Chester Himes - All shot up

The bartender looked for a place to hang his gaze. Finally he settled on the glass he was polishing. If his skin had been lighter, the blush would have showed. Finally he whispered, “It was me, sir.”

Grave Digger brushed it off. “All right, let’s finish with Snake Hips. Who is his current lover?”

“I’m not sure, sir-you know how these things are with these people-” He choked a little, but they let it pass. “I mean, one never really knows. He’s been going around with a person called Black Beauty.”

They didn’t ask him if this person was a man, and he didn’t elaborate.

“But Black Beauty’s been seen around town with a man named Baron; and I know for a fact Baron’s been hanging around with a white man-I don’t know his name.”

“You ever see him-the white man?” Coffin Ed asked.

“Yes, sir.”

They avoided asking him where.

“Was he one of the trio-the heistmen?” Grave Digger asked.

“Oh no, sir. He wasn’t anything like that. He was a sort of a gentleman type-you find on Broadway,” he amended.

“All right, that does for Snake Hips,” Grave Digger said as they stored away the information against future use. “You know Casper Holmes by sight?”

“Yes, sir, he’s a customer here.”

“What?”

The bartender shrugged slightly, spreading his hands, holding the glass in one and the towel in the other.

“Sometimes. Not a regular. It’s just near his office, which is upstairs, and he drops by sometimes for a short one.”

“Did he pass by the front here?” Coffin Ed asked.

“Yes, sir. He must have just come from his office. But he didn’t stop in here. Snake Hips was dancing, and he passed right by him as if he didn’t see him-like he had something on his mind.”

“Does he know Snake Hips?”

The bartender lowered his eyes. “It’s possible, sir. Mr. Holmes gets around.”

“Could Snake Hips’ dancing act have been a tip-off?”

“Oh, I’m sure it wasn’t that, He was just trying to drag me. You see I got a wife and two children-”

“And you still got time for these boys?”

“Well, that was it. I didn’t-”

“Let him go on,” Grave Digger said harshly. “So Casper didn’t see him, or rather didn’t acknowledge him.”

“It was more that. He must have seen him. But he was walking in a hurry, looking straight ahead and carrying a pigskin bag-”

Both detectives stiffened to alert.

“Brief case?” Grave Digger asked in an urgent whisper.

“Why, yes, sir. A pigskin brief case with a handle. It looked new. He was going toward Seventh Avenue, and I figured he was going to take a taxi.”

“Let us do the guessing.”

“Well, he usually parks his car out front. It wasn’t there, so I figured-” Grave Digger’s look cut him off. “Well, anyway, he was just past the doorway when a black Buick sedan pulled to the curb-”

“There was parking space?”

“Yes, sir-it so happened that two cars had just pulled off.”

“You know whose they were?”

“The cars? No, sir. I think the drivers came from — or rather the passengers, there was a party of ’em-came from the Palm Cafe.”

“Casper notice it?”

“He didn’t act like it. He kept on walking. Then two cops-or rather men dressed in cops’ uniforms-got out and another one stayed behind the wheel. My first thought was that Mr. Holmes was carrying valuables and the cops were a bodyguard. But Mr. Holmes tried to walk past them-between them rather, because they sort of separated when he tried to pass them-”

“Where was the white man?”

“He was on Mr. Holmes’ right, toward the street. Mr. Holmes was carrying the brief case on that side. Then they took him by the arms; one took hold of each arm. Mr. Holmes seemed surprised, then mad.”

“You couldn’t see his face from here.”

“No, sir. But his back stiffened, and he looked like he was mad, and I know he was saying something because I could see the side of his face working. It was it by the sign light, and it seemed as if he was shouting, but of course I couldn’t hear him.”

“Well, go on,” Grave Digger urged. “We haven’t got all night.”

“Well, sir, that was the first I figured there was something wrong. Then the next thing I knew I saw the white man knock Mr. Holmes’ hat off; he sort of flicked it off from behind so that it fell in front of Mr. Holmes. And at the same time the colored cop-man-sapped Mr. Holmes behind the left ear; he was on Mr. Holmes’ left side.”

“Did you see the sap?”

“Not too well. It looked like an ordinary leather-bound sap with a whalebone handle to me.”

“Did he hit him again?”

“No sir, once was enough. Mr. Holmes went down like he was sitting, and the white man took the pigskin bag out of his hand.”

“Who else in the bar here saw this happen?”

“I don’t think anybody else saw it. You see, the customers face this way and only us bartenders face in that direction, and the other bartenders was busy. It wasn’t like they had made any noise. I saw it, but I couldn’t hear a sound.”

“What about Snake Hips? Didn’t he see what was happening, or was he too far gone.”

“He hadn’t been banging, if that’s what you mean. But he was dancing in a slow circle, doing a sort of shake dance, and he had his back to them.”

“But they must have seen him.”

“Must have. But they didn’t pay him no attention. As far as they were concerned, he was harmless as a lamppost.”

“Why didn’t you telephone the police?” Grave Digger asked.

“I didn’t have time. I was going to, but the next thing I knew I heard a shot. A man appeared right outside of this window like he had come from nowhere. When I first heard the shot my first thought was they’d shot Snake Hips-the silly fool-then I saw this man standing there with one of those short bulldog-looking pistols held straight out in his right hand. Then I heard him say in a hard, dry voice, ‘Get ’em up!’”

“You heard him?”

“Yes, sir. You see, he didn’t speak until after he had shot; and at the sound of the shot everybody inside of here went stone quiet.”

“That’s when the two heistmen started shooting,” Coffin Ed surmised.

“No, sir. I don’t know what they did because I wasn’t looking at them no more. But they didn’t start shooting with that man pointing that gun at them. But the cop-man-in the car started shooting. It was dark inside the car, and I could see the orange lashes.”

He ceased polishing the glass for the moment, and his brown face went ashy at the memory.

“Of course the man wasn’t shooting at me, but the gun was pointing this way, and it seemed like I was looking down the barrel. I was scared enough to drop six babies, because it looked like he never was going to stop shooting.” He wiped sweat drops from his ashy face with the polishing towel.

“Eleven-shot automatic,” Coffin Ed said.

“It sounded like more than eleven shots to me,” the bartender contended.

“That’s when you ducked,” Grave Digger said disappointedly, figuring the account was finished,

“That’s when I should have ducked,” the bartender admitted. “Everybody else ducked. But I ran to the front of the bar, trying to get Snake Hips’ attention and call him inside, as if he hadn’t heard all that shooting more than I did. But you don’t know what you’re thinking at a time like that. So I stood there waving my arms while the man in the car ducked out of sight. The white man had fell flat on his stomach when the shooting started, and I don’t think he was hit then, I wasn’t really looking, although I could see him from where I stood; but I was looking at the car, and he must have shot back at the man in the car because I saw two bullet holes suddenly appear in the right front window.”