Daddy Cool had just about made up his mind to turn in for the night when suddenly the man he stalked came hurrying out of the elevator. The man glanced right and left as he walked swiftly across the lobby. Daddy Cool waited until the doors had closed behind the hurrying figure, then he got up and began following him.
Daddy Cool was just in time to see his man get into a cab. He glanced up and down the nearly deserted street, cursing under his breath as his keen eyes saw the empty street. He cursed harshly as he realized that it was his own fault. He hadn't bothered to rent a car since he had believed he would end up making the hit inside the hotel.
Suddenly Daddy Cool saw bright headlights swing onto the boulevard from one of the smaller side streets. Quickly he stepped out into the street from the curb. He raised his hands in the air and began to wave wildly, all the time trying to keep the car in front of him in his eyesight.
The cab driver started to stop. But it seemed as though, as soon as the driver saw that it was a black man trying to wave him down, he pressed down on the gas pedal and the cab leaped forward.
"You cocksucker," Daddy Cool yelled after the disappearing cab.
He turned on his heels and retraced his steps back toward the entrance of the hotel. More angry at himself than he was with the cab driver, Daddy Cool stopped in front of the hotel. It was too hot, he reasoned, to be shut up in the tiny hotel room. Even though there was a slight breeze blowing, the night air seemed to be choking him.
As he started to walk around the block his mind returned to the subject that constantly stayed with him-his wayward daughter. If only he could keep her off his mind he would be able to take care of the job he was sent out to do. So far, all he could do was reflect on the mistakes he had made since arriving on the West Coast.
Altogether, he had made too many errors. In his line of work, mistakes were very costly. At the rate he was going, he reflected, he would end up paying the dues he owed, too. For the obvious reason, he just couldn't bring his full concentration to the job at hand. Janet. Janet would be his damn downfall if he didn't change his ways.
He couldn't help but wonder if there had been any changes in the young girl's mind since she had left. Enough time had passed. She had been gone long enough to forgive her father for what he had done in the heat of his anger. There was no reason for her still to hold a grudge against him, yet he realized that was what was wrong. Her temper, just like his own, was her worst enemy. When angry, she didn't take time to think anything out; she just reacted.
As he continued to walk, deep in his moody thoughts, he failed to notice the group of six young boys who turned around and started to follow him on the narrow side street. The darkness of the street suited his black mood. The six boys crossed over so that they were now about fifty feet behind him. Their steps picked up as they started to gain on the tall black man in front of them.
Any other time, Daddy Cool would have recognized the danger he was walking into. But now, with his mind three thousand miles away, he never even glanced up when the loud sounds of hurrying footsteps should have warned him of approaching danger.
The first warning he had was when someone tapped him on the shoulder. He glanced around without really thinking of what he was doing.
"What the hell," Daddy Cool managed to say; then his keen nerves sent warning signs that almost exploded in his head. You fool, he cursed himself. What the hell have you allowed yourself to walk into? The question inside his mind was never answered. Before he could figure out some kind of defense, another hand touched him on the other shoulder.
Daddy Cool was a product of the ghetto streets, so by nature he knew what a trick would run into. Yet he had allowed himself to fall into the very same trap that tricks ran into every day when they slummed in the black neighborhood after dark. It was even possible that the young group of boys had mistaken him for a white man in the dark. Whatever the reason, only swift action would save him now. Even though the gang now realized that it wasn't a white man they had stopped, they were too far committed to back off now. Whatever the result, they would play it to the end.
Knowing that swift action was the only thing that would save him, Daddy Cool still hesitated a second too long. When he did make his move, he was seconds too late. One of the boys had his arm pinned behind his back, while another large black boy slammed him twice in the stomach. The vicious punches brought a gasp of pain from their victim. Daddy Cool bent double from the blow. Another fist struck him behind the neck.
