Death List (4 page)

She came to the end of the alley and stopped. She glanced both ways before pulling out into the traffic. When they reached the next intersection, a police car came flying past, heading for Grand River Avenue. She waited for the speeding police car to cross in front of them.

"They must be on a code three," someone said from the backseat.

The sound of his voice breaking the silence also helped break the tension. The rest of the people in the car cracked up laughing.

"Goddamn, Eddie-Bee," Red said, holding his side. "Leave it up to you, man, and you'll make a funny on your way to hell."

The slim, brown-skinned man called Eddie-Bee smiled slightly. It made him feel good to make people laugh. It was one of the few things he really enjoyed in life, trying to be a comic.

Betty glanced over at Red sitting in the front seat next to her. "How did everything go?" she asked qui etly. "You know, I heard all that damn shootin', so I'm sure as hell curious about it."

"I'll just bet your ass is," Red replied. "It's enough to make you curious." He stopped and twisted around in the car seat. "Our boy Zeke here started the ball to rolling," he began. "The fool-ass guard tried to go for his gun and Zeke sent him to see his maker."

The tall, slim, brown-skinned Negro sitting by the rear window moved nervously in his seat.

"Look here, brother," he began, speaking slowly. "I don't mind Betty knowing about it because she was up on the robbery with us. But after this, let's not do any mentioning of who shot who, okay?" he said seriously. "I know I ain't got nothing to worry about because all of us just about killed somebody back there, but I'm talking about when we get back to our club, let's not speak of who shot who."

"I'll go along with that," the short, plump man sitting between Eddie-Bee and Zeke stated. "There was too much bloodshed back there for us to talk about it. Them kind of things are best left untalked about."

"Don't worry, Charles," Red said casually. "Even though everybody in our club is cool, it is better not to talk about it. I'd even go as far as to say, don't even mention that you were on the job. Just being up on it is enough to get all day in prison."

Everybody in the car agreed with Red. Robert, the man who had run past Red so fast, gave a short laugh. "Shit, Red, as slow as you were moving, I'd have thought you kind of wanted to get cracked out. You know what they say, once a guy has spent as much time in Jackson as you have, be becomes institutionalized to such a degree that he really misses that way of life."

Red laughed along with the rest of the people. "Naw, baby, but havin' a foot race with you to see who got out first wouldn't have been cool either. Just like your running past me wasn't the coolest thing in the world."

Robert started to argue, but Red cut him off. "Kenyatta asked me to be in charge to a certain degree, you know, so I felt it was my duty to see that everything went off right. You ain't forgot, have you, Robert, that I was on my way back in just to get you?"

For just a minute, Robert looked around sheepishly, then he regained his bravado. "Yeah, I know you were, but you ain't forgot either that you ordered me to stay there to the last and watch that fat-ass banker."

"Goddamn it," Charles cried out, "I meant to put a slug or two into his fat ass. I hate a whitey who looks like that bastard. I mean, you can actually tell he's a flunky motherfucker on a black nigger's ass."

"Well, you don't have to worry about him no more. That's one honky that won't be giving out any more orders, unless it's in hell."

Betty turned onto a side street. "I hope you done put them guns and money inside those shoppin' bags," she said as she pulled up beside a small compact car. Inside was a woman who looked as if she was white.

The woman glanced up and down the street anxiously as Betty parked beside her. "Hi, Arlene," Betty yelled as Red slipped out of the car and took the keys from Arlene. He went around and opened up the trunk of her car and put the shopping bags inside. When he came back, he removed the trunk key from the ring before giving the keys back to the woman.

"Well, we'll be seeing you around, honey," Betty called out sweetly as she pulled away. She watched in the mirror as Arlene drove off. "Well, that takes care of that. Arlene is so light that, if the police should stop her, she won't have no trouble because they'll think she's a white girl and let her go."

"That's sure enough cool, but what's cooler yet," Zeke said from the back, "is that we ain't got that hot shit in the car with us no more."

"Amen," Robert said. "You can sure as hell say amen to that!"

When Betty stopped at another intersection a police car cruised past them slowly. The driver gave them the once-over, but seeing a woman driving must have thrown him off because he kept on going.

"I'll say amen, amen, loud and clear now," Red said, and they all laughed. They knew now that they could really relax. They were home clear. There was no more need to fear a bust. Everything had been taken care of.

INSIDE THE WELL-FURNISHED six-room apartment over the club were the people who had participated in the robbery. Kenyatta counted the money for the third time, then, after removing fifteen thousand dollars, made six small piles of money. He gave each person who had been involved in the robbery two thousand dollars. Nobody complained about the way he split it up.

"I for one," he said earnestly, "am damn glad that this shit is over with." Kenyatta glanced around at the smiling faces. "I guess just about everybody is happy, huh?"

Red tossed off a shot glass of whiskey before speaking. They had been drinking and toasting each other since early that morning. "That ain't the half of it," he said, his voice sounding hard and cold. "I hope that finished it up for good. I hate robberies of any kind. That's why it's a shame Billy and Jackie ain't still around. They loved to knock over shit like that."

Kenyatta studied him closely before speaking. "You're one-hundred-percent correct about that, Red, 'cause that joint happened to be Billy's pet project. He'd been trying to talk me into knocking off that particular joint for damn near a year."

As he spoke, Kenyatta noticed Betty weaving through the living room, clutching a drink in her hand. He was momentarily surprised to see her stagger. He'd never before seen her drink enough to get loaded. She dropped into his lap, then rolled her beautiful eyes up at him. He noticed that they were bloodshot. He had a deep conviction that the past few weeks had put her under too much pressure. The only reason he'd sent her on the robbery was because he'd wanted her to do something that would take her mind off her Auntie Joy's death. There had been no way for him to foresee that the robbery would turn into a bloodbath.

