Cry Revenge (Holloway House Originals)

  INTERNATIONAL RAVES FOR DONALD GOINES

  "A flashing talent straight from the streets of the lost."

  -L'Expres

  "After Chester Himes, the "Serie Noire" could not overlook Donald Goines, the most interesting black crime writer in many years. Goines writes with guts 'n blood."

  -La Republique du Centre

  "What is great about Goines is that you feel you've become more intelligent once you have read his stories of pain and grief. His stories almost have an ethnographic value."

  -La Liberte de I'Est

  ..dives into the hellish world of the ghetto dear to Chester Himes, minus the humor. Policemen shoot before asking questions. Fear and hatred can be read on all faces."

  -La Croix

  Jay caught Maria from behind. As she opened the door he grabbed her around the neck and pulled her back inside the apartment. Even though he had her neck, he didn't stop her from screaming until he got her back into the apartment. He didn't even remember sticking the long-bladed knife into her back. When she fell back into his arms blood gushed from the back wound, covering his hands and arms. The checkered white jacket he wore was covered with blood from the sleeves onward.

  The other two men in the apartment didn't even realize that Jay had stabbed the woman until she screamed over and over again, "George, George, he's killing me!"

  Holloway House Originals by Donald Goines

  DOPEFIEND

  WHORESON

  BLACK GANGSTER

  STREET PLAYERS

  WHITE MAN'S JUSTICE, BLACK MAN'S GRIEF

  BLACK GIRL LOST

  CRIME PARTNERS

  CRY REVENGE

  DADDY COOL

  DEATH LIST

  ELDORADO RED

  INNER CITY HOODLUM

  KENYATTA'S ESCAPE

  KENYATTA'S LAST HIT

  NEVER DIE ALONE

  SWAMP MAN

  Special Preview of Death List-page 209.

  CRY

  REVENGE

  Donald Goines

  DEDICATION

  A friend indeed will help a friend in need. So saying, I'd like to say my thanks to some friends of mine who have helped me while others turned their backs. At the top of the list is Levern Sawyer and his wonderful wife Pearl. Next I'd like to thank Brother Auther, or better known as Deek Reed. Also on the long list would be Kenneth Heggerman and his Lady Rickie. Last but not least, I'd like to say thank you to Frank Usher, better known to his friends as Frank Nitty. While these are not all of the people, they are some of my closest friends, or rather people I'm proud to think of as my personal friends.

  CRY REVENGE

  1

  IN THE BACKYARD of the white frame house was sand. Brown, light sand that blew in from the distant desert. New Mexico was more desert than anything else, yet it still possessed a beauty that would be hard to find elsewhere.

  Curtis Carson stood up and put his hands on his hips as he shook out the kinks in his back. He stared down at the dice that his friend Dan Lewis shook.

  "Seven!" Dan yelled as he rolled the dice out. When eight showed, he snatched them back up quickly. "Seven," he yelled again, this time taking his time and trying to roll the dice gently on the sand. Again the dice came up with eight.

  "These mothafuckers ain't got nothin' on them but eights," Dan cursed loudly. Then he shook the dice slowly, holding them back near his ear. He grinned up at Curtis, who picked up the money he had made after jumping eight. "Now," Dan yelled, "I want to see some fuckin' sevens on these mothahuppas."

  The two Mexican men kneeling in the dirt watched Dan closely as he shook the dice. The stouter of the two tossed his money down beside Dan's. "Okay, momma," he said, drawing the words out, "you're faded."

  Dan stared down at the ten-dollar bill lying in the dirt. He grinned up at the men, revealing good teeth that needed some cleaning. "Now that's the way I like to get my money on, with no problems." He took his time, then quickly released the dice. The dice hit the dirt and began to spin around like small tops.

  Before the dice could stop spinning, the Mexican who had faded the money reached over and snatched the dice up from the dirt. "Goddamn, Dannie, how many times we got to go over it! Ain't goin' be no spinning the dice in the sand!"

  "The sonofabitch," the other Mexican said, loud enough for all the men in the game to hear. "The gringo bastard must think we are the fools, huh?"