Daddy Cool felt like a fool. The beating he was taking was all because of his stupidity. If he had kept his mind open and alert, none of this would be happening. Suddenly he felt a hand feeling around in his back pocket. He wanted to scream out for them to take it, just take the money and leave him alone. He knew that there was only about two hundred dollars in the wallet, plus some funny identification. He wouldn't miss the money or the ID. He only prayed that his attackers wouldn't hurt him too badly.
So instead of trying to resist, he played possum. He went limp in the hands that held him up, allowing the hoodlums to do what they would, trying to show them that he wasn't going to give them any trouble. To fight back would only bring down worse punishment on him. Since he couldn't reach the knives he carried strapped to his back, there wasn't too much he could do with just his hands.
"I got it!" a young excited voice called out.
"Make sure, goddamn it," a huskier voice answered. "Remember last time, ya ran off with the fuckin' wallet and wasn't nothin' in it."
"Shit," the excited voice came again, "this bastard was loaded. It's full of big bills."
Daddy Cool was thankful that they had found the money. Now, with luck, they would run off and leave him alone. But even as the fleeting thought ran across his mind, he was struck viciously against the side of his head. A moan escaped from him, and the pain reached him with a jar. He realized now that the young hoodlums might just decide to kill him in case he had recognized one of them.
He grabbed his head and tried to fall to the ground. Strong arms still held him tightly, so he managed only to wiggle around in their grasp. Instantly, blows began to rain on him from all sides. Again he tried to break the grip that held him. Fear gave him strength so that he finally got one arm free.
"Goddamn it," he cursed loudly, "take the money, you bastards, and go!" He screamed loudly, his voice rose to a pitch that he couldn't recognize.
For his troubles, he received a blow in the mouth that he knew cut his lips. He could taste the fresh blood running from the cut.
"Not yet, you motherfucker," a harsh voice stated.
Then all the pain in the world burst loose in his nuts as one of his attackers kicked him viciously between the legs.
Without warning, the pavement came up and struck him in the face. He lay stretched out on the cold ground as he heard the footsteps running away in the dark. He knew he should be thankful, but the pain he was feeling was too great. He couldn't understand what he should be thankful for. It seemed like hours, but it had only been seconds, when he heard a woman's voice speaking to him. It sounded as if she was a long way away.
"Are you all right, mister? We saw them boys attacking you from our car and waited until they let you go before we got out." The woman seemed to be waiting for an answer; then she spoke to the other person with her.
"Sally, maybe we should call the police. He seems to be hurt real bad."
"You want me to drive up and find a pay phone somewhere?" Sally asked.
For a second the other woman hesitated, then spoke sharply. There was fear in her voice. "No way, honey, you ain't 'bout to leave me standing out here in the dark. Shit, them niggers might come back!"
At the mention of the police, Daddy Cool's mind began to work. He knew he couldn't stand any police questions. There was even the chance they might search him and, when they found the knives he carried, he would be in a world of trouble.
"No police," he managed to say. "Please, just help me to my feet," he begged th
e woman nearest to him.
As she began to lift him up, he tried to help her, but the pain was too great. He let out a loud moan.
"Damn, honey," the woman lifting him said, "you're hurt real bad, man. Maybe you better go to the hospital and let them look at you."
From somewhere, Daddy Cool found the strength to stand up. He managed to stand on his own feet, with the woman's helpful arms around him. "I'll be okay," he mumbled. "If I can get back to my home, I'll be able to handle it from there."
The woman stared at him curiously. "Well, it's your own business, but if it was me, I'd sure as hell go to the hospital and let them have a look at me."
Daddy Cool knew the woman was right, but he couldn't stand being undressed at the hospital, not as long as he carried the brace of knives strapped to his back. Maybe after stashing the weapons in his room he could then take the risk of going and getting medical help, but not until after he had cleaned up.
He tried to stand without the help of the woman. There was a sharp pain in his ribs, but other than that he felt as if he was all right. First he tried to take two short steps. The pain was sharp, yet he believed it was possible for him to walk. If only he didn't have to walk all the way back to his hotel.
