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Da
Da
The car was a lavender Merc; marijuana smoke was drifting out the wind wings. Da
The youth complied, in slow motion. Da
The reefer stench was getting brutal; Da
Da
Carlton W. Jeffries found a voice: high, squeaky. “What you think?”
“I think you’re smart. Give me what I want, and I’ll put that envelope in the mail to you tomorrow.”
“You could give it back now. Please. I need that money.”
“I want a hard snitch. If you play both ends and I get hurt, I’ve got you nailed. Evidence, and the confession you just made.”
“Man, I didn’t make no confession to you!”
“Sure you did. You’ve been selling a pound a week. You’re the A-number-one Southside grasshopper.”
“Man!”
Da
“Man—”
Da
Jeffries took his hands off the dash and wrapped his arms around himself. “Only guy I know is a guy name of Otis Jackson. Lives above the laundromat on One-o-three and Beach and please don’t give me no rat jacket!”
Da
103rd and Beach was a run-down intersection in the heart of Watts: hair-straightening parlors on two corners, a liquor store on the third, the Koin King Washeteria occupying number four. Lights were burning in the apartment above the laundromat; Da
He walked over and up them, tiptoes, no hand on the railing for fear it would creak. At the top, he pulled his gun, put an ear to the door and listened, picking up a man’s voice counting: eight, nine, ten, eleven. Tapping the door, he faked a drawl straight from Amos ‘n’ Andy: “Otis? You there, man? It’s me, man.”
Da
The switchblade hit the top step; a voice screeched; the door caved in, Da
Da
Da
Jackson spat bloody phlegm and a slice of his tongue. “I’m with Jack D. and the Seven-Seven, mother—”
Da
“I deal Hollywood, man! I know lots of gray-haired suckers!”
“Name them, and name everyone else you know who unloads at the clubs on South Central.”
“I’ll let you kill me first, sucker!”
The jazz noise was coming back, soundtracking images: Coleman Healy fondling his sax, the reefer guy about to beg. Da
“An’ I told you—”
Da
The men walked over, guns first. The taller of the two helped Otis Jackson to his feet; the other, a fat guy with curly red hair, took Da
The tall cop helped Otis Jackson into the bathroom. Da