  "Hey, amigo," Curtis said smoothly, "sometimes people forget, you know. Ain't nobody been hurt, the dice were caught, so let's not get nasty about it, okay?" His voice had remained low, but there was no doubt about the authority in it. The tall black was used to giving orders.

  The slim Mexican who had spoken glanced up from his kneeling position. "Hey, my man, how many times do we have to pull this dude's coat about tryin' to shoot that shot on us, huh?"

  Curtis shrugged his wide shoulders. "These things happen, Pedro, you're hip to it. The guy is used to firin' the craps that way, so all at once we want him to change his style of shootin' 'cause you guys say he's gettin' slick. So the guy tries and changes his style of shootin', but at times he forgets, you know, and goes back to firin' the craps the way he's used to shootin' them. That's all it is."

  Pedro glared up at Curtis, but prudence warned him not to push it. He glanced around and caught his partner's eyes, then glanced down at the money in the pot. His actions were obvious to everybody in the game.

  Before the other Mexican could pick his money up out of the dirt, Dan picked up the dice and rolled them out. "Seven, baby," he yelled, as the craps slowly rolled across the dirt.

  Before the heavyset Mexican could follow his partner's directions, the dice had rolled out and stopped on a seven. Pedro let out a curse and glared angrily at the dice shooter.

  "Seven, and we have a winner," Curtis yelled out, making it clear to the angry Mexicans that it had been a fair roll.

  Pedro coughed and cleared his throat. "Yeah, Dannie boy, you really think you're cute, don't you, my man?" His jet-black eyes were flashing dangerously as he tried to control his temper.

  Dan, a tall, slim, brown-skinned man in his early twenties, smiled coldly. Though his lips were pulled back in a smile, his dark eyes were bleak and deadly as he watched the Mexican out of the corner of them.

  "Hey, Pedro," he called out softly, "what's the deal, man? You say I'm tryin' to be cute. I can't dig that, brother. I'm just tryin' to win some cash money, that's all, my man."

  Before Pedro could say anything, his partner punched him in the side with his elbow. "It's okay, dude, you caught me with my pants down on that roll."

  Dan smiled at the heavyset Mexican. "That's the way I like to hear people rap, Jay. You win some, you lose some."

  Jay Novello, the husky Mexican, ignored Dan as he got up from the crap game. "I think we had better be movin' on, amigo," Jay stated as he reached out and touched the quick-tempered Pedro's arm. "It's nothing, amigo, but a few dollars."

  "Hey, brother, wait a minute now. I don't want you to leave with no kind of attitude now, 'cause ain't nobody did nothin' to you," Curtis stated sharply, then added, "'cause if you think you been cheated, run it down to me. I don't run no kind of crooked game, not in my momma's backyard, no way."

  Curtis stepped in front of the two men. "Now, if you got some kind of complaint, let's get it off your chest and we can clear up the air right now!"

  "We ain't got no complaints, Curtis," Jay stated, "but we done warned this dude six or seven times about shootin' that turn-down shot on us, and he still takes us for tricks."

  "Hey, Jay," Curtis replied quietly, "we both saw the shot he used when he rolled seven just now and it wasn't no turn-down shot he used. Be
fore, yes, but you caught the dice, Jay, so now what the fuck is the problem?"

  Before Jay could answer, Curtis went on. "Now, if you're hot over losin' your money, I ain't about to replace it, so you're shit out of luck. If you couldn't stand to lose, you shouldn't have started to gamble!"

  His words beat at the two men, each one feeling the weight of them as he spoke. Pedro glanced upward at the sky. Jay, on the other hand, glanced down at his shoes, then moved nervously from one foot to the other. He slowly raised his eyes and stared at Curtis.

  "Hey, amigo, we ain't fools, you dig? Now, I been beat out of a few dollars," Jay began, speaking with slow deliberation and looking directly into Curtis' eyes. "But the money ain't about nothin', Curtis. What hurts, amigo, is that we thought we were more cooler with you than that."

  Jay raised his hand, cutting off whatever Curtis was about to say. "I know without it being said that we been hustled, Curtis, but that ain't about shit. What I'm tryin' to say is, I thought we were tighter than that, but it's okay, my man. Them things happen. Maybe you needed the few dollars that your main man won; who knows, I don't, and I don't give a fuck!"

