The Real Cool Killers Part 11

"He-he, naw suh boss, but you're warm, It's Justice Broome."

All three cops looked about and grinned, and the sergeant had to clamp his jaws to keep from grinning too.

"You know these Moslems?"

"What Moslems, boss?"

"The Harlem Moslems in this neighbourhood."

"Naw suh, boss, I don't know no Moslems in Harlem."

"You think I was born yesterday? They a neighbourhood gang. Every black son of a b.i.t.c.h in this neighbourhood knows who they are."

"Everybody 'cept me, boss."

The sergeant's palm flew out and caught Choo-Choo unexpectedly on the mouth while it was still open in a grin. It didn't rock his short thick body, but his eyes rolled back in their sockets. He spit blood on the floor.

"Boss, suh, please be careful with my chops -- they're tender."

"I'm getting d.a.m.n tired of your lying."

"Boss, I swear 'fore G.o.d, if I knowed anything 'bout them Moslems you'd be the first one I'd tell it to."

"What do you do?"

"I works, boss, yes suh."

"Doing what?"

"I helps out."

"Helps out with what? You want to lose some of your pearly teeth?"

"I helps out a man who writes numbers."

"What's his name?"

"His name?"

The sergeant c.o.c.ked his fists.

"Oh, you mean his name, boss. Hit's Four-Four Row."

"You call that a name?"

"Yas suh, that's what they calls him."

"What does your buddy do?"

"The same thing," Sheik said.

The sergeant wheeled on him. "You keep quiet; when I want you I'll call you." Then he said to the professor, "Can't you keep that punk quiet?"

The professor unhooked his sap. "I'll quiet him."

"I don't want you to quiet him; just keep him quiet. I got some more questions for him." Then he turned back to Choo-Choo. "When do you punks work?"

"In the morning, boss. We got to get the numbers in by noon."

"What do you do the rest of the day?"

"Go 'round and pay off."

"What if there isn't any payoff?"

"Just go 'round."

"Where's your beat?"

"'Round here."

"G.o.d d.a.m.n it, you mean to tell me you write numbers in this neighbourhood and you don't know anything about the Moslems?"

"I swear on my mother's grave, boss, I ain't never heard of no Moslems 'round here. They must not be in this neighbourhood, boss."

"What time did you leave the house tonight?"

"I ain't never left it, boss. 'We come here right after we et supper and ain't been out since."

"Stop lying; I saw you both when you slipped back in here a half-hour ago."

"Naw suh, boss, you musta seen somebody what looks like us 'cause we been here all the time."

The sergeant crossed to the door and flung it open. "Hey, Grandma!" he called.

"Hannh?" she answered querulously from the kitchen.

"How long have these boys been in their room?"

"Hannh?"

"You have to talk louder; she can't hear you," Sissie volunteered.

Sheik and Choo-Choo gave her threatening looks.

The sergeant crossed the middle room to the kitchen door. "How long have your roomers been back from supper?" he roared.

She looked at him from uncomprehending eyes.

"Hannh?"

"She can't hear no more," Sissie called. "She gets that way sometime."

"h.e.l.l," the sergeant said disgustedly and stormed back to Choo-Choo. "Where'd you pick up these girls?"

"We didn't pick 'em up, boss; they come here by themselves."

"You're too G.o.ddam innocent to be alive." The sergeant was frustrated. He turned to the professor: "What did you find on that punk?"

"This knife."

"h.e.l.l," the sergeant said. He took it and dropped it into his pocket without a glance. "Okay, fan this other punk -- Justice."

"I'll do Justice," the professor punned.

The two cops crossed glances suggestively.

They had dumped out all the drawers and turned out all the boxes and pasteboard suitcases and now they were ready for the bed.

"You gals rise and shine," one said.

The girls got up and stood uncomfortably in the center of the room.

"Find anything?" the sergeant asked.

"Nothing that I'd even care to have in my dog house," the cop said.

The sergeant began on the girls. "What's your name?" he asked Sissie.

"Sissieratta Hamilton."

"Sissie what?"

"Sissieratta."

"Where do you live, Sissie?"

"At 2702 Seventh Avenue with my aunt and uncle, Mr. and Mrs. Coolie Dunbar."

"Ummm," he said, "And yours?" he asked Sugart.i.t.

"Evelyn Johnson."

"Where do you live, Eve?"

"In Jamaica with my parents, Mr. and Mrs. Edward Johnson."

"It's mighty late for you to be so far from home."

"I'm going to spend the night with Sissieratta."

"How long have you girls been here?" he asked of both.

"About half an hour, more or less," Sissie replied.

"Then you saw the shooting down on the Street?"

"It was over when we got here."

"Where did you come from?"

"From my house."

"You don't know if these punks have been in all evening or not."

"They were here when we got here and they said they'd been waiting here since supper. We promised to come at eight but we had to stay help my aunty and we got here late."

"Sounds too good to be true," the sergeant commented.

The girls didn't reply.

The cops finished with the bed and the talkative one said, "Nothing but stink."

"Can that talk," the sergeant said. "Grandma's clean."

"These punks aren't."

The sergeant turned to the professor. "What's on Justice besides the blindfold?"

His joke laid an egg.

"Nothing but his black," the professor said.

His joke drew a laugh.

"What do you say, shall we run 'em in?" the sergeant asked.

"Why not," the professor said. "If we haven't got s.p.a.ce in the bullpen for everybody we can put up tents."

The sergeant wheeled suddenly on Sheik as though he'd forgotten something.

"Where's Caleb?"

"Up on the roof tending his pigeons."

All four cops froze. They stared at Sheik with those blank shuttered looks.

Finally the sergeant said carefully, "His grandma said you told her he was working in a bowling alley downtown."