Author: Paul Beatty
Category: Fiction
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"How I know dat?"
"Do Ah not bring bill? You t'ink Ah steal t'ree dollar, 'ey?"
"Three dollars an' sebenty-fi' cent," corrected Gillis. "Nuther thing: wha' you ever see me befo'? How you know dis is me?"
"Ah see you, sure. Ah help Mr. Gabrielli in de store. When you knocks down de baskette appels, Ah see. Ah follow you. Ah know you comes in dis house."
"Oh, you does? An' how come you know my name an' flat an' room so good? How come dat?"
"Ah fin' out. Sometime Ah brings up here vegetables from de store."
"Humph! Mus' be workin' on shares."
"You pays, 'ey? You pays me or de policemon?"
"Wait a minute," broke in Uggam, who had been thoughtfully contemplating the bill. "Now listen, big shorty. You haul hips on back to Tony. We got your menu all right"—he waved the bill—"but we don't eat your kind o' cookin', see?"
The West Indian flared. "Whaht it is to you, 'ey? You can not mind your own business? Ah hahve not spik to you!"
"No, brother. But this is my friend, an' I'll be john-browned if there's a monkey-chaser in Harlem can gyp him if I know it, see? Bes' think f you to do is to catch air, toot sweet."
Sensing frustration, the little islander demanded the bill back. Uggam figured he could use the bill himself, maybe. The West Indian hotly persisted; he even menaced. Uggam pocketed the paper and invited him to take it. Wisely enough, the caller preferred to catch air.
When he had gone, King Solomon sought words of thanks.
"Bottle it," said Uggam. "The point is this: I figger you got a job."
"Job? No I ain't! Wha' at?"
"When you show Tony this bill, he'll hit the roof and fire that monk."
"What ef he do?"
"Then you up 'n ask f the job. He'll be too grateful to refuse. I know Tony some, an' I'll be there to put in a good word. See?"
King Solomon considered this. "Sho' needs a job, but ain' after stearin' none."
"Stealin'? 'T would n't be stealin'. Stealin' 's what that damn monkey-chaser tried to do from you. This would be doin' Tony a favor an' gettin' y'self out o' the barrel. What's the holdback?"
"What make you keep callin' him monkey-chaser?"
"West Indian. That's another thing. Any time y' can knife a monk, do it. They's too damn many of'em here. They're an achin' pain."
"Jess de way white folks feels 'bout niggers."
"Damn that. How 'bout it? Y' want the job?"
"Hm—well—I'd ruther be a policeman."
"Policeman?" Uggam gasped.
"M-hm. Dass all I wants to be, a policeman, so I kin police all the white folks right plumb in jail!"
Uggam said seriously, "Well, y' might work up to that. But it takes time. An' y've got to eat while y're waitin'." He paused to let this penetrate. "Now how 'bout this job at Tony's in the meantime? I should think y'd jump at it."
King Solomon was persuaded.
"Hm—well—reckon I does," he said slowly.
"Now y're tootin'!" Uggam's two big front teeth popped out in a grin of genuine pleasure. "Come on. Let's go."
IV
Spitting blood and crying with rage, the West Indian scrambled to his feet. For a moment he stood in front of the store gesticulating furiously and jabbering shrill threats and unintelligible curses. Then abruptly he stopped and took himself off.
King Solomon Gillis, mildly puzzled, watched him from Tony's doorway. "I jess give him a li'l shove," he said to himself, "an' he roll' clean 'cross de sidewalk." And a little later, disgustedly, "Monkey-chaser!" he grunted, and went back to his sweeping.
"Well, big boy, how y' comin' on?"
Gillis dropped his broom. "Hay-o, Mouse. Wha' you been las' two-three days?"
"Oh, around. Gettin' on all right here? Had any trouble?"
"Deed I ain't—ceptin' jess now I had to throw 'at li'l jigger out."
"Who? The monk?"
"M-hm. He sho' Lawd doan like me in his job. Look like he think I stole it from him, stiddy him tryin' to steal from me. Had to push him down sho' nuff 'fo I could get rid of 'im. Den he run off talkin' Wes' Indi'man an' shakin' his fis' at me."
"Ferget it." Uggam glanced about. "Where's Tony?"
"Boss man? He be back direckly."
