That would be all to the good. Now all he would have to do would be to slip Tony the hundred-dollar bill and bring him around to the apartment. It wouldn't take him long to turn the trick, and once he was finished, Janet would be spoiled. The money would have seemed so easy for her to make that she would never hesitate again when it came to turning a trick.
For a minute he thought about her father but rejected the thought, reminding himself that he could handle the old man if push came to shove. He'd hate to hurt her father, but if Daddy Cool got in his way, he would just have to get him back out of his game.
In his business he couldn't allow no brothers or mothers or fathers to interfere with what he was doing. Pimping was his game, and no good pimp would allow some bitch's daddy to blow the game.
When he came out of the shower he was glad to see that Janet had gotten up. She waited until he started dressing before asking, "I hope you have enough time to wait until I take a shower too." She stared at him so hard that it seemed as if she wanted to eat him alive.
Damn, baby, he said to himself, you really have got it bad, haven't you!
"Naw, Janet, don't worry, you got plenty of time. I'm going to make a quick run and I'll be back by the time you get out of the shower, honey."
Before she could reply, he pulled her to him and kissed her passionately. When he broke the embrace, she was out of breath.
Janet stepped back and caught her breath. Sweet Lord of Mercy, what's happening to me, she wondered as she watched him walk toward the door. The slightest touch was enough to set her blood to burning, her knees trembling, her flesh seemingly to crawling with unbearable sensations. Never before in her young life had she felt like this.
As she stumbled toward the bathroom, she reflected on what she had let herself in for. She knew she had told him she would make the date that he was giving to the other girl, but she prayed that it wouldn't be for a day or so. That way, maybe she could get her mind in shape for it or, better yet, talk Ronald out of it. Maybe if she found a job somewhere, he wouldn't want her to sell her body.
That was one thing she could do, she reasoned. Get a job and give Ronald all the money. If she worked two jobs-she shuddered at the thought but continued to think about attempting it-she could help pay off his debts even sooner. Once she had his car notes paid up, they wouldn't be pressed for any money, and then maybe they could plan for the future.
She hurried with her shower. Taking a large towel, she began to dry herself. The sound of someone at the front door caused her to dry herself faster than normal. She stepped out of the bathroom and was surprised to see Ronald in the company of an elderly, lightcomplexioned man.
Ronald grinned at her.
"Hey, honey, this is Tony. You know, the guy I was tellin' you 'bout. He wants to spend a flat hundred dollars with some young girl, and I was telling him that he didn't have to go any farther. I had the finest young bitch in the city in my stable." Ronald flashed his brightest grin and turned to the man with him. "What did I tell you, Tony? Ain't she a fine young mare?"
Tony was staring at Janet as if he wanted to eat her. He couldn't believe his luck. Ronald had charged him twenty dollars, true enough, but he had also given him the hundred dollars to give the young girl. All he could do was nod his head and hope that the girl didn't change her mind. From the look of shock on her face he didn't know what to expect. She seemed surprised, but Ronald had said that she would go through with it. Fumbling around in his pocket, Tony found the hundred-dollar bill Ronald had given him on the way over. He held it out toward her.
"Hey," Ronald said quickly, "I'm going downstairs to the car for a few minutes. By that time, both of you should be done got together, and when I come back everything should be okay." He stared coldly at Janet. He reached over and patted Tony on the back. "Don't worry, my man," he said with a grin, "just as long as you keep your word and spend the hundred with her, there won't be no problem. Oh yeah, Janet, be sure and don't take anything less than the hundred either, hear, baby?" He flashed her his brightest smile.
All Janet could do was stand and stare stupidly at the old man holding the money. She watched Ronald walk out the door as if she was watching a stage play. This can't be happening to me, she tried to tell herself, but it was all too real.
The trick almost shoved the money into her hand. She stared down at the bill, then realized that she didn't have anything on but a towel. But after a second she knew that it didn't make any difference what she had on. She stared down at the money in her hand. Well, now or never, she told herself, and slowly let the towel drop as tears built up behind her eyes.
It took less than three minutes. As soon as the old man entered her, he let out a yell and she knew he had come. But it didn't make any difference to her how long it took. She knew what she had done and no amount of baths would ever be able to wash away the guilt feelings that she would now carry around in her mind. But for some reason she didn't blame Ronald. She blamed herself. She should have known better. She could hear her father's words ringing in her ears and, at long last, she knew that he had spoken the truth.
FOR THE NEXT TWO DAYS all Daddy Cool could do was lie around the hotel. Most of the time was spent in his room staring at the ceiling. His mind was occupied with the mistakes he had made. But still he knew he would have to do something soon.
After the second call from Detroit, he began to sit around the lobby all day until he had the man he stalked down pat. He knew when the man left and just about when he would return. The one woman the man associated with was a tall blonde who wore heavy makeup.
Despite the pain it caused him to move, Daddy Cool began to take exercise daily until he believed he was able to move fast enough to get away. In the early morning hours he practiced constantly with his throwing knives, though there was never any doubt about his skill.
