The roar of laughter from the backseat caused Prince to intervene. "Okay, killer," he said coldly, "all of you will get a chance to show your best hands before it's over, so be cool."
The group in the car fell silent. Prince reflected on his closest men as the silence held. Roman was a good man, smart, but he lacked the ruthlessness it took to rule such a gang. When they had been in the city jail waiting to go before the judge, it was Roman who had come up with the idea of flipping a coin to see who would take the weight. Prince lost, so he had pleaded guilty, stating that Roman had accepted a lift not knowing that the stuff in the backseat of the car was stolen.
It had been doubtful whether or not the judge believed him, but they realized that if Prince stuck with his testimony, it would have been impossible to convict Roman, so they released him.
"What's this black power bit, baby?" Danny asked suddenly.
"You should know as well as I do," Prince replied. "With all this black awareness coming to light, we're going to ride to the top of the hill on it. Once we get organized, we'll be able to function smoother and faster. I was in the joint when all that burning and looting jumped off in '67, but I'm here now. With the organization we're fixing to start, we'll be able to sway the people, start fights against the Man. Keep pounding it into the people's faces about police brutality, which there's always plenty of. All we got to do is keep it before the people's faces, and every time the pigs do something to a black man that stinks, we'll be on the case and cash in on it."
Danny hesitated briefly, then said, "I don't like the idea of frontin' our people off, Prince. They catch too much hell already without us stickin' a dick to them."
"We ain't goin' front them off, baby," Prince replied quickly. "If anything, we'll be showing them the way. Today is the year of the black man's revolution. Whenever a revolution jumps off, somebody gains, so why not us during this particular one?"
Danny pulled up and parked in front of a row of apartments that resembled modern motel cabins.
"This joint here," Roman began, "is the best...."
"Knock it off," Prince interrupted. "I don't want no excuses. If this is the pad you copped for me, it's too late now for you to start trying to clean up; you should have thought about it and handled it before I came home."
They entered the dinky apartment single file. Prince glanced around at the cheap furniture. The end tables were burned from cigarettes left carelessly around.
"Roman," Prince said softly, "do you really think all the members can fit into this death trap?"
Roman laughed self-consciously. "Yeah, man. They can all get in here. I would have gotten something bigger but, man, I just didn't have that kind of bread."
Cars began to pull up in front of the house, and the first group to arrive called back and forth to friends in other cars. The few girls mixed in the arriving crowds squealed loudly as they came in the door. Brute, standing beside the door, was giving everyone in a skirt a pinch on the rear.
The room quickly filled with whispering, laughing teenagers. Prince slowly raised his hand for silence. Immediately, the room became as quiet as a tomb.
Roman, watching, fought back his anger. After being the leader of this gang for over four years, he still couldn't command that kind of respect.
Prince pulled up a chair and propped his foot on it. "All right," he said quietly, "let's get down to business. I've already split up the districts that each of you will collect from. If any of you should run into any trouble trying to collect any money, contact Roman, Danny, or Chinaman."
"Collect the money from who?" Shortman asked, dumbfounded.
Prince glanced around the room, noticing the puzzlement on the faces staring at him. "Each of you will collect your money from the people that attended the meeting tonight at the club. They in turn will collect theirs from all the business places in their districts."
"That sounds like the old extortion bit, Prince. Ain't that just about been wore out?" one of the members asked.
"Yeah, it's been used time and time again, but not the way we are going to do it. There ain't enough pigs on the police force to handle all the trouble we goin' send their way. Sometime tomorrow, Brute, Apeman, Fatdaddy, and a few more of you will pay a surprise visit to most of the business places in the inner city. It don't make no difference if it's owned by black or white, they all get the same treatment."
Prince pulled a cigarette from his pack and tossed the empty package on the floor. "After you begin tearing the place up," he continued, "I'll send the gang from the neighborhood around to stop you. Now, if the storekeepers don't get the message, we'll just put his or her John Henry in our little black book and when we pay our next visit, they'll never forget it, 'cause we'll be playing for keeps."