"Listen—like to make two or three bucks a day extra?"
"Huh?"
"Two or three dollars a day more 'n what you're gettin' already?"
"Ain' I near 'nuff in jail now?"
"Listen." King Solomon listened. Uggam had n't been in France for nothing. Fact was, in France he'd learned about some valuable French medicine. He'd brought some back with him,—little white pills,—and while in Harlem had found a certain druggist who knew what they were and could supply all he could use. Now there were any number of people who would buy and pay well for as much of this French medicine as Uggam could get. It was good for what ailed them, and they did n't know how to get it except through him. But he had no store in which to set up an agency and hence no single place where his customers could go to get what they wanted. If he had, he could sell three or four times as much as he did.
King Solomon was in a position to help him now, same as he had helped King Solomon. He would leave a dozen packages of the medicine—just small envelopes that could all be carried in a coat pocket—with King Solomon every day. Then he could simply send his customers to King Solomon at Tony's store. They'd make some trifling purchase, slip him a certain coupon which Uggam had given them, and King Solomon would wrap the little envelope of medicine with their purchase. Must n't let Tony catch on, because he might object, and then the whole scheme would go gaflooey. Of course it would n't really be hurting Tony any. Would n't it increase the number of his customers?
Finally, at the end of each day, Uggam would meet King Solomon some place and give him a quarter for each coupon he held. There'd be at least ten or twelve a day—two and a half or three dollars plumb extra! Eighteen or twenty dollars a week.
"Dog-gone!" breathed Gillis.
"Does Tony ever leave you heer alone?"
"M-hm. Jess started dis mawnin'. Doan nobody much come round 'tween ten an' twelve, so he done took to doin' his buyin' right 'long 'bout dat time. Nobody hyeh but me fo' 'n hour or so."
"Good. I'll try to get my folks to come 'round here mostly while Tony's out, see?"
"I doan miss."
"Sure y' get the idea, now?" Uggam carefully explained it all again. By the time he had finished, King Solomon was wallowing in gratitude.
"Mouse, you sho' is been a friend to me. Why, 'f 't had n' been fo' you—"
"Bottle it," said Uggam. "I'll be round to your room tonight with enough stuff for tomorrer, see? Be sure 'n be there."
"Won't be nowha' else."
"An' remember, this is all jess between you 'n me."
"Nobody else but," vowed King Solomon.
Uggam grinned to himself as he went on his way. "Dumb Oscar! Wonder how much can we make before the cops nab him? French medicine—Humph!''
V
Tony Gabrielli, an oblate Neopolitan of enormous equator, wobbled heavily out of his store and settled himself over a soapbox.
Usually Tony enjoyed sitting out front thus in the evening, when his helper had gone home and his trade was slackest. He liked to watch the little Gabriellis playing over the sidewalk with the little Levys and Johnsons; the trios and quartettes of brightly dressed dark-skinned girls merrily out for a stroll; the slovenly gaited, darker men, who eyed them up and down and commented to each other with an unsuppressed "Hot damn!" or "Oh no, now!"
But tonight Tony was troubled. Something was wrong in the store; something was different since the arrival of King Solomon Gillis. The new man had seemed to prove himself honest and trustworthy, it was true. Tony had tested him, as he always tested a new man, by apparently leaving him alone in charge for two or three mornings. As a matter of fact, the new man was never under more vigilant observation than during these two or three mornings. Tony's store was a modific
ation of the front rooms of his flat and was in direct communication with it by way of a glass-windowed door in the rear. Tony always managed to get back into his flat via the side-street entrance and watch the new man through this unobtrusive glass-windowed door. If anything excited his suspicion, like unwarranted interest in the cash register, he walked unexpectedly out of this door to surprise the offender in the act. Thereafter he would have no more such trouble. But he had not succeeded in seeing King Solomon steal even an apple.
What he had observed, however, was that the number of customers that came into the store during the morning's slack hour had pronouncedly increased in the last few days. Before, there had been three or four. Now there were twelve or fifteen. The mysterious thing about it was that their purchases totaled little more than those of the original three or four.