"Miss," he began, "if you would be kind enough to drop me off at my home, I'd gladly pay you for your troubles."
The heavyset black woman glanced at him curiously. She seemed as though she would say no, so he spoke up hurriedly. "It's only a couple of blocks away, miss, and I'd gladly pay you for any trouble it would cause you."
Before she could answer, her friend spoke up. "We might as well, girl; he can't hardly give us any trouble when he can't even walk."
The woman helping Daddy Cool glanced over at her friend. "Okay," she finally said. "I guess we can do that much for you." Between the two women, they helped him to the car.
When he bent down to get into the car, pain exploded inside of him. For one brief moment, Daddy Cool thought he would pass out. Gradually the pain became bearable. He gritted his teeth and fought back the tendency to faint. He was glad to see the hotel, after directing the women to it. At first, he had wanted to give them the wrong address and get out near the hotel, but the pain was too harsh. He didn't believe he had the strength to make it without their help.
"You should go to the hospital," the woman called Sally stated sharply.
Daddy Cool tried to smile. "I would go, but I don't even know where a hospital is at, and," he continued, not giving the woman time to speak, "I don't even have enough money left on me to catch a cab back. After I go up to my room and get some money, I'll take your advice and seek out a hospital."
After the woman driving parked in front of the hotel, Sally, sitting on the driver's side, climbed out and held the door open for him.
"You see," she said as he tried to get out without her help, "you can't even stand up by yourself."
This time Daddy Cool didn't attempt to smile. The pain was too great.
"I must go up to my room and get some money," he finally managed to say. "If you ladies would be kind enough to wait and take me to the hospital, I'd be willing to pay you for your troubles. But I must get some money," he stated. "It wouldn't make sense coming out of the hospital and havin' to catch a bus."
The driver began to shake her head.
"I don't know if we'll have that much time," she stated, staring past Daddy Cool and catching her friend's eye.
"Aw shit, Doris," Sally said, "it won't take that much time to just drop him off at General Hospital. You can see he ain't in no shape to help himself."
Before Doris could answer, Daddy Cool added, "I'll give you ten dollars for your trouble, miss."
The driver hesitated, then said quickly, "Okay, if you don't spend too long up in your room, 'cause I've got to be gettin' on."
"You want me to help you?" Sally inquired, when she saw the trouble he was having trying to stay on his feet. Daddy Cool could only nod his head. The woman put her arm around him and started for the door. Before they reached the entrance, Doris joined them. Between the two women, they managed to get him up the steps of the hotel.
The desk clerk glanced sharply at the threesome as they came into the hotel. Daddy Cool didn't have to go to the desk for his key since he made it a habit to carry it on him at all times. They took the elevator upstairs, while the few people still up stared after them curiously.
Once upstairs, Daddy Cool managed to open his door. Again, the women stayed right with him as he went into the small bedroom.
The only way he could get some privacy was to excuse himself and stumble into the tiny bathroom. Once inside with the door closed, Daddy Cool had to fight back the weakness that constantly tried to overcome him. He finally was able to take off his coat, then remove his shirt. For a second, he thought he might have to ask one of the women to come in and help him take off the harness that held his knives.
But with the strength of desperation, he struggled with the catch until he was able to take it off himself. Sweat rolled off his forehead from the incredible pain that racked his body from the struggle to remove the weapons. He let out a sigh of relief.
"Are you all right?" Sally called out.
"Yes," he managed to reply. Picking up his shirt he carried it over his arm as he opened the door. One backward glance assured him that the knives hidden under the bathtub couldn't be seen from the doorway.
Both women stared at him closely as he came out. He walked over to the closet to remove one of the suitcases, but it hurt too bad for him to bend over.
"Please," he pleaded, as he kicked at the suitcase that he wanted.