He still had a tendency to brood over his daughter, Janet, even though he realized that was the cause of his being hurt. If he had kept his mind clear, nothing would have happened to him.
On his third day of recuperation, the woman named Sally who had helped him to the hospital came by. He met her in the lobby and bought her a cup of coffee. With the utmost patience, he finally got rid of her, promising to take her out for dinner on the coming weekend. Now more than ever he knew he would have to make his hit and be quick about it. He was becoming too well known. The elderly people sitting around the lobby were becoming overly friendly.
For the first time in his life he became worried about a job. He would have liked to be able to pass up the contract, but he knew he couldn't get out of it. He became nervous, worrying over small things. As a last resort, he went out and rented a car under an assumed name. This way he was sure of getting away fast if something went wrong.
Finally Daddy Cool made up his mind that today would be the day. He had his mark down pat. He knew when the man would arrive once he went out. So he set everything in motion. Taking his bags down, he paid his hotel bill, covering his rent until the next morning. After placing his bags in the trunk of the car, he drove around for a few hours, then stopped and called the hotel, having them ring the mark's room, even though he figured the man was out.
When there was no answer, he was sure things were beginning to fall into the pattern. The trick should be out with the tall blonde, and if he followed his usual procedure, he would stay out with her until at least two o'clock in the morning.
Daddy Cool drove back to the hotel and parked in the rear. He went around to the front, then walked slowly down the hall and opened the locked rear door. Taking the catch off the lock, he checked the alley where he was parked. He wanted to make sure no one saw him leave. His next move was to leave the key to his room at the desk.
Since he had just about completely checked out of the hotel, it would seem as if he was gone. He checked his watch, noticing that he still had about half an hour. He drank a cup of coffee and spoke to two elderly women who sat around and watched the television until it went off at night.
/>
"Well, ladies," he said, getting up from the soft chair he had used, "I'll say good-bye. My bus leaves for Las Vegas at three o'clock, so I'd better be gettin' on my way. Wish me luck. If I win big down there, I'll bring both of you a gift when I come back."
The two elderly white women smiled at him, then one of them stated, "Be sure to watch your wallet. Pickpockets are outrageous in Vegas. My friend told me that you couldn't leave any valuables in your motel room there because the maids go through your luggage while you're out."
"Don't worry, I don't have too much to worry about anyway," he stated as he started to leave.
One more glance at the large clock on the wall of the lobby told him that he didn't have too much time. If his trick continued to follow the pattern he had set, he would be showing up within the next fifteen minutes.
Daddy Cool tried to walk casually out of the hotel, shaking a couple of old gentlemen's hands as he went. He waved at the clerk, then went out the door. He hurried around to the rear of the building and let himself in. Taking the back stairway he walked slowly up, hoping that none of the other guests would venture that way.
Most of the time the people used the elevator or the front steps. Most of them were too frightened to take the rear stairway. Since a few of the rooms had been broken into before, the back entrance was always kept locked and there was a definite tendency to avoid using the rear stairway by most of the occupants of the hotel.
Reaching the third floor, Daddy Cool opened the door and glanced down the hallway. It was deserted. He closed the door and lit a cigarette. Time seemed to stand still for him. He took out his knife and felt the keen blade. His nerves were playing tricks on his concentration.
Twice he thought he heard the elevator opening, but each time he glanced out there was nobody around. He placed the knife he planned on using in his belt, then removed another one from the harness he wore strapped to his back. As with the other, he ran his finger down the edge of the blade, testing the sharpness of it.
Suddenly he heard the sound of the old elevator slowly coming upward. He began to feel the excitement building up inside of him. The back part of his leg began to tremble as he waited impatiently.
The sound of the elevator stopping at the floor alerted his senses. He shoved open the door slightly and glanced out. The first thing he saw was the tall blonde getting out of the elevator. Goddamn it, he cursed under his breath, this was something he hadn't counted on.
My motherfuckin' stinkin'-ass luck! he cursed inwardly.
Of all the times for him to bring the cunt back to his pad, this took the cake! Even as these thoughts flashed through his mind, Daddy Cool stepped out of his place of concealment. He was committed now. Whatever happened, it would have to go off.
The tall, lean Negro who followed behind the aging white woman glanced nervously up and down the dimly lit hallway. The small lights set in the ceiling of the gray painted hall were adequate, but one of the bulbs in the middle had burned out, causing a dimness in the narrow passage.
Because of that very factor, when the man caught sight of Daddy Cool approaching, he never noticed the knife the slim black man carried. At first, he was startled to see the light-complexioned Negro, but almost instantly he remembered having seen the man sitting around the lobby, so his initial fear was quickly dissolved.
To him, Daddy Cool was just another of the forgotten people who were living out their last years at the hotel. A nobody, a person you saw but just as quickly forgot.
So it came as a complete shock to him when he heard his date cry out. Still he was unaware of his danger. "What? What the hell is wrong?" he managed to say before his date fell back against him in terror.
"Please, please," she cried, and her voice began to rise.
In another second she would scream, Daddy Cool realized, and that was something he didn't want to happen. No noise was the best play of the game, so instead of taking the mark out of the game first, Daddy Cool knew he would have to waste time on the woman.
