Shortman laughed and led the way back downstairs. They sat around for a few minutes talking shit, then Shortman stood up. "I got to be running, Donnie," he said as soon as Donnie had finished dancing with one of the girls. "What you goin' do, man, stay here with that jailbait or pull up?"
"Huh, I don't see no jailbait," the teenybopper said from the dance floor. She pushed out her chest, trying to make her tits seem larger.
Shortman laughed and started for the door. "Tell me if it has any hair on it," he said and went out.
The young girl cursed. Donnie grinned and beckoned her with his finger. She came over and sat down in his lap. He put his hand under her short skirt and felt around.
"Is it hairy enough for you?" she asked, staring into his brownish-green eyes.
"Don't let the hair part worry you, honey," he replied slowly, pulling her down on the couch.
She stared up at him. "Donnie, do you know you got green eyes?" she asked huskily. She spread her legs slightly as he let himself down on her.
"In a few minutes, baby, you won't care what color they are," he said, then added, "Can you dig it?"
She smiled slightly in the dim room, then pressed her young, firm body against him. "You goin' make me your woman?" she asked naively.
Once outside, Shortman took his time about leaving. He started the car up and drove slowly away. For a minute he was tempted to go back and try out one of the teenyboppers. Young girls didn't have much fascination for him, though, so he changed his mind and went on. He decided to run by the Roost and see if there was some strange cunt hanging around. He pressed down on the gas pedal and started back across town for the west side.
Gazier and his partner passed the Roost again. It was deserted, so they continued on. The kids were getting leery of the place, so they stayed away in droves. Both officers had just about given up hope of finding one of the big fish when Shortman drove past.
"There goes one of the black bastards now," Gazier yelled. His partner made a sharp U-turn, running up and over the curb in his haste to catch the other car.
Shortman spotted the police car at the same time they saw him. He pressed down on the gas pedal as he saw them make their U-turn. His small Ford leaped away from the larger car for a minute, but he wasn't fooled. Shortman realized it was just a matter of time before the police car caught up with him. He searched the deserted street desperately for a place to park so he could run. Not finding a good place, he raced for the Roost. If he could make the front door, it would be a sanctuary.
"That bastard's looking for some place to jump out and run," the driver said harshly to his lieutenant.
Gazier laughed coldly. "I hope that black sonofabitch does run." He removed his pistol from his shoulder holster.
His partner, Fred, smiled. "You goin' pop the bastard?" he asked with unwarranted glee. Both men laughed as though there was something amusing about killing a black man.
Shortman watched the car in the mirror as it gained on him. He slammed on the brakes and pulled to the curb in front of the Roost. Before the car had completely come to a stop, he was out of it and running for the basement stairway, not knowing that one of the officers was already aiming his pistol at his back. He hadn't reached the steps when the first shot hit him. He felt a heavy blow between his shoulder blades and stumbled. Before he could regain his stride, another blow smashed into him and he fell to his knees. The sound of shots rang in his ears. He attempted to struggle to his feet, using the building in front of him for support. He turned to glare at his pursuers. As he feebly attempted to get to his feet, he realized that he was going to die.
Shortman stared at the approaching white men out of fading eyes. "You killed me," he murmured and fell over on his face.
Slowly the neighborhood came to life. Before the officers reached the body, people were starting to come towards the scene of the crime. In a matter of minutes, the street was packed with angry bystanders. Many of them had witnessed the murder from their doorsteps.
"All right, break this shit up. You ain't at no goddamn movie," Gazier barked at the crowd. He moved through the people as though herding cows. They slowly backed up at his approach. He made his way to the car and called in, reporting the incident as an act of a criminal trying to escape.
In less than five minutes, more police cars began to arrive on the scene. The police went to work dispersing the crowd. When a few people tried to explain that they were witnesses, the police ran them off.
One of the officers cursed at a stubborn woman. "We don't need no fuckin' nigger witnesses. We got two officers who saw everything that happened."
The crowd began to back up away from the police. There was an ugly murmur running through the group, but cool heads prevailed. In dingy cold-water flats, crowded apartments, well-furnished rooms, black people were busy. Already the news was spreading to every black area in the city. It was the hottest news in the ghetto. Another black man had been shot down by the police in cold blood. Black people everywhere gritted their teeth angrily at cruising police cars. Before the night would pass, six different police cars would be fired on by infuriated black men who had never even heard of Shortman.
As soon as the news reached them, Preacher and Roman got busy. Roman moved with the experience of a professional executive. He got on the phone and stayed there for an hour, ordering his gang members to get off the streets.
Preacher, on the other hand, moved with the anger of an aroused militant. His gang moved into the streets, burning and looting with a passion. Before the night ended, ten members of his personal organization were arrested.
When the news reached Ruby in front of the police station, she quickly got in touch with Dot and Blanca. They discussed the matter for a few minutes, then moved through the crowd preaching calmness and fortitude. They began slowly to send people home, breaking up the crowd of pickets.
Inside the police station, Morales paced up and down angrily. "That's just about all we needed," he muttered. "They couldn't have picked a better time to kill someone. Here we are being picketed by over a hundred people, and those ignorant bastards go out and kill one of the fuckin' leaders of the crowd."
