C H A P T E R • 56
I turned down Eighth Avenue and headed south towards Obie’s 28th Precinct. A red light at 135th Street stopped me.
I felt the cold when Viola stuck her gun against the back of my head from the backseat. “Turn the car around. We’re going uptown.”
“You know, if I don’t, and you shoot me, you’ll be in a wreck and you’ll not get anywhere you need to be.”
“Where I need to be is at the church,” she said.
“Everybody needs something,” I told her.
What I needed was to take us to a precinct. If I turned left to the closest, the 32nd, so close, right down the block, Bobby’s friends in the red Cadillac couldn’t shoot us and take their money, and Virginia would be safe. Instead, I did as she asked and took the light and turned right on 135th and then right again on Edgecombe Avenue, heading uptown. I turned off my headlights and pulled into a fire hydrant space just past Harriet Beecher Stowe I.S. 136. Within minutes, we watched the red beauty speed up St. Nicholas Avenue where it forked along beside Edgecombe.
I stopped at the light on 141 Street and waited to turn up the hill.
“How are you going to get into the church?” I asked Viola.
“Gary’s there.”
“I knew it. What does he have to do with this?”
“He took some bank loans. He doesn’t want the bank business public. Makes him an ally even against his will. And he did love Cecelia.”
When I saw red in the distance coming down Edgecombe, I ran the light and headed up the hill and got honked at but not hit. The Caddy was a couple of cars behind me as I drove past the park and City College and the church, and got to Amsterdam and turned uptown.
Amsterdam Avenue was an obstacle course. I sped north and, using my best Lt. Knight moves, managed to keep control of the car. I found a way around and through moving and double-parked cars and so many people on the crowded avenue who couldn’t care less about our rush.
Stopped at a red light, I heard the window humming open.
“Virginia, don’t roll down the window,” Viola yelled. “Stop it. They’re coming.”
“I know,” she said.
In the side mirror, I saw the red Caddy move into the empty downtown lane two car lengths behind us.
“Virginia. Stop,” Viola yelled. “Virginia. Stop it.”
When I looked in the rear-view, I saw Virginia, who must have been on her knees, with a big oil can in her hands and I watched her pour a full can of the oil in a stream out the window.
“Perfect. And now I’ll turn,” I said.
I took the light and the left turn on 153rd, just south of the cemetery and I watched in the mirror as the driver in the red car tried to follow. Instead of turning left, the car careened around on the oil and turned the wrong way. He must have slammed the brakes because it was spinning again to the accompaniment of much honking in the distance.
I didn’t see them behind me on 153rd Street when I drove across Broadway and turned up Riverside or when I turned right on 155th Street. I turned off my lights and made a U-turn and took the parallel side street between the American Indian Museum and the cemetery, and I waited.
“Virginia, that was brilliant,” I said.
“I know.”
“What is this going to get you?” I asked Viola.
“I just need to get through the night. Once they get the money, I don’t have anything else to negotiate with. They won’t hurt me until they get it,” she said. “But they will do whatever they need to do to get it.”
“I am not going to be part of this,” I said. “When we get to the street, I’ll take Ginny, and you can go on about your runnings.”
“You can get out now. And Virginia’s not going anywhere.”
“When I get to a real street,” I said. “I’m not getting out here. Who knows who is under the drive in the dark in front of us. And Riverside is not a safe place to be walking around at night.”
We waited some more, and I tried to bargain with Virginia. “Ginny, this is very dangerous. You need to come with us. Your Auntie Vy can handle things better if she doesn’t have you to worry about. You have become a disadvantage.”
“I can help,” Virginia said.
I tried to bargain with Viola. “She doesn’t need to hear about all of the bad you have been up to.”
“No. She doesn’t,” Viola said.
“Let her come with me.”
“No.”
“Okay,” I said. “Why don’t I tell your niece some bedtime stories that will shatter her lovely innocence.”
“No. Don’t do that.”
“How about the one with Cecelia dying on 125th Street? Or the one where Obsidian gets shot in the shoulder and how bloody it was and how much it hurt? Or the one about Heavy being hit upside the head? Or, maybe, what happened to Bobby Bop?”
“They were all mistakes,” Viola said. “And then self-defense. In fact, they were all self-defense.”
“You know that’s bullshit.”
“Don’t be a bully, Auntie Pearl,” Virginia said.
“I’m not making this up, honey. Those are bad guys in that car. We need to go to the precinct. We need protection.”
Viola said, “They will not be on my side. No one will.”
It was still quiet and dark when I made the U-turn and drove to 155th. I didn’t turn on the headlights when I turned west back to Riverside and drove north. A car pulled out from where it was parked on the drive and followed us. When it turned on its headlights it showed itself to be the Caddy.
Riverside was too narrow and too dangerous. And even when we could see where we were going with our headlights, it was still too likely someone would come out walking or driving or on a bike and be hit.
The entrance to the Westside Highway was just in the distance ahead of me and I saw them in the rear-view mirror when they pulled into the right lane behind me to the honking of whoever they cut off.
“I need you to take me to Jersey.”
“Not Jersey,” I said. “That’s not a good idea.”
Instead, I turned off at 178th Street and drove beside the bus station where we had another opportunity to move through traffic and pedestrians who didn’t care anything about our need to be in a hurry.
“Stop,” Viola yelled and grabbed the steering wheel.
“Stupid,” I told her and corrected.
I took St. Nicholas and passed the 30th Precinct at 151st, speeding. Nobody noticed and I didn’t hear any sirens. But ahead of us I saw police cars at Viola’s house. She grabbed the wheel again and I managed to pull the car over to the curb and stop.
I got out and Viola slid over to the driver’s seat of the Buick. Ginny got out to move into the front. I tried to stop her.
“Don’t go. Stay with us where it’s safe,” I said to her. “Don’t take her,” I said to Viola.
“Get in,” Viola said and the car was already moving when Ginny jumped into the passenger seat.
They drove away and the Cadillac followed within minutes.
I walked to Viola’s house, and when I heard, “Put your hands up,” I did.
Captain Obsidian Bailey walked out of the house and he was a welcome presence. He felt like safety, and I knew I had been missing the feeling. My shoulders even dropped a little. But it was only an instant, before I felt the anger taking its place again.
“There is drug money in Viola’s Buick, and those men in the red Cadillac who are following her are after the money. It’s theirs. And Virginia is in the car.”
He said something into his radio.
Then, he said to me, “Pearl, I need you to stand here with me.”
He took my hand. “I’m so sorry Pearl,” he said.
We watched them rolling Mister Bell into an ambulance.
He was close to dead. But Bobby Bop was all the way dead.
“Do you know who shot Bell?” he asked me.
“Bobby Bop. It looked like he might have been aiming at Viola and Mister Bell got between them,” I said.
“And then who killed Bobby Bop?”
“Viola shot him.”