Yesterday and today Tony had elected to be in the store at the time when, on the other days, he had been out. But Gillis had not been overcharging or short-changing; for when Tony waited on the customers himself—strange faces all—he found that they bought something like a yeast cake or a five-cent loaf of bread. Why should strangers leave their own neighborhoods and repeatedly come to him for a yeast cake or a loaf of bread? They were not new neighbors. New neighbors would have bought more variously and extensively and at different times of day. Living nearby, they would have come in, the men often in shirtsleeves and slippers, the women in kimonos, with boudoir caps covering their lumpy heads. They would have sent in strange children for things like yeast cakes and loaves of bread. And why did not some of them come in at night, when the new helper was off duty?
As for accosting Gillis on suspicion, Tony was too wise for that. Patronage had a queer way of shifting itself in Harlem. You lost your temper and let slip a single "negre" A week later you sold your business.
Spread over his soapbox, with his pudgy hands clasped on his preposterous paunch, Tony sat and wondered. Two men came up, conspicuous for no other reason than that they were white. They displayed extreme nervousness, looking about as if afraid of being seen; and when one of them spoke to Tony, it was in a husky, toneless, blowing voice, like the sound of a dirty phonograph record.
"Are you Antonio Gabrielli?"
"Yes, sure." Strange behavior for such lusty-looking fellows. He who had spoken unsmilingly winked first one eye then the other, and indicated by a gesture of his head that they should enter the store. His companion looked cautiously up and down the Avenue, while Tony, wondering what ailed them, rolled to his feet and puffingly led the way.
Inside, the spokesman snuffled, gave his shoulder a queer little hunch, and asked, "Can you fix us up, buddy?" The other glanced restlessly about the place as if he were constantly hearing unaccountable noises.
Tony thought he understood clearly now. "Booze, 'ey?" he smiled. "Sorry—I no got."
"Booze? Hell, no!" The voice dwindled to a throaty whisper. "Dope. Coke, milk, dice—anything. Name your price. Got to have it."
"Dope?" Tony was entirely at a loss. "What's a dis, dope?"
"Aw, lay off, brother. We're in on this. Here." He handed Tony a piece of paper. "Froggy gave us a coupon. Come on. You can't go wrong."
"I no got," insisted the perplexed Tony; nor could he be budged on that point.
Quite suddenly the manner of both men changed. "All right," said the first angrily, in a voice as robust as his body. "All right, you're clever. You no got. Well, you will get. You'll get twenty years!"
"Twenty year? Whadda you talk?"
"Wait a minute, Mac," said the second caller. "Maybe the wop's on the level. Look here, Tony, we're officers, see? Policemen." He produced a badge. "A couple of weeks ago a guy was brought in dying for the want of a shot, see? Dope—he needed some dope—like this—in his arm. See? Well, we tried to make him tell us where he'd been getting it, but he was too weak. He croaked next day. Evidently he had n't had money enough to buy any more.
"Well, this morning a little nigger that goes by the name of Froggy was brought into the precinct pretty well doped up. When he finally came to, he swore he got the stuff here at your store. Of course, we've just been trying to trick you into giving yourself away, but you don't bite. Now what's your game? Know anything about this?"
Tony understood. "I dunno," he said slowly; and then his own problem, whose contemplation his callers had interrupted, occurred to him. "Sure!" he exclaimed. "Wait. Maybeso I know somet'ing."
"All right. Spill it."
"I got a new man, work-a for me." And he told them what he had noted since King Solomon Gillis came.
"Sounds interesting. Where is this guy?"
"Here in da store—all day."
"Be here to-morrow?"
"Sure. All day."
"All right. We'll drop in tomorrow and give him the eye. Maybe he's our man."
"Sure. Come ten o'clock. I show you," promised Tony.
VI
Even the oldest and rattiest cabarets in Harlem have sense of shame enough to hide themselves under the ground—for instance, Edwards's. To get into Edwards's you casually enter a dimly lighted corner saloon, apparently—only apparently—a subdued memory of brighter days. What was once the family entrance is n ow a side entrance for ladies. Supporting yourself against close walls, you crouchingly descend a narrow, twisted staircase until, with a final turn, you find yourself in a glaring, long, low basement. In a moment your eyes become accustomed to the haze of tobacco smoke. You see men and women seated at wire-legged, white-topped tables, which are covered with half-empty bottles and glasses; you trace the slow jazz accompaniment you heard as you came down the stairs to a pianist, a cornetist, and a drummer on a little platform at the far end of the room. There is a cleared space from the foot of the stairs, where you are standing, to the platform where this orchestra is mounted, and in it a tall brown girl is swaying from side to side and rhythmically proclaiming that she has the world in a j ug and the stopper in her hand. Behind a counter at your left sits a fat, bald, tea-colored Negro, and you wonder if this is Edwards—Edwards, who stands in with the police, with the political bosses, with the importers of wines and worse. A white-vested waiter hustles you to a seat and takes your order. The song's tempo becomes quicker; the drum and the cornet rip out a fanfare, almost drowning the piano; the girl catches up her dress and begins to dance . . .