"Hey, Lieutenant," one of the officers called from the window. "Looks like they're breaking up out there."
Morales glanced out the window. "Well, I don't know why, but I'm sure in the hell glad to see them go home."
"You think maybe they haven't heard the news yet, Lieutenant?" a young officer asked politely.
"No, no, that wouldn't be the reason. I'd be willing to bet they know about the shooting. That kind of thing has a way of traveling through the black communities like wildfire. Whoever's in command out there must be trying to keep down trouble. I'm glad they have some kind of common sense."
Watching the crowd break up in silence, he noticed Prince's lawyer talking to Ruby and idly wondered what they were talking about. The lawyer was probably telling her not to worry. There was no doubt in anyone's mind about whether or not they could hold Prince. As soon as the courts opened in the morning, they would have to release him. That trumped-up murder charge they had pulled him in on would never stand up in front of a judge. But it gave them a chance to put the pressure on Prince's ass.
Lieutenant Gazier and Fred came through the back of the station and stopped at the desk. Both men were grinning. The other white officers standing around the station patted them on the back as though they were heroes, cracking jokes with them. Two colored policemen turned away, shamefaced, and pretended they didn't hear what was going on.
Morales walked up to his partner. "What happened out there, Gazier? We heard about it over the radio but nothing really concrete on the shoot-out."
Gazier stared at his partner for a minute. "Me and Fred was just cruising around, you know, when we got this call about some black male stickin' up a grocery store and escaping in a dark-colored Ford. Well, about this time this guy speeds past us, so we took it for granted that this was the holdup man. When we turned around, the
bastard speeded up. We didn't know who was in the car, but when he stopped in front of that clubhouse, I had an idea he was one of the members. You know them bastards are capable of doing anything. Well anyway, when the guy jumps out and starts to run, I yelled halt, but he didn't slow down one bit, so I shot over his head the first time. Then when he didn't slow down, I let him have it."
"If it happened like that," Morales began, "we shouldn't have any trouble."
"What the hell do you mean, if it happened like that? I just told you how it happened," Gazier snarled.
"We been getting angry calls from people who said they saw it different," Morales said coldly.
"What you mean by that, Morales? You got me and Fred's word on it. What you goin' do, take a bunch of black bastards' word over your fellow officers'?" He glared at his partner.
Morales made a gesture of impatience and walked away. "It's not up to me," he said over his shoulder. "We'll leave it up to the captain to handle."
Across town, Donnie walked out of the bedroom with his shorts on. His brow was pulled tight with worry. It was hard for his mind to accept the fact that Shortman was dead. The man had just left the house, and now he was lying in the morgue. It didn't matter that he had been given Shortman's former position. He enjoyed the prospect of being the big wheel now, but it carried a lot of responsibility he didn't really want. He had told the kids in the house about Shortman's death, and they were subdued from the shock. Donnie could feel the significance of it. He had a feeling that this was a turning point in his life and that he would now become one of the major actors on the stage. But he hoped not. He preferred the background. His shrewdness told him this was the best place.
Donnie's teenybopper came out of the bedroom behind him. She was wearing a half-slip with nothing on top but her bra. Her eyes followed him as he paced up and down. Something inside of her wanted to reach out and take him in her arms and console him with a woman's love, but she managed to stifle the emotion. He would resent it, she realized. She leaned against the wall and watched him patiently until he came over and took her hand and led her back into the bedroom.
Donnie knew with certainty that his promotion sealed his doom. He was caught in a box. There was no way out. He had seven brothers and sisters at home who were dependent on him. He had to make big money to survive. Between him and his mother, the house was run. His younger brother was preparing for college, so he knew he needed the promotion. He made up his mind to make as much money as possible before the end came. Maybe that way there would be enough money to hold his people until one of the younger ones could help.
From where Prince sat in his cell, there was no way to tell when morning came. He waited patiently until a trusty showed up and pushed a hard roll under his door.
The trusty pushed his face against the bars and whispered, "Hey, Prince, that you in there?"
Prince got up and peeped through the small bars. "Yeah, man, it's me. What's the deal?"
"Your partner Chinaman told me to tell you that Shortman got hit. He says the cops killed him last night." The trusty's voice was low, just carrying through the bars.
Prince was stunned. "What, man, you sure he knows what he's talkin' about?"
"Yeah, man, I'm sure. That's all the rollers are talking about upstairs. Seems like this stud Shortman got blasted running from the scene of a holdup."
"That's bullshit," Prince cursed, then asked, "Who shot him, man? Can you get the name of the pig that shot him?"
"That ain't no problem, baby. It was Lieutenant Gazier, man."
Prince returned to his seat, not even bothering to answer. His heart was filled with rage. It couldn't be anything but a frame-up. Shortman never carried a gun, and the last thing he would be involved in was a holdup. He swore angrily and started to pace his tiny cell. Even the offensive odor was beyond him now. He waited impatiently for the footsteps of the turnkey.