"Damn, Prince," one of the members said, "they'll have so many policemen there when we go back, you won't be able to see past the goddamn uniforms."
"Don't worry about the cops," Prince replied. "They won't be able to stay there forever, and we got all the time in the world to wait. I got one of the best young lawyers in the country, so we won't have to worry about any bullshit arrests. As long as we got plenty money on hand bond won't be any problem. In case someone should take a fall, though, they won't have any worries. We'll take care of their people for them as long as they're away, plus put up a large nest-egg for them so that when they get out they'll have some nice money waiting."
Prince waited until he thought his words had sunk in before continuing. "Our largest income will come from dope and corn whiskey. I've already picked out which of you will be my collectors on the drugs being sold in this city. After tomorrow not a drop of horse, dexies, or reefer will be sold in this town without us getting some part of the money. All the dealers will have to pay protection to operate."
Again he waited to see the effect of his words. "I know a lot of you don't know anything about corn whiskey," he said as he removed a small notebook from his back pocket, "but it's big business." He flipped open a page. "Last year alone, in Detroit, there was over five million dollars made off of homemade whiskey."
It was a staggering sum to most of the young people in the room. They whispered back and forth until Prince interrupted. "That's right, five million, and here in this city, it's a black man's racket. Now, what we're going to do is monopolize the whiskey business. In three months, if we can get big enough, not a drop of whiskey will be sold unless we make it."
Roman stepped up beside Prince, a small notebook in his hand. "So far, we got eight whiskey stills ready to be put up, plus all the corn and sugar we'll need." He ran his finger down the page. "We got six houses rented, with the stills inside the house, waiting for operators. As far as customers go, we got fifty customers who'll take from twenty gallons down to five gallons from us at a time."
Prince nodded his head, pleased. "Homemade whiskey brings ten dollars a gallon, or if the customer buys over twenty gallons at a time, we'll let it go for eight dollars a gallon." Prince read from his notebook. "Shortman will be in charge of the operation. He will have four of you as his lieutenants. Each one of you will have a district. Your job will be to see that the members of whatever gangs are assigned to you produce enough whiskey to keep your side of the city up until we can get more stills in operation." Prince stopped and flipped a page. "Each still should be able to produce at least thirty gallons of whiskey a day. In seven days your quota will be no less than two hundred and ten gallons. At ten dollars a jug, you can add it up yourself and see how much money we'll be making."
Prince's plan had left the people in the apartment stunned. At first, his ideas had been unbelievable to most of them, but the longer he talked, the more the magnetism of his personality won them over.
"Tess," Prince said, speaking to a tall brown-skinned girl wearing a high natural, "I want you to take over absolute control of all the debs until Ruby is released. Your main job will be to see that most of the girls take at least two tricks a night someplace where the boys can roll them without t
oo much trouble. Danny will be working right beside you, so you won't have too much to worry about. The main thing is that, as soon as your girls lead a trick off, you make damn sure that girl gets the hell out of that neighborhood."
"That," Danny said, "don't seem like too much of a job to me, just taking off some drunk chasing his hard around."
Prince laughed harshly. "Don't worry," he said, "there's more to it than that. We're going to need as many stolen cars as we can get for various jobs. Sometimes when we have a large job on hand, you'll have to detain some poor trick while the boys borrow his papers to go along with his car."
Danny laughed. His admiration for Prince was obvious. "Yeah, man, I can dig it now. Just keep the trick under wraps until after the sting goes off."
"That's right, baby," Prince replied. "You got the picture now. Whatever men you might need, just let me or Roman know, and you can have them."
Prince glanced around at all the astonished faces. The magnitude of his plans had jolted them out of their fantasies of toughness.