Desperately, she tried to turn and flee, even though no threats or words had been spoken. She saw death bearing down on her in the form of a tall, light-skinned black man. Before she could turn around, Daddy Cool made one of his swift underhand throws. The knife seemed to twist in the air twice before it came to rest between the large breasts of the woman. She groaned, then slumped over.
Realization finally dawned on the middle-aged black man. Even though there hadn't been any sounds other than a thump when the woman fell, he knew somehow that she was dead. His eyes grew as large as picture windows when he saw a knife appear in the assassin's hand. He put his hands out in front of himself and backed up.
"Wait, wait a minute, mister. Please, God, please. I can pay. I mean I can really.... Lord of Mercy, help!"
He began to scream as he saw the man draw back his arm and begin the throw. His scream was cut off as the well-aimed knife struck him in the heart. He gripped the blade sticking out of him, but it was only in desperation. His struggles were in vain as he fell against the wall. His body continued to jerk for a brief period. In fact, he was dead on his feet.
Daddy Cool didn't bother to look back as he hurried toward his exit. He reached the stairway before he even bothered to look back. He was glad to see that nobody had bothered to come out of any of the apartments yet. Closing the door behind him, he hurried down the stairs, praying that no one would see him.
His luck held out until he reached the last flight leading to the ground floor, then someone opened the bottom door. He froze on the stairway, holding his breath. Whatever happened, he didn't plan on leaving any eyewitnesses. Too many people had already seen him around the hotel, so it would be foolhardy to leave anyone alive who could identify him.
Anxiously he waited, but he heard no footsteps. Whoever opened the door hadn't bothered to come up. Slowly he began to inch his way down the steps, taking one at a time, making no sound whatsoever. He was like a large black cat, stalking his prey. Seething with the desire to hurry, he fought for control. At any moment, anybody could sound the alarm.
But the compulsion to run was on him. Knowing that the two bodies upstairs were already discovered, he wanted to break from his cover and bolt. Yet caution and experience made him use firm control. When he finally achieved his destination, he was surprised to find that no one was there. He had half expected to find a drunk sitting on the bottom of the steps. Instead, there was no one.
Daddy Cool spotted an abandoned brown paper bag. He could see the empty beer cans and other pieces of garbage protruding from the bag. He understood instantly why nobody came up the steps. Someone had just been too lazy to take their garbage outside and had set the bag down in the staircase. Daddy Cool let out a sigh of relief, then moved on.
He opened the door on the first floor and peeped out. Seeing that it was clear, he made his way quickly to the back door and was glad to find it just like he had left it. He opened it and stepped out into the welcome blackness of the night. His silent steps went unobserved, except by a passing alley cat who was creeping down the garbage-littered alley in search of his nightly game.
The two messengers of death passed each other, each involved in his own pursuit of destruction. One was already finished with his merciless mission, while the other still stalked the frightened creatures who in all probability would one day pay with their lives for a moment of carelessness.
Before leaving the alley, Daddy Cool threw away his last remaining knife. It was a long push-button switchblade that he had carried for an emergency. Now that he believed he was out of danger, he didn't want anything that might draw suspicion to him. He started up the motor of the car, and having wiped the knife clean, he tossed it into a trash container.
He drove quickly out of the alley. At times like this he hated to emerge from an alley. There was always the chance that a police car might drive by, and seeing a black man coming out of an alley was always enough to make them stop to investigate. But his luck held. The streets were desert
ed. He drove slowly until he reached Western, then he took it straight out until he approached the airport.
When he reached Manchester, he made a right turn and took it over to Wilshire. From there he reached the airport in a matter of minutes. One quick glance at his watch revealed to him that he had a whole hour to kill. He wasted part of the time out in the parking lot, cleaning up any prints that he might have left on the car.
Even though he didn't really think the car would be traced, because nobody had seen it that he knew of, there was always the chance that a passing police officer might have seen it parked at the rear of the hotel and taken down the license number.
So he didn't take any chances. The car couldn't be traced to him, except by fingerprints, because he had rented it under a false driver's license. After he was sure the car was clean, he placed the key in the ashtray. When he had reached the airport he had called the rental company and informed them where they could find their car.
As Daddy Cool stepped out of the telephone booth, he heard over the intercom that his flight for Detroit would be boarding on ramp six. Daddy Cool put out his cigarette, then picked up his bag and started slowly toward his point of departure.
EARL WALKED AROUND the open poolroom with a hangdog expression. Daddy Cool now had been back from his latest trip for over a week, yet he still hadn't found out the whereabouts of his daughter. Earl's problem was just the opposite. He believed he knew where she was and what she was doing. If Daddy Cool was to find out, Earl believed it would break the man's heart.
He had checked and rechecked the information he had received from various sources. The older men who came into the poolroom and shot their games in relative silence at the back of the poolroom seemed to be sure of what they had told him.
For that reason and no other, Earl didn't know what to do. This would be the first time in his life that he had ever held anything back from his friend. But he couldn't begin to figure out how to tell the man that his young daughter had become a prostitute.