"Played on, hell; the bastard just lost his money, that's all," Dan alibied quickly.
"Yeah, man," George replied, drawing the last word out, "I know just what you mean."
"Fuck that shit!" Curtis stated sharply. "It ain't no skin off your ass no way, is it, George?"
George shook his head quickly. "Naw," he answered, the lie revealed in every line in his face. "Why the shit should I care what some dumb-ass spic goes and does? As long as it wasn't my money, I could care less."
Both the black men knew at once that the man was lying to them. Curtis asked the question that was on both of their minds. "I hope that shit don't cause us to fall out over the dope you sell me, George. I mean, I dig you and all that shit, but my money comes too damn hard for me to get some bunk for it."
"Hey, amigo, this is George you're talkin' to. Like I said, whatever some other cat goes and does don't mean shit to me, and if it did, I wouldn't let it come before me and my business, Curtis."
Curtis nodded his head in agreement. "I'm hoping you see it thataway, George, because if we work it right, there will be plenty of green stuff in it for both of us."
"Yeah, man," Dan said, speaking his little bit. "It ain't about nothin', that crap game, 'cause it was me that beat them dudes out of their bread anyway, not Curt."
It was obvious that George was irritated by Dan's words. "Listen, man," he began, "me and Curt are going to do the business, you dig? I don't know nothing about you, so if you don't mind, you stay out of it. I know you were the one who rolled the dice, as well as I know that if Curtis hadn't been there, they would have took their money back."
The man's words stung. Dan winced under them, but before he could speak, Curtis spoke up because he knew that Dan's pride had been hurt.
"We should completely forget about the crap game, George. It was unavoidable, and I regret that it happened."
"Well, I don't," Dan yelled, continuing to keep the subject open. "If the studs were out of their league playin', that was their problem, not mine."
"Hey, man," George said softly, "the studs thought it was just a friendly game. They didn't know Curtis was in on the hustle. I mean, shootin' craps in Curtis' backyard has always been a thing we have gone in for. After today, who knows, but I can promise you this, you won't ever pick up any more easy money like that!"
"Shit!" Curtis cursed, "you guys just ain't going to let it drop, are you?" He took out his cigarettes and quickly lit one. "If you want me to, George, I'll make the guy's money right. I just want an end to it."
George shrugged his fat shoulders. "Forget it, man. It's over and done. Pedro needed a lesson. Now maybe he'll believe he ain't the smartest guy in the world."
"You can say that again," Dan stated, then laughed sardonically.
For some reason, Dan seemed to get on George's nerves. Every time he spoke, the fat man seemed to get aroused. "You know, Curt, it don't take all of us to take care of this business, so why don't we drop your friend off somewhere and you can pick him back up when you get back over here."
"No bet, man. My money ain't going out of my sight," Dan said angrily.
"Hold it," Curtis said quickly. "You realize what you're sayin', Dan?" His temper rose. "George, stop at the corner and let Dan out. My mother stays about five blocks from here. If you want to, you can walk over there and wait until I get back with the stuff. If not, well, it's your decision."
Before Curtis was finished speaking, George had pulled to the curb and parked. Dan glared angrily at the fat man. "Hey, Curt, let me talk to you privately for a second, huh?"
"Hey, man, I ain't got all day. Either we take care of the business or pass it up to another fuckin' time," George stated.
Curtis shook his head. "It ain't necessary for all that shit, Dan. I know what's got to be done, so why go to all this bullshit." Curtis was trying to make his partner cool down.
"Fuck that shit, Curt," Dan said hotly. "This fat motherfucker think he's playin' games with us, but it ain't about nothin', Curt. We can cop some jive anyplace. We ain't got to deal with this chili-bean-eatin' motherfucker!"
"Hey, man, I ain't got all them names," George said slowly, his fat cheeks turning red.
"You'll be all them names and any more I want to call you, fat-ass motherfucker," Dan yelled as he opened the car door.
"Dan, Dan," Curtis yelled at his friend, "cool down a minute, man. This shit ain't about nothing. It ain't no problem for you to wait until I get back from coppin', man."
"I ain't waitin' nowhere, Curt. We began together and we'll finish together, if we're going to be real partners."
The two men glared at each other. Then Curtis broke the short silence. "Well, it don't make sense coppin' nowhere else, Dan. George got the best jive in the city, so it ain't good business to go elsewhere."
"The fat motherfucker don't want to do no business with me, Curt, 'cause I trimmed them other bean- eatin' motherfuckin' spics, man. So I ain't about to kiss his ass to get along with him," Dan stated loudly.
"Ain't nobody asked you to do nothin', Dan. All you got to do is give me your bread and wait until I get back, that's all."
Dan shook his head stubbornly. "Like I said before, Curt, I ain't about to let my money get out of my sight. Now, if he wants to do business with us, he'll do it with both of us, like he started out to do. Other than that, he can kiss my black ass!"