He squeezed her small waist tightly. "Enjoying yourself, honey?" he inquired in what she termed his passionate bedroom voice.

Betty smiled up at him, her face lighting up and her pearly-white teeth gleaming. "You better damn well believe it. I didn't know Johnnie Walker Black could make you feel so good."

As Red stood up to go, he staggered. "I believe I'll be gettin' on down the road," he said, picking up his money. "I got a date with an angel." He attempted to sing, but Kenyatta cut him off.

"Why don't you leave some of your cash here, Red? You don't need all that money in the streets with you at one time."

It seemed as if he might comply with Kenyatta's wishes as he stood there rocking back and forth, but the alcohol got the best of him. "Hey, baby boy, why you come down on me like that? I ain't no kid, you know. I can well take care of myself, brother."

This is the kind of shit that blows everything up in a man's face, Kenyatta thought coldly as he watched the man reel.

"I can take care of myself," Red repeated. Then he reached inside his shirt and came out with a pistol. "See, Ken, I ain't going in the goddamn street without some kind of help, brother. I wish a motherfucker would try and take something away from me." He waved the gun at the couple sitting in the chairs.

Kenyatta gritted his teeth. He knew exactly what he was going to have to do. There was no sense in wasting his time trying to talk the man out of his drunken plans. Kenyatta knew from past experience that, once Red started to drink, he was bullheaded and hard to reason with. Even trying to talk him out of the pistol would be a senseless effort.

Kenyatta hated what he was about to do. He tried to make his mind a blank and stifle any thoughts, because he knew he'd be arguing with himself. Who the hell was he to try to play God? The man had earned the money, so why not let him go out and spend it any way he wanted to? His answer to himself was that the man would probably end up shooting somebody. He would have to disarm him.

Kenyatta raised up out of the chair and set Betty down on her feet. "Come on, bro," he said, friendly like, "I'll walk you to the front door. I got something I want to talk to you about anyway."

Red grinned at him foolishly, then started to put the gun away. The punch came at him swiftly. It was short and explosive. If Red had been just a little bit more sober, he would have ducked it. As it was, he almost rolled away from it, revealing how well Kenyatta had trained his people. The blow caught Red on the jaw. He dropped and slowly crumpled up on the floor, knocked completely out.

"I knew it," Charles said from where he sat. "I couldn't believe you were going to let him go in the streets like that."

"I hated to do it," Kenyatta explained to the people watching, "but we got too much to lose to allow him to run around in the streets drunk. If the police get him, no telling what he might say while under the influence of that shit, so it's better all the way around if he stays right here until he's sober."

Kenyatta stopped, reached down, and removed the pistol from the drunken man's coat pocket.

"That's a funky thing to do," Betty said as her whiskey began to talk for her. "Shit, what did Red do to deserve all that?" She glared around angrily. "I don't care if all the rest of these niggers are scared of you, Kenyatta, but I'm sure in the hell not." She belched loudly.

"Shit, Kenyatta," Zeke said from where he sat on the couch nursing his small glass of wine, "looks like you might have another one to go."

"Okay, yeah," she snarled as she staggered around the table to get a better look at Zeke. "Why don't you kill-crazy bastards just kill me, huh? Wouldn't that be the easy way out for all of you? Hell, I know too much for you to let me go on living, don't I? So just shoot me, right here in the top of the head," she said, pointing out the spot.

Her words had brought a snap of fear to most of the people in the room. They were too involved in the robbery to have someone come up with a loose lip. They glanced up at Kenyatta to see how he was taking his woman's words. This could turn into one hell of a dilemma if Kenyatta didn't get her mind right.

He raised his hand, asking for silence. "I know what most of you are thinkin', but forget it. This is the first time any of you have ever seen her drunk, and I promise you it will be the last," he said, not realizing that he was making a promise he would not be able to keep.

"Hey, brother," Robert called out, "we know how it is, man. Just like you said, I ain't never seen Betty loaded before, I mean never. Not even close, man, so I know it's just the drinks in her talking." He spoke with conviction, because he really liked the tall black woman.

"Technically speaking," Eddie-Bee began, loaded enough himself to start trying to talk proper, which he did whenever he reached a certain point in his drinking, "I'd say we've all had a few too many, but that's why we started drinking, wasn't it? Weren't we supposed to be celebrating something or other? So what the fuck. Let's let our hair hang loose. It's exhilarating to be loaded around friends." He stopped and took a large drink from the paper cup in front of him, then continued. "I'm ready to call the ladies up from downstairs myself. Let's party, dig? We're not here to merely exist, are we?" He glared around at his friends, then spoke to Betty directly. "I really sympathize with you, Betty. It's getting increasingly boring up here." He tried to turn his back but only succeeded in knocking his cup of whiskey onto the thick brown carpet.

The other men laughed. But as Kenyatta took Betty into his arms, she started a crying jag. At first she cried softly, then the sobs came louder and louder. He glanced around at the other men nervously, then reached down and picked her up and carried her to the bedroom. Once there, he covered her lips with hot kisses, holding her tight and slowly rubbing her back as if she was a nervous filly. She settled down slowly, and he could tell she was coming around and relaxing. Her lips grew softer under his, her tongue came out to meet his until there was nothing but a strong passion between them. After undressing her with care, he took her. They made slow and tender love. Her cries of fear turned into cries of passion.