Harlem Shuffle(97)

Pepper said, “I am right in that. Grand jury had nothing to say about that cop, did it? He’s still on the job, right? But as it pertains to me shooting those dudes…maybe you start small and work your way up.”


TOSS

AND

SEE THEM RUN!



    That night in 319 Park, Pepper started small by shooting the redheaded astronaut in the mouth. Instinct compelled the redhead to fire his .38. He missed. The blond astronaut shot at Pepper and got him in the meat above his left hip before Pepper shot him once in the face and twice in the gut. Pepper fired two more rounds into the redhead to put him down, for the man flopped weirdly on the conference table as if electrocuted. The final bullet put an end to the flailing.

“Spinal column,” Pepper said. “Makes them go buggy like that.”

From his reaction, Ed Bench had never seen two men shot to death close up. Pale by pedigree, he grew more so. Carney had seen Pepper kill a man before, so seeing him kill two held little novelty, but he didn’t have the psychological burden of wondering if he was next. He rushed over. “You’re shot, man,” he said.

Blood unspooled from Pepper’s fingers. “I got to get a look at it,” he said. Meaning the wound. “We should wrap this up.”

Carney put the briefcase on the conference table. “Do what you want,” he told the lawyer.

“You sure?” Pepper asked.

“I am.” There was no other ticket back.

“Shit, take the guns at least,” Pepper said. “Have this fool shooting at us.”

Carney did as instructed, not that Ed Bench was in any condition to chase them down. He stared at the redheaded astronaut’s body. Blood had sprayed on Ed Bench’s shirt and face. The lawyer’s mouth worked silently. If attended to promptly, the new space-age fibers in the Templeton Office carpet prevent stains.

Down the hall the elevator was waiting. How many people worked in the neighboring buildings and might report the shots? Carney hadn’t checked if any offices with line-of-sight on the conference room had their lights on. “Is it bad?” Carney said.

    “It’s a gunshot wound.” Pepper left bloody whorls on the lobby button. He wiped away the print.

The lobby guard jumped out of his chair when the elevator opened and scrambled to the opposite elevator bank. He did not interfere. How far did the sound of gunfire travel? No cop cars waited on the other side of the plywood. Pepper hobbled into the street. He allowed Carney to give him a hand. They traversed the median that separated the uptown and downtown lanes, stopping only to let a gray Rolls-Royce pass. The passengers made no indication of seeing them.

Freddie lay in the truck bed, a heap in bloody clothes. He croaked when Carney appeared and put his hand on his chest.

“Give me the keys,” Pepper said.

Carney did so and climbed into the back. The ladies had always loved his cousin, especially in his glory days before he was drinking and drugging too much. Pretty boy—Pedro had passed that down to him the way Big Mike had passed down crookedness to Carney. Those young women would not recognize Freddie now, the way they’d worked over his face.

They had to get to the hospital. Carney had given Pepper the keys distractedly and it was only when the truck lurched forward that he realized the man intended to drive with a bullet in his side. Had the slug gone through him? Were the cops close? The hospital was how far? The truck swung a U-turn and Carney got down low with Freddie and slipped his arm under his cousin’s head. Carney’s arm wettened. They were both on their backs. Looking up, Park Avenue was a canyon, like Freddie had said, cliff faces of buildings racing against the dark sky. It reminded Carney of when it got so hot, those summer nights years ago, that he and Freddie would take a blanket and lie on the roof of 129th Street. The day’s heat radiated out of the black tar but it was still cooler than being indoors. Beneath the vast and eternal churn of the night sky. The eyes adjust. One night Freddie said the stars made him feel small. The boys’ constellation knowledge stalled after the Dippers and the Belt, but you didn’t have to know what something was called to know how it made you feel, and looking at the stars didn’t make Carney feel small or insignificant, the stars made him feel recognized. They had their place and he had his. We all have our station in life—people, stars, cities—and even if no one looked after Carney and no one suspected him capable of much at all, he was going to make himself into something. The truck bounced uptown. Now look at him. It wasn’t a bronze plate on a skyscraper, but everybody knew the corner of 125th and Morningside was his, it had his name on it—carney’s—plain as day.

    The truck rear-ended the car parked out front, fast enough for a nice jolt. The lights from the entrance to Harlem Hospital washed over them. Pepper helped Carney get his cousin out of the truck bed. Two young orderlies appeared with a stretcher.

“You’re what, not coming in?” Carney said.

“I was just there. I need a break.” Pepper took two steps uptown, hand tamped to his side. “I know a guy.” He took two more steps.

Carney trotted alongside the stretcher into the hospital. He grabbed Freddie’s hand. Freddie stirred. His head lolled. “I didn’t mean to get you in trouble.”





NINE


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