The Real Cool Killers Part 6

"If he isn't already out," a reporter said.

"He's not out. We got here too fast for that."

The reporters then began to question him.

"Is Pickens one of the Real Cool Moslems?"

"We know he was rescued by seven of them. The eighth was killed."

"Was there any indication of robbery?"

"Not unless the victim had valuables we don't know about. His wallet, watch and rings are intact."

"Then what was the motive? A woman?"

"Well, hardly. He was an important man, well off financially. He didn't have to chase up here."

"It's been done before."

The chief spread his hands. "That's right. But in this case both Negroes who attacked him did so because they resented his presence in a colored bar. They expressed their resentment in so many words. We have colored witnesses who heard them. Both Negroes were intoxicated. The first had been drinking all evening. And Pickens had been smoking marijuana also."

"Okay, chief, it's your story," the dean of the police reporters said, calling a halt.

The chief and Anderson recrossed the street to the silent group.

"Did you get away with it?" one of the deputy commissioners asked.

"G.o.d d.a.m.n it, I had to tell them something," the chief said defensively. "Did you want me to tell them that a fifteen-thousand-dollar-a-year white executive was shot to death on a Harlem street by a weedhead Negro with a blank pistol who was immediately rescued by a gang of Harlem juvenile delinquents while all we got to show for the efforts of the whole G.o.d-d.a.m.ned police force is a dead adolescent who's called a Real Cool Moslem?"

"Sho' 'nuff cool now," Haggerty slipped in _sotto voce_.

"You want us to become the laughing stock of the whole G.o.dd.a.m.ned world," the chief continued, warming up to the subject. "You want it said the New York City police stood by helpless while a white man got himself killed in the middle of a crowded n.i.g.g.e.r street?"

"Well, didn't he?" the homicide lieutenant said.

"I wasn't accusing you," the deputy commissioner said apologetically.

"Pickens is the one it's rough on," Anderson said. "We've got him branded as a killer when we know he didn't do it."

"We don't know any such G.o.dd.a.m.ned thing," the chief said, turning purple with rage. "He might have rigged the blanks with bullets. It's been done, G.o.d d.a.m.n it. And even if he didn't kill him, he hadn't ought to've been chasing him with a G.o.dd.a.m.ned pistol that sounded as if it was firing bullets. We haven't got anybody to work on but him and it's just his black a.s.s."

"Somebody shot him, and it wasn't with any blank gun," the homicide lieutenant said.

"Well, G.o.d d.a.m.n it, go ahead and find out who did it!" the chief roared. "You're on homicide; that's your job."

"Why not one of the Moslems," the deputy commissioner offered helpfully. "They were on the scene, and these teenage gangsters always carry guns."

There was a moment of silence while they considered this.

"What do you think, Jones?" the chief asked Grave Digger. "Do you think there was any connection between Pickens and the Moslems?"

"It's like I said before," Grave Digger said. "It didn't look to me like it. The way I figure it, those teenagers gathered around the corpse directly after the shooting, like everybody else was doing. And when Ed began shooting, they all ran together, like everybody else. I see no reason to believe that Pickens even knows them."

"That's what I gathered too," the chief said disappointedly.

"But this is Harlem," Grave Digger amended. "n.o.body knows all the connections here."

"Furthermore, we don't have but one of them and that one isn't carrying a gun," Anderson said. "And you've heard Haggerty's report on the statement he took from the bartender and the manager of the Dew Drop Inn. Both Pickens and the other man resented Galen making pa.s.ses at the colored women. And none of the Moslem gang were even there at the time."

"It could have been some other man feeling the same way," Grave Digger said. "He might have seen Pickens shooting at Galen and thought he'd get in a shot, too."

"These people!" the chief said. "Okay, Jones, you begin to work on that angle and see what you can dig up. But keep it from the press."

As Grave Digger started to walk away, Coffin Ed fell in beside him.

"Not you, Johnson," the chief said. "You go home."

Both Grave Digger and Coffin Ed turned and faced the silence.

"Am I under suspension?" Coffin Ed asked in a grating voice.

"For the rest of the night," the chief said. "I want you both to report to the commissioner's office at nine o'clock tomorrow morning. Jones, you go ahead with your investigation. You know Harlem, you know where you have to go, who to see." He turned to Anderson. "Have you got a man to work with him?"