Sally saw what he wanted, picked up the suitcase for him, and carried it over to the bed.
"Open it, please," he asked, standing beside the bed between the women.
With a shake of her head, Sally quickly obeyed his request. For a second, Daddy Cool hesitated to reveal so much money to the women, but he knew he didn't have any other choice. As soon as she opened the buckles, he flipped back the lid. Most of his money was hidden under some white shirts, so all he had to do was slip his hand under the clothes and remove one of the bundles.
The small bundle of money he pulled out still was wrapped in the white money wrapper. The sum on the wrapper read five hundred dollars. The top bills were brand new one-hundred-dollar bills. He flipped the top bills back and extracted a twenty-dollar bill.
Taking it loose from the rest, he held it out to Doris, then removed another twenty-dollar bill and gave it to Sally. Both women tried not to accept the money, but Daddy Cool could tell they wanted it. He wouldn't listen to their denials; he just pushed the money into their hands.
"Listen," he stated, "I need help, and the best way to get it is to pay for it. I know both of you have something else to do, but if I pay you for your trouble, maybe it won't be too difficult for you to put off whatever you were going to do."
Before they could say anything, he added, "Once we get to the hospital, you can go your own way, but if ya should stay with me, I'll give both of you another twenty when we leave. How does that sound?" He saw the greed in their eyes as he mentioned money.
"Well," Doris began, "whatever I had to do, I sure as hell wasn't going to make forty dollars at it, so I got the time now."
Sally seemed to be ashamed. She stared down at the floor. "It seems funny to accept money for helping somebody, but my kids can sure use the cash."
"Well then, it's settled, huh?" Daddy Cool managed a slight smile as each of the women moved to one side of him to help.
Daddy Cool reflected on the merits of money as Doris drove swiftly to the nearest hospital. Since giving the women the money, he couldn't help but notice the change in them. Money made people function better, or so it seemed. Though he had their help without paying them, they seemed even more helpful after he gave them money.
He knew he had taken a chance letting them see his money, but since one of them had on a nurse's uniform, he didn't think he had too much
to fear from them. They were just hardworking black women. Even if the thought of robbing him had passed through their minds, they were not of the caliber of robbers. It was something he could sense.
At the hospital, the two women waited patiently while doctors bandaged up Daddy Cool's ribs. He walked out slowly and informed the women that he had two broken ribs. On the ride back to his hotel, he had them stop so he could buy them both a dinner, ordering his to be taken out.
With the hot food in his lap and his ribs wrapped up, he realized that the situation he had fallen into could have turned out a whole lot worse if it hadn't been for the help of the two black women.
He felt a deep gratitude for their help and a slow anger at himself for allowing his mind to linger on his silly daughter to such a degree that he walked into a trap that any child in the ghetto would have avoided.
At the hotel he thanked the women, then removed a hundreddollar bill from his bankroll. They tried to turn it down, but he knew they wanted it. After giving them the money, he said, "Well, sisters, I've seen enough of California. I think I'll catch the morning plane back to New York."
Daddy Cool removed a pencil from his pocket and wrote out a fake address. "If either of you are ever in New York, just call me at this address and I'll show you the town. Take care now, and be sure you don't walk into any muggers." He flashed his smile at the women before turning on his heel and limping slowly toward the hotel door.
4T THE SAME MOMENT that Daddy Coot walked back into his hotel room, his daughter, Janet, was just awakening back in the Motor City. She stared around the small, dirty apartment her boyfriend had found for her. It was cheaper than the motel and had roaches.
After finishing her morning toilet, she made her daily telephone call to her mother. Since her father had left on another one of his unexplainable trips, she had gotten into the habit of talking with her mother on the phone every morning. It allowed her mind to relax. She could think back on how nice it used to be.
At times like this, she wished with all her heart she was back home with no problems. Whenever something came up she couldn't handle, all she had to do was wait for her father and explain it to him. He could handle anything.