10
AFTER LEAVING the interrogation room, Prince stopped at the desk and picked up his personal belongings. The idle officers stared at him coldly. He returned their glares look for look. His lawyer came in with Chinaman. Both men remained silent until after Chinaman had picked up his stuff and they had left the station.
"I'm sorry about you guys having to put up with that crap all night, but that damn murder charge stopped me from being able to spring you on a writ or bond," the young lawyer explained.
The sound of a horn blowing caused Prince to look up. Ruby was sitting at the curb behind the steering wheel of one of their cars. "I understand, man," Prince replied, "but regardless of us, what's the deal on Little Larry? I want him out, man, as soon as possible."
"Don't worry, everything's under control." The lawyer's voice was smooth and convincing. "As soon as Larry comes up for his examination, we'll have that damn case thrown out. They're trying to be clever by using those murder charges, but it won't work. If they don't come up with any more evidence than what they had before, the judge will have to dismiss the case."
"See that it is," Prince replied coldly and walked off. As he neared the car, Ruby flashed her magnificent teeth in a lovely smile.
Blanca got out of the passenger side and smiled at Chinaman. "Hi, honey," she said as he got in. Her voice was soft and filled with love.
As the car pulled away from the curb, the women started to tell the news, but they were cut off. "We already know about it," Chinaman said.
"Preacher and his bunch went on a rampage last night," Ruby said slowly, feeling out her man's reactions.
"Yeah, I'll bet that helped a lot," Prince said, not even attempting to hide the sarcasm. "It ain't about that," he continued. "We can't beat the man in the streets fightin'. Whitey got all the guns and tanks in the world. What this thing is all about is cash. If we get enough of that green stuff, we'll be able to handle shit like this."
Both women felt disappointed because neither man had commented on the picket they had thrown around the station. Both of them remained silent, listening to the men.
"You know, I was thinkin', man," Chinaman began, "last night while I was locked up I kicked the idea around, Prince, and I believe I'm going to come down strong on all the pimps and hustlers in our neighborhood. You know, man, we got damn near as many Mexican pimps as you got black pimps in your neighborhoods."
Prince glanced up sharply. "Yeah, man," Chinaman continued, "I figure if we put the arm on some of these guys who keep talking about doing something but try and make a whore out of every broad that comes their way, we could show our neighborhood that we're really trying to do something."
Prince hushed Ruby when she started to say something. He wanted to listen to Chinaman.
"After the way them cats at the auditorium went for our speeches last night, Prince, it's only right that we really try and do something for our people. Man, this organization crap can really turn out to be a big thing."
"Yeah, man," Prince replied suddenly. "I'll give it some thought, but you hold on, Chinaman, don't put no pressure on them guys yet. We got to think this thing out. Ruby, head for the hideout, baby. I can take a bath and change clothes out there. We better talk to them studs out there, too, 'cause some of them might be a little worried over this shootin'."
Prince leaned back against the seat and closed his eyes. His instincts warned him that Chinaman could become a problem. He knew just what had happened. The guy had gotten a taste of power last night; he couldn't see it any other way. Dedication to a cause was beyond Prince's imagination. Everybody had to think of number one, he believed. It never entered his mind that Chinaman really believed they could do something constructive for the people in the ghettos. As far as Prince was concerned, there had always been ghettos, and there would always be ghettos. The people who lived there either learned how to get out or died in the small confines of their prison. It was cut and dried. He was well aware that he knew how to get out. All it took was money. There were two kinds of people in the world: the haves and the have-nots. If you were hungry, if you needed
clothes, if your rent was overdue-take it. It was better to be a taker than one of those who got took!
When they got to the hideout, there were three black sedans and two Cadillacs parked in the private driveway. The house was one of the old mansions on Chicago Boulevard, kept at one time by a millionaire of the auto industry. The place still held a magnetic glory.
"Man, oh man!" Chinaman exclaimed as their car pulled around to the side of the house and stopped beside a fifty-foot swimming pool. "How did you manage to swing a place like this, Prince?" he asked excitedly.
Prince grinned. "I went through my lawyer. For five hundred dollars extra fee, he'd find some way to sell his mother."
The car came to a halt and was immediately sur rounded by a crowd of boys and girls. They had heard about Prince's arrest, and at the sight of their leader, they screamed their happiness.
"Prince," a young girl wearing shorts called. "If this is what you and Ruby call a hideout, I'd hate to see what kind of pad you and her stay in."
"Don't worry," Prince yelled back good-naturedly. "You and your man won't be left out of the goodies."
Kids began to stick their heads out of windows as news of Prince's arrival came to them. A large group of kids came running out of the house yelling at the newcomers.
Prince shouted over the uproar, "Chinaman, find Preacher, then ya'll get all the boys together someplace. We got some important matters to kick around." He spoke lower to Ruby. "Baby, you see to it that all the broads are taken inside the house until we get some matters taken care of."
He watched her as she rounded up the girls with Blanca's help. After they had been herded into the house, Prince waited until Chinaman returned with Preacher. They had rounded up most of the boys. In front of Prince there was a sea of faces, all of them young and dangerous.