Chester Himes - Cotton comes to Harlem

The Colonel paled. He still held the knife and hook in his hands but his body was controlled with great effort. The blond young man was sweating and trembling all over.

"Drop the gadgets, Colonel," Coffin Ed said, motioning with his gun.

The Colonel tossed the knife and hook into the hole in the bale of cotton.

"Turn around and walk over and put your hands to the wall," Coffin Ed went on.

The Colonel looked at him scornfully. "Don't be afraid, my boy, we're unarmed."

The tic came into Coffin Ed's face. "And just don't be too mother-raping cute," he warned.

The white men read the danger in his face and obeyed. Grave Digger frisked them. "They're clean."

"All right, turn around," Coffin Ed ordered.

They turned around impassively.

"Just remember who're the men here," Coffin Ed said.

No one replied.

"You were seen picking up the laborer, Joshua, by the side of the 125th Street railroad station just before he was murdered," Grave Digger continued from before.

"Impossible! There was only a blind man there!" the blond young man blurted involuntarily.

With a quick violent motion the Colonel turned and slapped him.

Coffin Ed chuckled. He drew a photograph from his inside pocket and passed it to the Colonel. "The blind man saw you — and took this picture."

The Colonel studied it for a long moment, then handed it back. His hand was steady but his nostrils were white along the edges. "Do you believe a jury would convict me on this evidence?" he said.

"This ain't Alabama," Coffin Ed said. "This is New York, and this colored man has been murdered by a white man in Harlem. We have the evidence. We'll give it to the Negro press and all the Negro political groups. When we get through, no jury would dare acquit you; and no governor would dare pardon you. Get the picture, Colonel?"

The Colonel had turned white as a sheet and his face looked pinched. Finally he said, "Every man's got his price, what's yours?"

"You're lucky to have any teeth left by now, or even dentures," Grave Digger said. "But you asked me a straight question, and I'll give you a straight answer. Eighty-seven thousand dollars."

The blond young man's mouth popped wide open again and he flushed bright red. But the Colonel only stared at Grave Digger to see if he was joking. Then disbelief came to his face, and finally astonishment.

"Incredible! You're going to give them back their money?"

"That's right, the families."

"Incredible! Is it because they are nigras and you're nigras too?"

"That's right."

"Incredible!" The Colonel looked as though he had got the shock of his life. "If that's true, you win," he conceded. "What will it buy me?"

"Twenty-four hours," Grave Digger said.

The Colonel kept staring at him as though he were a fourheaded baby. "And will you really keep your bargain?"

"That's right. A gentleman's agreement."

A flicker of a smile showed at the corners of the Colonel's mouth.

"A gentleman's agreement," he echoed. "I'll give you a cheque drawn on the committee."

"We're going to wait right here behind drawn shades until the banks open in the morning and you send and get the cash," Grave Digger said.

"I'll have to send my assistant here," the Colonel said. "Will you trust him?"

"That ain't the question," Grave Digger said. "Will you trust him? It's your mother-raping life."

Tuesday passed. Colonel Calhoun and his nephew had disappeared. So had Grave Digger and Coffin Ed. The entire police force was searching for them. The panel truck had been found abandoned beside the cemetery at 155th Street and Broadway, but no trace of their whereabouts. Their wives were frantic. Lieutenant Anderson had personally joined in the search.

But they had simply ditched the panel truck and limped over to the Lincoln Hotel on St Nicholas Avenue, operated by their old friend, took adjoining rooms and went to bed. They had slept around the clock.

Now it was Wednesday morning, and they had come down to the precinct station in a taxi, wearing bedroom slippers on bandaged feet, to turn in their report.

At sight of them the captain turned purple. He looked on the verge of an apoplectic stroke. He wouldn't speak to them, wouldn't look at them again. He gave orders for them to wait in the detectives' room and telephoned the commissioner. The other detectives looked at them and grinned sympathetically, but no one spoke; no one dared speak, they were hotter than a pussy with the pox.

The commissioner arrived and they were called into the captain's office. The commissioner was distinctly cool, but he had himself well under control, like a man just keeping from biting his nails. He let them stand while he read their report. He leafed through the eighty-seven thousand dollars in cash they had turned in.

"Now, men, I just want the facts," he said, looking about as though searching for the facts he wanted. "How was it possible that Colonel Calhoun escaped while you were guarding him?" he asked finally.

"You haven't read our report correctly, sir," Grave Digger said with great control. "We said we were waiting for him to come back so we could catch him red-handed taking the money from the bale of cotton. But when he started to unlock the door his nephew said something and they rushed back to their limousine and took off. That was the last we saw of them. We tried to chase them but their car was too fast. They must have had some gadget on the lock to tell them if it had been tampered with."

"What kind of gadget?"

"We don't know, sir."

The commissioner frowned. "Why didn't you report his escape and let the force catch him? Obviously, we have departments better equipped for it — or don't you think so?" he added sarcastically.

"That's right, sir," Grave Digger said. "But they didn't catch the two gunmen of Deke's and they had two full days before these same gunmen show up here, in the precinct station, and kill two officers and spring Deke."

"We figured we'd have a better chance of getting him by ourselves. We figured he'd come back for the money sooner or later, so we just hid there waiting for him," Coffin Ed added with a straight face.

"For one whole day?" the commissioner asked.

"Yes, sir. Time didn't matter," Grave Digger said.

The captain cleared his throat angrily but said nothing.

But the commissioner reddened with anger. "There is no place on this Force for grandstanding," he said hotly.

Coffin Ed blew up. "We found Deke and his two killers, didn't we? We gave back Iris, didn't we? We found the money, didn't we? We've got the evidence against the Colonel, haven't we? That's what we're paid for, isn't it? You call that grandstanding?"

"And how did you do it?" the commissioner flared.

Grave Digger spoke quickly, heading Coffin Ed off. "We did what we thought best, sir," Grave Digger said amenably. "You said you'd give us a free hand."

"Umph," the commissioner growled, scanning the report in front of him. "How did this girl, this dancer, Billie Belle, get hold of the cotton?"

"We don't know, sir, we haven't asked her," Grave Digger said. "We thought they'd get it out of Iris, they had her all yesterday."

The captain reddened. "Iris wouldn't talk," he said defensively. "And we didn't know about Billie Belle."

"Where does she live?" the commissioner asked.

"On 115th Street, not far," Grave Digger said.

"Get her in here now," the commissioner ordered.

The captain sent two white detectives for her, glad to get off so easily.

Billie didn't have time for her elaborate onstage make-up and she looked young and demure, almost innocent, without it, like all lesbian sexpots. Her full soft lips were a natural rose color, and without mascara her eyes looked brighter, smaller and rounder. She wore black linen slacks and a white cotton blouse and she looked like anything but a sophisticated belly dancer. She was relaxed and slightly on the flip side.