Gillis's wondering eyes had been roaming about. They stopped.
"Look, Mouse!" he whispered, "Look a yonder!"
"Look at what?"
"Dog-gone if it ain' de self-same girl?"
"Wha' d' ye mean, self-same girl!"
"Over yonder, wi' de green stockin's. Dass de gal made me knock over dem apples fust day I come to town. 'Member? Been wishin' I could see her ev'y sence."
"What for?" Uggam wondered.
King Solomon grew confidential. "Ain' but two things in dis world, Mouse, I really wants. One is to be a policeman. Been wantin' dat ev'y sence I seen dat cullud traffic cop dat day. Other is to get myse'f a gal lak dat one over yonder!"
"You'll do it," laughed Uggam, "if you live long enough."
"Who dat wid her?"
"How 'n hell do I know?"
"He cullud?"
"Don't look like it. Why? What of it?"
"Hm—nuthin'—"
"How many coupons y' got to-night?"
"Ten." King Solomon handed them over.
"Y' ought to've slipt 'em to me under the table, but it's all right now, long as we got this table to ourselves. Here's y' medicine for to-morrer."
"Wha'?"
"Reach under the table."
Gillis secured and pocketed the medicine.
"An' here's two-fifty for a good day's work." Uggam passed the money over. Perhaps he grew careless; certainly the passing this time was above the table, in plain sight.
"Thanks, Mouse."
Two white men had been watching Gillis and Uggam from a table nearby. In the tumult of merriment that rewarded the entertainer's most recent and daring effort, one of t
hese men, with a word to the other, came over and took the vacant chair beside Gillis.
"Is your name Gillis?"
" 'T ain' nuthin' else."
Uggam's eyes narrowed.
The white man showed King Solomon a police officer's badge.
"You're wanted for dope-peddling. Will you come along without trouble?"
"Fo' what?"
"Violation of the narcotic law—dope-selling."
"Who—me?"
"Come on, now, lay off that stuff. I saw what happened just now myself." He addressed Uggam. "Do you know this fellow?"
"Nope. Never saw him before tonight."
"Did n't I just see him sell you something?"
"Guess you did. We happened to be sittin' here at the same table and got to talkin'. After a while I says I can't seem to sleep nights, so he offers me sump'n he says '11 make me sleep, all right. I don't know what it is, but he says he uses it himself an' I offers to pay him what it cost him. That's how I come to take it. Guess he's got more in his pocket there now."
The detective reached deftly into the coat pocket of the dumfounded King Solomon and withdrew a packet of envelopes. He tore off a corner of one, emptied a half-dozen tiny white tablets into his palm, and sneered triumphantly. "You'll make a good witness," he told Uggam.
The entertainer was issuing an ultimatum to all sweet mammas who dared to monkey around her loving man. Her audience was absorbed and delighted, with the exception of one couple—the girl with the green stockings and her escort. They sat directly in the line of vision of King Solomon's wide eyes, which, in the calamity that had descended upon him, for the moment saw nothing.
"Are you coming without trouble?"
Mouse Uggam, his friend. Harlem. Land of plenty. City of refuge—city of refuge. If you live long enough—
Consciousness of what was happening between the pair across the room suddenly broke through Gillis's daze like flame through smoke. The man was trying to kiss the girl and she was resisting. Gillis jumped up. The detective, taking the act for an attempt to escape, jumped with him and was quick enough to intercept him. The second officer came at once to his partner's aid, blowing his whistle several times as he came.
People overturned chairs getting out of the way, but nobody ran for the door. It was an old crowd. A fight was a treat; and the tall Negro could fight.