Dan slammed the car door and glared back through the open window. "It ain't nothing about you, Curt; it's just that I don't like the way this fat motherfucker came down on us. Now, if you want to still go through with it yourself, that's up to you."
"Yeah, man," Curtis answered softly, "I ain't changed my mind. George still got the best dope in town, and I want some of it."
With slow deliberation, Dan spit on the hood of the car, then slowly extracted the bankroll from his pocket. His cold black eyes never left the face of the angry Mexican. He counted out the money, then pushed seventy-five dollars back through the window.
"Here's your share of the money for trimming them two trick-ass Mexicans, Curt. If you ever get some more dumb-ass wetbacks over your way, give me a ring and I'll be glad to come over and relieve them stupid motherfuckers from their bankroll!" As soon as he finished speaking, he again spit on top of the car's hood, making sure George saw him do it.
George pulled away from the curb quickly, his cheeks a flaming red. He couldn't hide his anger, nor could he hide the fear that had gripped him. For a brief minute, he hadn't known which way the angry Negro would go. Violence was one thing he wanted no part of, not when he might be on the receiving end of it.
"That crazy sonofabitch," George said as he drove swiftly through the traffic. "I'll fix his fuckin' ass one of these days, Curt, I promise you that!"
Both men fell silent, each thinking his own bitter thoughts. Curt realized that now his money wasn't anywhere near right. How could he cop with only half the price of a bag? He came right to the point.
"Well, ain't no reason for me to beat around the bush, George," he began. "You went and blew it for me. I needed Dan's share of the money to make my bankroll right. When you went out of your way to arouse him, you blew it for me!"
Fat George shrugged his shoulders, then lit a cigar. The smell of the brown cigar filled the car. "Don't worry about it, Curt. Like I said, I always have liked you, so we can make it up whenever you cop again." He waited for a second, then added, "How does that sound to you, huh?"
For the first time since Dan got out of the car, Curtis sat back and relaxed. Things might work out even better now. Without a partner there would be more money for him and less of a problem.
"Yeah, George," he replied, smiling briefly, "things just might work out all right after all."
3
IT TOOK ONLY A COUPLE of weeks for the man with the four-to-one pop to gain a reputation. The junkies down on Main Street began dropping by Curtis' pad day and night, seeking the fine white powder that mixed a little more to their liking than the other stuff in t
own.
Curtis was making the bread, and Fat George couldn't have been more pleased with the arrangement. He was supplying Curtis, giving him any quantity that he needed, leaving himself open for more leisure time and a little less hassle. The one goal that George sought was to get himself away from the addicts, far enough away so that their unpredictable behavior would never affect him. Pushing his stuff through Curtis was the man's way of handling it.
For both men, the situation seemed to have a future. They could each look ahead, count their money, and plan on making gains.
After two months of hustling the streets, Curtis decided it was time to settle into a more reputable scene. His lifestyle was suspect. He knew that he could be spotted easily and that his movements left little doubt as to what he did for a living. With the amount of money he was making and the kinds of dudes he was selling to, he decided that it was high time to get himself into a cozy little apartment-at least for the time being.
It was a hot, muggy afternoon. Curtis cruised around in his old Buick for three hours, following up ads for apartments that he had seen in the local newspaper. He knew what he was looking for, but none of the places he had seen so far fit the bill.
Curtis wanted a place where there were lots of people-kids and their mothers, fathers coming home from work, and a couple of times a week bringing a few of the boys with them for beer. He wanted action around him, bodies moving all the time. That kind of a place would make his comings and goings, plus the ceaseless flow of junkies that would be visiting him, much less obvious. Living alone in a secluded little place raised the suspicions of the nosy neighbors who tended to live in those kinds of places. For the time being, anyway, Curtis wanted to lose himself in a crowd.
The end of the day was approaching fast, and Curtis knew he didn't have much time left. He had people coming at eight o'clock that night, meeting him in the backyard of his mother's place. The sun was low in the western sky, and the mugginess of the day had all but worn him out.
There was one last apartment house on his list, a place located just three blocks off of Main Street. Curtis figured that the location was good because most of the junkies he dealt with didn't have rides, and a place within walking distance would increase his business. He drove over to the Paradise Apartments and stopped in front.
The building was old and gray, with two dilapidated palm trees in front. Curtis leaned out his window and peered through the iron gates into the courtyard. A small pool was filled with children, and he could see three or four motherly types sitting around, smoking cigarettes and talking. The scene looked right.
The manager was an old black woman with two teeth missing in front. She talked with a lisp, and shook the stairway when she led Curtis up to the second-floor apartment.
"A young dude like yourself..., this is a good place." She smiled obscenely up at him, holding the door open.
The apartment was a one-bedroom, furnished in deep green and generally clean. The kitchen window looked out onto the street, and Curtis considered that a good point. Anybody coming toward the building from Main Street would have to make the turn at the end of the street. They would be visible from his kitchen.
