Even with the windows down, Grip felt trapped by the heat in his car, as if it were physically restraining him. He sat in the driver’s seat with Ole Koss next to him. Ed Wayne was in the back, taking a pull from a flask of whiskey he was sharing with Grip. They were parked at the curb in the Negro East Side of the City. The buildings seemed lower here, the streets wider.
“Nearly shit when I saw you today,” Grip said, dangling his arm out the window, cigarette in his hand.
“Yeah?” Koss was eyeing the sidewalk traffic, giving a hard stare to anyone who looked at the car too long. It was getting on in the evening, probably ten-ish, though none of them had a watch.
“I knew you were in with Maddox, but I didn’t realize you’re that close.”
“What’re you saying?”
“Nothing, Ole. Just surprised that it would be just you and him.”
From the backseat, Wayne asked, “What the fuck are you talking about?”
Koss ignored him. “Surprised to see cops in our neighborhood, myself. I didn’t hear about a crime or anything, and suddenly you guys are crawling all over the place.”
“Yeah, well,” Grip said, not willing to go down this path.
They sat in silence for a while, watching pedestrians but mostly a storefront a half block away and across the street, waiting for the lights to go off and the people to leave. Grip and Wayne passed the flask back and forth. Grip felt light-headed, his body charged with energy. Koss sat relaxed in the shotgun seat. He looked placid enough, but Grip sensed something in him and decided not to engage him again. Grip was getting restless, though. He needed to move.
Grip asked, “Ed, you ever been down to the Uhuru Community?”
“What d’you mean?”
“What don’t you understand?”
Wayne grunted a half laugh. “As little as I can get away with. Bunch of colored Reds? Not my idea of a good time.”
“Yeah? I thought it was your beat.”
Wayne shrugged. “Like I said, not my thing.”
“Well, I was there this morning.”
“What the fuck were you doing down there?”
“What do you think?”
“What was the call?”
Grip stole a glance at Koss, who didn’t seem to be listening. “Dead girl on the riverbank a week back. You must’ve heard. And then two nights ago …”
Wayne leaned forward, his hands on the seatbacks, excited. “That was my call. You should have seen her; sores all over. Never seen anything like it. Couldn’t have weighed a hundred pounds.”
“Same as the first girl.”
“That right?” Wayne seemed to mull this over. “You figure one of those Uhuru Community Negroes for that one, too?”
“What, you got a suspect for your girl?”
“Nah, they took me off the case; said you guys were on it. But it’s got to be one of those commie Negroes, right?”
“Yeah, well, that’s not real clear at the moment. The lieut is working a few different angles.”
“The lieut,” Koss said, mocking, “needs to keep out of Prosper Maddox’s business.”
The conversation ended. They sat in silence, Grip staring out the windshield, the tension in the car up a notch.
Koss said, “Here we go.”
Grip turned to Koss, then followed his sight line to the storefront. Lights out. Man locking the door.
“About goddamn time,” Wayne said.
Koss shot him a furious look, the Lord’s name taken in vain.
Ole Koss didn’t believe in doing these kinds of jobs by stealth. Instead, the three men walked to the unmarked storefront, and Wayne and Koss stood facing the sidewalk while Grip jimmied the lock. It was a decent lock, so it took Grip nearly a minute of delicate fiddling. Wayne didn’t like doing things this way and became more and more agitated as the seconds rolled by.
“Hurry up. What’s the fucking problem?”
Grip ignored him. Koss had his arms folded, his muscular chest pushing them out before him. Nobody in his right mind would mess with Koss. Grip slipped the bolt and pulled the door open, holding it for the other two. When they were all in, he pulled the door closed again and locked it with a latch from the inside. Wayne was already at one of the desks, pulling drawers out and emptying their contents on the floor. Street light filtered in through the storefront glass, just bright enough to illuminate everything in monochrome.
Koss found the door to the back room and tried the handle. When it didn’t open, he kicked the door down with three strong stomps.
Grip sifted through the crap that Wayne had dumped on the ground, moving papers around with his feet. It was barely light enough to read. He wasn’t looking for anything in particular and didn’t actually expect to find anything of interest. This visit was about sending a message to the Reds in the Uhuru Community. Any information they turned up would be a bonus.
Wayne finished with the desks and took a wooden chair by the back, swinging it hard against the wall, splintering it on impact and leaving a small hole in the wall. He found another chair and did the same. Loud crashes sounded from the back room as Koss threw file-cabinet drawers. Grip peeked in. Koss had turned on the light and papers were everywhere. Koss sensed Grip in the doorway and looked over.
“You almost done out there?”
Grip nodded. “Anything interesting in here?”
Koss shrugged. “Could be. It’d take hours to go through this.”
Wayne joined Grip in the doorway, holding a lighter in one hand and a burning sheet of paper in the other.
“The fuck you doing?” Grip asked, alarmed.
“Let’s burn this place.”
It wasn’t part of the plan. “The fuck’s wrong with you? Put that thing out.”
Wayne looked to Koss. Koss didn’t hold any kind of actual authority beyond that which came with being the guy nobody wanted to mess with.
“Ole,” Grip said in a let’s-be-reasonable voice.
Koss said, “Put it out. Let’s stick with what we set out to do.”
Wayne spat, dropped the piece of paper, and stomped out the remaining flames.
Grip stepped back out into the main room and froze. Looking in through the front glass from the street was a skinny Negro with very dark skin, a bowler, and sunglasses. He stood motionless, arms by his side. Something was familiar about him; maybe from the Community. Grip’s breathing went shallow.
“Fuck,” he said, voice unsteady.
“What’s wrong?” Koss asked.
Grip didn’t answer, still staring at the man looking in on them.
Koss and Wayne walked in from the back room, saw the man. Koss gave a kind of gasp and started for the door. The Negro turned and walked jerkily out of view, his gait almost unnatural. Koss got to the door and yanked on it twice before realizing it was locked. He tried to turn the key in the lock but was too anxious and fumbled with it, not coordinating the key in the lock with the doorknob. They finally made it out to the street, but the Negro with the bowler and sunglasses was nowhere to be seen. Koss seemed rooted to his spot on the sidewalk, clenching and unclenching his fists, head darting to look up and down the street, his face gone white.