"I didn't bother telling you," Prince said, his voice harsh, "but it goes without saying: there's no such thing as quitting. You're all in it 'til the bitter endif it should happen to go that way."
Preacher, a tall brown-skinned Negro wearing a midnight-black silk suit, stood up. He casually displayed the exquisite jewelry on his wrist with a swift motion of his left arm. "Prince," he began, "I'm having a little trouble down in the Hastings projects."
"Oh! And how is that?" Prince asked.
"Well, to begin with," Preacher said, "everybody here is hip to the stud I'm having trouble with. The stud thinks he's a little too big for this thing you're trying to work out of, Prince. He also told me to tell you not to come down in the projects with that shit of yours, 'cause he don't want to hear it."
Prince studied Preacher coldly. "How many guys does he have following him now?"
"I'd say he's got at least a hundred, if not more."
"If something happened to Dave, Preacher, who would fill his shoes?" Prince asked softly.
"That's easy," Preacher replied. "You're lookin' at him right now."
"Can I depend on that?" Prince asked softly.
"You can damn well depend on it, Prince. Once Dave is out of the way, I'll be the big dog down there."
The meaning of the conversation was not missed by anybody in the room. Everybody knew that Square Dave was big not only in his own neighborhood but anywhere in the city he chose to go.
A young girl with hair bleached bright blonde yelled, "Say, Prince, when are we going to start celebrating your homecoming?"
"Soon, honey, soon, but first we're going to take care of the business at hand," Prince said sharply. "So, first of all, I want all of you to put your Ruler outfits on, and then I want you to make sure you're seen all over the city."
"That means there's going to be trouble in the city, don't it, Prince?" Shortman asked.
"You hit the nail on the head, baby boy, that's just what it means," Prince replied. "Make sure all of you have an airtight alibi. Stay in the lights wherever you've taken a notion to be. Make sure you're seen, but make sure you can prove where you were at, too."
4
IN A PENTHOUSE ACROSS town in the heart of the city, two identical blondes dressed in skintight black satin dresses swayed to the beat of soft jazz. A door opened from one of the bedrooms and a young man stepped into the wall-to-wall carpeted living room.
"Jesus Christ!" he exclaimed. "Don't tell me you two are still doing that funky dance!" He stared at the two women in disgust.
"Can we help it if we like to dance?" one of the blondes replied. "Tony," the other woman called, shaking her hips meaningfully, "come dance with me."
Tony ran his hand through his wavy, jet-black hair, and stared at the woman who had spoken to him. "Why don't you go into the bedroom and wake Racehorse up if you want somebody to dance with you," he said without anger.
"Donna better not wake up my old man," the first blonde said loudly. She stared at her sister, daring her to go into the bedroom. A silence settled on the room as the sisters stared at each other. They had both come a long way from that small town in tipper Michigan. Yet they stuck together, neither one trusting the other but true to each other in their own way.
"Don't worry," Donna answered, running her hands through Tony's hair. "I got me a pretty little wop to play with."
"You keep running your mouth," Tony said roughly, "and I'm going to slap some of the goddamn lipstick off you." He turned to the other woman. "Rhonda, why don't you go wake up your old man and find out whether or not he wants to go out for dinner or stay cooped up in this damn joint."
"Shit, Tony," Rhonda replied in a frightened voice, "you know how mad my old man is when I wake him up. Why don't you try waking him up?"
"Gee whiz, Rhonda," Donna yelled, "you act like you can't even talk to your man without him jumping all over you."
Rhonda drew a long breath, letting it out slowly. "I don't care what you say, I'm not about to go into that bedroom and wake Racehorse up. If you want to find out where he wants to eat, go ask him. But don't expect me to do it."
Donna laughed sharply. "I sure wouldn't let any man have me that frightened of him."
"Watch your mouth," Tony warned. He pushed her hand away from his hair.
"Well, I mean it," she continued. "If any man had me that afraid, I'd sure do something about it."