"How much, ma'am?" Curtis asked, giving the lady his best college grin.
"Hunnerd an' ten...."
Curtis reached into his pocket, aware of the lady's careful gaze. He pulled out three hundred-dollar bills and a fifty.
"Here," he said, handing her the three-fifty. "Take it for the next three months. I don't want to be hassled with no rent for that amount of time. You dig?"
"Yessir!" the old woman replied, holding the money and wavering between giving him change or trying to rip him off for the extra twenty.
Curtis showed her to the front door, took the door key from her, and led her out onto the balcony. "And listen, ma'am, you just take that extra twenty in there and buy yourself something nice. Okay?"
The old woman was speechless. She looked up at Curtis and smiled, clutching the money in her hands. As Curtis watched her walk unsteadily across the balcony toward the stairway, he knew that there would be no problem from her-ever.
From that moment on, Curtis worked out of his new pad. It was easy going. The junkies liked it there and felt safe. The people who lived around him never knew what was coming down. They were all too busy with their own lives to worry about the lean, dark dude who had moved in upstairs. It was a good scene, and was to get even better.
Curtis saw Shirley the second day. He was standing out on the balcony, having just made a good three hundred off of one dude who was about to take a little journey to L.A. and needed some warmth for his bus ride. Curtis was feeling good, sipping a beer and watching the women and their children down by the pool.
Shirley was sitting with her three children on the patio. She was light-skinned, Mexican, with a head of the finest, blackest hair he had ever seen. Most of the other women around the pool were fat and showed signs of too many children. But not Shirley. Her bikini was small enough to reveal her long, lean legs and her rich, full thighs. Her stomach was flat, and her breasts pushed evenly against her tiny bra. Curtis watched her for the better part of an hour as she languished beneath the hot New Mexico sun.
Curtis' attention was diverted by a tall black dude who ambled into the courtyard. He watched as the man walked across the patio below directly toward Shirley. The beautiful woman said something to one of the other ladies, then got up and walked back toward her first-floor apartment. The black dude followed her, making his way along the opposite side of the pool. Curtis watched as he disappeared into her apartment.
He had never spoken with the girl, but Curtis was fuming. He couldn't understand the anger he felt, or the disappointment. It seemed impossible that he would even have a chance with such a beautiful woman, but nevertheless the rage was still there.
When the man appeared after only a couple of minutes, Curtis was relieved. At least the chick wasn't a working whore. He had seen so many housewives take on afternoon jobs to keep the spending money coming in that he automatically assumed that that was what this woman was doing. But two minutes wasn't even long enough time for them to get mellow.
The black man walked across the patio and left the apartment building. Shirley came out of her apartment a moment later. While she walked back toward her kids, she looked up at Curtis and smiled. It was the kind of look that made Curtis uncomfortable, because it revealed a knowledge in her.
The next day, Curtis watched from his living room window. He saw his old friend and one-time partner, Dan, walk into the courtyard and go to Shirley's apartment. Dan emerged a second later, strutting happily back toward the entrance.
"Dan, my man. What it is?" Curtis shouted down.
Dan stopped in his tracks and looked up at the figure of Curtis. "Hey! Curtis, baby. Wha's happenin'?"
"Come on up, Dan. Show you my pad.... I just moved in here!"
Dan looked around for a moment. He was always suspicious. When he had decided that there was nothing going on, he climbed the steps to the second story, ambled up to Curtis, and gave him a slap.
"Long time, man," Dan said, smiling.
"Yeah, baby. Come on inside and have a beer. I got some things I got to know."
Dan looked at his old friend curiously, then fol lowed Curtis into the apartment. There was still the tension of that night with Fat George between them, and Dan was highly aware of his own feelings. He was also badly in need of a fix. But that would have to wait because Dan wasn't about to admit to Curtis that he was mainlining. A few snorts had been his scene when they had been together ripping the Fernandez brothers off for a few nickels and dimes. But that had been the limit. Curtis was one of those dudes you didn't admit to using in front of, because Curtis didn't use himself. And Dan knew that Curtis would never consider taking him on as a partner if he found out that Dan was on the needle.
Dan still had hopes of getting in on the scoring end, but at the same time, he knew that his chances for making it in t
hat kind of scene were evaporating as fast as he could puncture his veins with the needle. Time was definitely not on his side. It hadn't been since the night he had confronted Fat George.
Curtis came out of the kitchen with two cans of beer. He tossed one to Dan, then sat down in the armchair, resting his feet on the coffee table.
"How you been, Dan?"
"Groovy, Curtis. Nothin' happenin' with me that ain't fine...." Dan took a long swig of his beer.
"Still snortin' the powder?"
Dan lowered his can and stared down at the floor. "Ain't nothin' about nothin' doin' that shit, Curtis. You know that as well as me."
Donald Goines, Death List
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