The Real Cool Killers Part 27

"I didn't kill him. Sheik killed him," she whispered.

"We know Sheik killed him," he said in a flat voice. He looked weary beyond words. "Listen, I'm not here as a cop. I'm here as a friend. Ed Johnson is my closest friend and his daughter is your closest friend. That ought to make us friends too. As a friend I tell you we've got to get rid of the gun."

She hesitated, debating with herself, then said quickly before she could change her mind, "I threw it down a water drain on 128th Street near Fifth Avenue."

He sighed. "That's good enough. What kind of gun was it?"

"It was a thirty-two. It had the picture of an owl's head on the handle and Uncle Coolie called it an Owl's Head."

"Has he missed it?"

"He missed it out of the drawer this morning when he started for work and asked Aunt Cora if she'd moved it. But he ain't said nothing to me yet. He was late for work and I think he wanted to give me all day to put it back."

"Does he need it in his work?"

"Oh no, he works for a garage in the Bronx."

"Good. Does he have a permit for it?"

"No, sir. That's what he's so worried about."

"Okay. Now listen. When he asks you about it tonight, you tell him you took it to protect yourself against Mr. Galen and that during the excitement you left it in Sheik's room. Tell him that I found it there but I don't know to whom it belongs. He won't say any more about it."

"Yes sir. But he's going to be awfully mad."

"Well, Sissie, you can't escape all punishment."

"No, sir."

"Why did you shoot at Mr. Galen anyway? You can tell me now since it doesn't matter."

"It wasn't account of myself," she said. "It was on account of Sugart.i.t -- Evelyn Johnson. He was after her all the time and I was afraid he was going together. She tries to be wild and does crazy things sometimes and I was afraid he was going to get her and do to her what he did to me. That would ruin her. She ain't an orphan like me with n.o.body to really care what happens to her; she's from a good family with a father and a mother and a good home and I wasn't going to let him ruin her."

He sat there listening to her, a big, tough lumpy-faced cop, looking as though he might cry.

"How'd you plan to do it?" he asked.

"Oh, I was just going to shoot him. I'd made a date with him at the Inn for me and Sugart.i.t, but I wasn't going to take her. I was going to make him drive me out somewhere in his car by telling him we were going to pick her up; and then I was going to shoot him and run away. I took Uncle Coolie's pistol and hid it downstairs in the hall in a hole in the plaster so I could get it when I went out. But before time came for me to go, Sugart.i.t came by here. I wasn't expecting her and I couldn't tell her I wanted to go out, so it was late before I could get rid of her. I left her at the subway at 125th Street, thinking she was going home, then I ran all the way over to Lenox to meet Mr. Galen; but when I got over on Lenox I saw all the commotion going on. Then I saw him come running down the street and Sonny chasing him and shooting at him with a gun. It looked like half the people in Harlem were running after him. I got in the crowd and followed and when I caught up with him at 127th Street I saw that Sonny was going to shoot at him again, so I shot at him, too. I don't think anyone even saw me shoot; everybody was looking at Sonny. But when I saw him fall and all the Moslems in their costumes run up and ganged up around him I was scared one of them was going to see me, so I ran around the block and threw the gun in a drain, then came back to Caleb's from the other way and made out like I didn't know what had happened. I didn't know then that Caleb had been shot."

"Have you told anyone else about this?"

"No sir. When I saw Sugart.i.t come sneaking into Caleb's, I was going to tell her I'd shot him because I knew she'd come back looking for him. But Choo-Choo had let it slip out that Sheik was carrying his zip gun, and then after Sonny said his gun wouldn't shoot anything but blanks I knew right away it was Sheik who'd shot him; and I was scared to say anything."

"Good. Now listen to me. Don't tell anybody else. I won't tell anybody either. We'll just keep it to ourselves, our own private secret. Okay?"

"Yes sir. You can bet I won't tell anybody else. I just want to forget it -- if I ever can."

"Good. I don't suppose there's any need to tell you to keep away from bad company; you ought to have learned your lesson by now."

"I'm going to do that, I promise."

"Good. Well, Sissie," Grave Digger said, getting slowly to his feet, "you made your bed hard; if it hurts lying on it, don't complain."

It was visiting hour next day in the Centre Street jail.

Sissie said, "I brought you some cigarettes, Sonny. I didn't know whether you had a girl to bring you any."

"Thanks," Sonny said. "I ain't got no girl."

"How long do you think they'll give you?"

"Six months, I suppose."

"That much. Just for what you did."

"They don't like for people to shoot at anybody, even if you don't hit them, or even if they ain't shooting nothing but blanks like what I did."

"I know," she said sympathetically. "Maybe you're getting off easy at that."

"I ain't complaining," Sonny said.

"What are you going to do when you get out?"

"Go back to s.h.i.+ning shoes, I suppose."

"What's going to happen to your s.h.i.+ne parlor?"

"Oh, I'll lose that one, but I'll get me another one."

"You got a car?"

"I had one but I couldn't keep up the payments and the man took it back."

"You need a girl to look after you."

"Yeah, who don't? What you going to do yourself, now that your boy friend's dead?"

"I don't know. I just want to get married."

"That shouldn't be hard for you."

"I don't know anybody who'll have me."

"Why not?"

"I've done a lot of bad things."

"Like what?"

"I'd be ashamed to tell you everything I've done."

"Listen, to show you I ain't scared of nothing you might have done, I want you to be my girl."

"I don't want to play around any more."

"Who's talking about playing around. I'm talking about for keeps."

"I don't mind. But there's something I've got to tell you first. It's about me and Sheik."

"What about you and Sheik?"

"I'm going to have a baby by the time you get out of jail."

"Well, that makes it different," he said. "We'd better get married right away. I'll talk to the man and ask him to see if he can't arrange it."

ABOUT THE AUTHOR.

Chester Himes was born in Missouri in 1909. He began writing while serving a prison sentence for a jewel theft and published just short of twenty novels before his death in 1984. Among his best-known thrillers are _Cotton Comes to Harlem_, _The Real Cool Killers_, and _The Heat's On_, all available from Vintage.