"Haggerty," Anderson offered.

"I'll work alone," Grave Digger said.

"Don't take any chances," the chief said. "If you need help, just holler. Bear down hard. I don't give a G.o.dd.a.m.n how many heads you crack; I'll back you up. Just don't kill any more juveniles."

Grave Digger turned and walked with Coffin Ed to their car.

"Drop me at the Independent Subway," Coffin Ed said.

Both of them lived in Jamaica and rode the E train when they didn't use the car.

"I saw it coming," Grave Digger said.

"If it had happened earlier I could have taken my daughter to a movie," Coffin Ed said. "I see so little of her it's getting so I hardly know her."

6.

"Let her loose now," Sheik said.

Sissie let her go.

"I'll kill him!" Sugart.i.t raved in a choked voice. "I'll kill him for that!"

"Kill who?" Sheik asked, scowling at her.

"My father. I hate him. The ugly b.a.s.t.a.r.d. I'll steal his pistol and shoot him."

"Don't talk like that," Sissie said. "That's no way to talk about your father."

"I hate him, the dirty cop!"

Inky looked up from the handcuffs he was filing. Sonny stared at her.

"Shut up," Sissie said.

"Let her go ahead and croak him," Sheik said.

"Stop picking on her," Sissie said.

Choo-Choo said, "They won't do nothing to her for it. All she got to say is her old man beat her all the time and they'll start crying and talking 'bout what a poor mistreated girl she is. They'll take one look at Coffin Ed and believe her."

"They'll give her a medal," Sheik said.

"Those old welfare biddies will find her a fine family to live with. She'll have everything she wants. She won't have to do nothing but eat and sleep and go to the movies and ride around in a big car," Choo-Choo elaborated.

Sugart.i.t flung herself across the foot of the bed and burst into loud sobs.

"It'll save us the trouble," Sheik said.

Sissie's eyes widened. "You wouldn't!" she said.

"You want to bet we wouldn't?"

"If you keep talking like that I'm going to quit."

Sheik gave her a threatening look. "Quit what?"

"Quit the Moslems."

"The only way you can quit the Moslems is like Caleb quit," Sheik said.

"If I'd ever thought that poor little Caleb --"

Sheik cut her off. "I'll kill you myself."

"Aw, Sheik, she don't mean nothing," Choo-Choo said nervously. "Why don't you light up a couple of sticks and let us Islamites fly to Mecca."

"And let the cops smell it when they shake us down and take us all in. Where are your brains at?"

"We can go up on the roof."

"There're cops on the roof, too."

"On the fire escape then. We can close the window."

Sheik gave it grave consideration. "Okay, on the fire escape. I ain't got but two left and we got to get rid of them anyway."

"I'm going to look and see where the cops is at by now," Choo-Choo said, putting on his smoked gla.s.ses.

"Take those cheaters off," Sheik said. "You want the cops to identify you?"

"Aw h.e.l.l, Sheik, they couldn't tell me from n.o.body else. Half the cats in Harlem wear their smoke cheaters all night long."

"Go 'head and take a gander at the avenue. We ain't got all night," Sheik said.

Choo-Choo started climbing out the window.

At that moment the links joining the handcuffs separated with a small clinking sound beneath Inky's file.

"Sheik, I've got 'em filed in two," Inky said triumphantly.

"Let's see."

Sonny stood up and stretched his arms.

"Who's he?" Sissie asked as though she'd noticed him for the first time.

"He's our captive," Sheik said.

"I ain't no captive," Sonny said. "I just come with you 'cause you said you was gonna hide me."

Sissie looked round-eyed at the severed handcuffs dangling from the wrists. "What did he do?" she asked.

"He's the gangster who killed the syndicate boss," Sheik said.

Sugart.i.t stopped sobbing abruptly and rolled over and looked up at Sonny through wide wet eyes.

"Was that who he is?" Sissie asked in an awed tone. "The man who was killed, I mean."

"Sure. Didn't you know?" Sheik said.

"I done told you I didn't kill him," Sonny said.

"He claims he had a blank gun," Sheik said. "He's just trying to build up his defense. But the cops know better."

"It was a blank gun," Sonny said.

"What did he kill him for?" Sissie asked.

"They're having a gang war and he got a.s.signed by the Brooklyn mob to make the hit."