"Like what?" he asked, suddenly interested.
Not heeding the warning glitter in his eyes, Donna continued, "Well, for one thing, I wouldn't let no man whip me the way he beats her up. I don't care if I had to wait until he went to sleep, I'd fix his wagon."
Before the words were out of her mouth, Tony had slapped her viciously across the face. "Why do I always have to warn you about running off at the mouth, woman?"
Donna, holding the side of her face, screamed at him. "What the hell did you go and do that for? You sonofabitching bastard!"
Tony swung and knocked her down with one blow, then removed his belt and began to beat her. She squirmed on the floor, screaming in pain. "Please, baby, please! I didn't mean no harm!"
Rhonda, screaming, ran into the bedroom for Racehorse. A harsh, masculine voice responded. "Bitch, if you don't get the fuck out of here with all that goddamn noise, I'll get up from this bed and kick a mudhole in your ass."
Rhonda left the bedroom door open as she turned and fled back to the safety of the living room. In panic, she jumped on Tony's back in an attempt to save her sister from the brutal beating.
Without even a struggle, Tony pulled her from his back and pushed her onto the floor beside Donna. His face was twisted into a snarl as he swung the belt down on the two screaming women.
The shrieking of both women filled the apartment. The commotion finally produced what Rhonda was hoping for. Racehorse appeared in the doorway. He stared at the spectacle before him. There was a look of exasperation on his ebony face.
He looked as out of place as a housewife at a stag party as he stood in the doorway in a velvet black robe; around his head was the bright yellow scarf he wore when he slept to keep his processed hair in place. After observing the scene quietly for a few moments, he spoke up. "What the hell are you planning on doing, Tony, beat them until the police come up and pull you off of them?" He stared at the two women squirming on the floor, their skirts above their hips, red welts on their thighs from Tony's belt.
Tony was too absorbed in the beating to lay off immediately. With difficulty, he gained control of himself and stopped.
"If you can't get along with them fuckin' whores, Tony, why don't you just put their fuckin' asses out?" Racehorse asked coldly. His eyes were bleak as he stared from one woman to the other.
"I didn't do nothing, daddy," Rhonda yelled as she scrambled up from the floor. "Please, honey, it wasn't my fault," she pleaded. "I was just trying to stop him from beating up my sister. He looked as though he was trying to kill her, daddy."
Racehorse stared at her. "All you white whores are crazy," he said harshly. "You should know better than to interfere with their fights. Whatever they do, it don't have a damn thing to do with you, you understand that, bitch?"
"It won't happen again, daddy, I promise!" she cried, nodding her head vigorously. Her bright red lipstick was smeared and there was a dark mark over her right cheekbone. Her blonde hair fell down around her shoulders as she tossed her head back and stared up into Racehorse's face.
Racehorse gave her a slight shake. "You better make sure it don't, 'cause if it does, I'm puttin' your ass out."
Tony gave Donna a kick before he turned and spoke to the tall Negro. "I'm sorry, Race, about beatin' your woman, but the bitch put her ass in where it didn't belong."
Racehorse shrugged. "The bitch was wrong, so she got what she was lookin' for."
The phone began to ring and Racehorse walked into the bedroom. In a moment he reappeared in the doorway with the phone in his hand. "Tony," he said, "come in here for a second, will you?"
Tony followed him into the bedroom, closing the door silently.
"Don't worry," Racehorse spoke softly into the receiver. "We'll take care of everything."
He hung up the receiver and walked over to the dresser, pulling out the bottom drawer. After remov ing some shirts, he pulled out two snub-nosed thirtyeight automatics.
Racehorse examined the pistols carefully before speaking. "That was Prince, Tony. He's got a little job for us to do down in the projects on Hastings."
"Damn," Tony said lightly. "He didn't waste any time, did he?"
"That's right, baby. I figured he would get home sometime this week, but I sure didn't think we'd be going into action this fast."