here and keep on jamming as if nothing has happened. Sometime this morning you will get a phone call from me, and then you will go right into action without delay."

He stepped back to allow the boys to pass with the bodies. "Preacher, you come on with me and Ruby. We got a lot to handle before this day gets any older." He turned on his heel and walked out the door, followed by Preacher.

They stood on the sidewalk feeling the morning wind blowing in off the river. "What the fuck is holding that bitch...." Prince was cut off by the roar of a powerful motor starting up. With the true street fighter's instinct, Prince jumped back down the cellar steps, while Preacher, caught off guard slightly, moved towards his car catlike. He dropped down and tried to roll under the car as a blast from a submachine gun awakened the neighborhood. Bullets ricocheted off the wall at the spot where Prince had been standing. As both men got to their feet, the dying sounds of the fleeing automobile could still be heard in the distance.