  Curtis frowned but didn't say anything. He listened quietly as the Mexican continued to speak.

  "We ain't got no attitude, as you said, Curtis, we just didn't think you'd hustle us" Jay shrugged, looking like an overgrown bulldog at that moment-his pug nose quivering, his black eyes sparkling.

  After much shifting about, Pedro managed to get into the conversation. "Yeah, Curtis, we never figured you'd turn on us like that, man. It ain't like it should be. Friends ain't supposed to play on each other, not when they're cool with each other."

  Finally Dan got tired of listening to the two complaining Mexicans. "Hey, what kind of shit is this?" he began. "Before you guys get carried away, why don't you dig this sho'nuff shit. It wasn't none of Curtis who ripped you off. It was me, so why the fuck are you wasting your time wearing his eardrums off? I'm the one who beat you out of your money, so if you think you got played on, take it up with me, not him!"

  Pedro shifted suddenly and his hand dipped down into his pocket. Jay's words froze him in that position.

  "We ain't got no argument with neither one of you," Jay stated. "We got beat, and that's it!"

  "Well," Dan drawled, "I just hope your friend happens to feel the way you do about it, Jay, 'cause if he don't, this motherfuckin' sociable little party could turn into somethin' neither one of us wants."

  Jay attempted to laugh it off as he gripped Pedro's arm tightly. He could feel the firm muscles tightening and retightening under his fingers. Pedro was quick-tempered and dangerous as any coiled rattlesnake. His temper was unpredictable and no one knew it better than Jay. At the moment, though, Jay didn't want any trouble out of the blacks.

  "It ain't about nothin, I said," Jay stated again. This time he gave Pedro a small push and started him toward the side of the house.

  Pedro stopped and whirled on his heel. "Hey, Curtis," he said, "I never thought you would sock it to me like that, man."

  Curtis folded his arms across his wide chest. "No comprendo, Pedro, my man. I just don't know where you're comin' from. But before we fall out over a little money, I'd rather kick back your money and keep your friendship." But Curtis didn't make any move toward his pocket.

  For a second Pedro just stared at him. "I just bet you will," he replied, his cold black eyes never leaving the face of the tall black man he spoke to.

  Suddenly Curtis laughed, a cold, chilling sound without any mirth in it. "Hey, my man, I'm going to pull your coat one more time, Pedro, then you can take it any way you want to. This is my mother's pad, man, so I wouldn't start any shit around here, and I sure 'null don't want any kind of trouble. So you should be able to understand that."

  Seeing that the shit was about to get deep again, Jay didn't waste any time. "Hey, amigo," he said lightly as he took Pedro's arm and turned him back around. This time he didn't try to be gentle. "I said it was all right, Pedro, so forget it, man, you dig?"

  "If you say so, Jay," Pedro answered, "but I ain't about to forget about it."

  "Do whatever the fuck you want to do!" Curtis stat ed sharply.

  Dan rubbed his chin as he watched the two Mexicans depart. "You know, Curt, we might have some trouble out of them spics, brother."

  Curtis shook his head. "I doubt it. If it was one of the Fernandez brothers, I'd say yes, but our boy Pedro is a blowhard. He's quick-tempered as hell, but he also forgets shit. He won't even think about it this time tomorrow."

  "You think he's going to pull his brother's coat that we bumped his head?" Dan inquired.

  Again Curtis shrugged his wide shoulders. "It's hard to say, Dan. Right now his pride is hurt, so no tellin'. If he didn't think he was the smartest bastard in the world it would be easy to figure him out, but since he don't think like other people, I don't know. First of all, he might not want his brother to know that he was foolish enough to start shooting craps in my backyard. His pride might not allow him to confess his stupidity to others."

  "Well, I hope you're right, Curt, 'cause if you ain't, we goin' have trouble coppin' some good stuff from them Mexes "

  "Well, ain't no sense us worryin' 'bout what we can't help, is there, Dan?"

  For an answer Dan grinned, then slapped his partner on the back. "Okay, Curt, you know more about these Mexicans than I'll ever be able to find out, so I'll go along with your judgment."

  "Good," Curtis replied, "now let's get on into the pad and see what Mom has got together in that big pot she was cookin' in." Curtis didn't wait for an answer as he led the way toward the back door. He pushed the screen door open and stepped in.

  The rear porch was crowded with debris. Three large gray ashcans sat near the door that led into the house, while cardboard boxes with various items in them were everywhere. The rear porch was screened in so that people could sit there and enjoy the nights without fear of being eaten to death by insects.

  At the sound of the two young men walking on the porch, a woman's voice called out, "Curtis, is that you?"

  "Yeah, Ma," he answered quickly as he stopped at the rear door that led into the house and began to wipe his feet off.

  "I'm sure glad you boys have finished gambling out there, Curtis," she stated. "You know how much I hate to see you gambling, period, let alone in our yard."

  Before he could say anything to an old argument of his mother's, she continued. "One of these days you niggers are going to get yourselves killed over one of them cheap dice games. Hell, I'd be surprised to death if there was over ten dollars in the whole game!"

  Both men grinned at each other, then Dan removed the bankroll from his pocket and began to count it. "Shit!" he exclaimed happily, "I believe Jay blowed his whole paycheck." To make sure, he recounted the money in his hand. "Yeah, I won one hundred and fourteen dollars, Curt."

  Curtis removed the money from his pocket and quickly counted it. "Good, we got one hundred and fifty dollars between us, Dan. That's more than enough to cop us a good bag of stuff." Curtis held the door open for his friend and partner. "Besides the money, Dan, we got a pot of black-eyed peas waitin' on us inside," he stated as he lifted his nose and smelled deeply. "Yes sirreee, my nose ain't never fucked around and let me down, man. Whenever I tell you what's smokin' in the pot, brother, you can lay money on it I'm right."

  The two men entered the kitchen, which was right off the back porch. Curtis' mother, a large, heavyset woman, was standing at the stove. She twisted her head around and smiled at the men. When she opened her mouth, the empty spaces where her teeth had been were visible.

  "I just know you done trimmed them Mexicans out of their little bit of money," she stated as the two men settled down in the center of the kitchen at the small table.

  "Now, Moms," Curtis began, "we just happened to get lucky today, that's all."

  "Shit!" she replied loudly. "If you waited on luck you'd never have a damn thing!" Mrs. Carson said seriously as she waddl
ed away from the stove and made her way across the floor to the white painted cabinet over the kitchen sink. She removed two dishes, carried them back, and set them down in front of the men. Her broad black face broke into a grin as she began to load their plates from a large bowl that had been sitting on the table. She went back to the stove and opened the oven, removed a cornbread pan, cut two large slices, and carried them back to put one on each man's plate. Finally, she brought them both large glasses of Kool-Aid and set them on the table.

  "Damn!" Dan exclaimed, "I don't know how I'm ever going to get all this food down. Shit, Momma, if I ate at your house every day, I'd weigh over five hundred pounds!"

  Mother Carson loved to cook. And next to that, she loved to watch men eat. She prided herself on always having enough, no matter how many friends Curtis or his brother, Billy, brought home for dinner.

  "Where's Billy at?" Curtis inquired as his mother came back to the table, this time carrying some butter in a tray.

  Before answering, Mother Carson reached up and wiped the sweat off the red handkerchief she wore wrapped around her head. The bandanna was filthy from long use, while the white apron she wore was almost spotless. Her features were average-for a black housewife over fifty. She was fat to an excess, revealing that she also loved her own cooking just as much as she liked seeing other people eat it.

  "I believe your brother is up to the Center playing basketball," she answered in a voice that matched her size.

  "Shit, Billy goin' turn into a goddamn basketball one of these days," Curtis stated offhandedly.

  "Better for him to spend his time at the Center playing basketball than running the streets like you and Dan. Ain't no good goin' come of it, you can bet your black ass on it, too," she said harshly, not bothering to respect the feeling of her son's guest.

  "Now, Momma," Dan began, but he was cut off sharply.

  "Don't `now momma' me," she said harshly. "I know what you two niggers are up to when you're out in them streets, so don't try and shit me." Her voice rose higher as she spoke until she was nearly shouting.