Chapter 5 Chapter two

At this moment, the residents of Riverside Avenue woke up.In the dark open windows of the front apartment, a figure poked out, like a ghost arena; the windows of the back apartment were brightly lit, as if the next battle had been ignited. The apartment they sought was a nine-story brick building with glass doors opening into a dimly lit foyer.The night bolts are fastened.Beneath the bell on one side was a shiny chrome plate that read: "Administrator." Ed "Coffin Bucket" held out his hand to the bell, but "Gravedigger" Johns shook his head. Even though the street was packed with fire trucks, patrol cars, uniformed police officers and firefighters, some residents peered suspiciously at the two black men from upper-floor windows.

"Coffin Bucket" Ed noticed those people and said, "They thought we were thieves." "Damn it, what will they think when they see us two niggers wandering around the white neighborhood like ghosts in the middle of the night?" "Gravedigger" Jones said sarcastically. "If I saw two white guys in Harlem at a time like this in the middle of the night, I'd assume they were going to a prostitute." "You may be right." "You can't go wrong." A narrow concrete walkway flanks the building, and a barred iron gate seals off the entrance.The gate was locked.

"Gravedigger" Johns grabbed the latch at the top of the gate with one hand, stepped on the middle bar with one foot, and kicked up to climb over the gate. "Coffin Bucket" Ed followed suit. Somewhere above, someone gasped angrily.They both fell on deaf ears. The lower half of the side of the apartment has a barred window parallel to the sidewalk.The purple light from it casts rectangular lines on the opposite wall.Each of them sneaked quietly on their knees. This window leads to a room that appears to have been furnished with discarded items from tenants over the decades.It had everything in it, piled high and low closets, dotted with marble statuettes, grandfather clocks, iron posts for tying horses, empty birdcages, broken glass aquariums, two moth-eaten fish tanks. A squirrel stuffed toy, and a shedding owl stuffed animal.On one side stood a round dining table with a red curtain of faded silk, surrounded by tattered chairs of various styles.Between the two doors to the kitchen and the bedroom stands an old organ with a collection of animal china.On the opposite side are two old TV sets stacked on top of each other, and on top of it is a radio that was common before TVs became popular.In addition, there is a stuffed sofa bed flanked by softly upholstered armchairs that are pulled up in front of the TV so close that you can reach through the screen and move it inside the TV. performers.A few worn rugs were stacked here and there on the linoleum floor.

On the low chest of drawers was a desk lamp glowing blue, which competed with the red lamp on the dining table.A fan stirred the stuffy air on a tall stained oak cabinet. The TV screen went dark, but the radio blared.A late-night pre-recorded program is playing now, and Jimmy Josh's voice comes out of the metal speakers, singing: "I still have that old-fashioned love in my heart..." A young black man with a dirty white turban on his head and a flowing, brightly colored torn robe sits in the center of the sofa bed.He chewed a pork chop sandwich and squinted lewdly back over his shoulder.

Behind him, a black woman with a brunette was stirring a cocktail near the dining table, holding a black Jamaican rum in one hand.Her clothing resembled a sack of bleached flour with holes cut out through which limbs and heads protruded.A tall, thin woman with hips protruding like a cotton gin and breasts like a nurse's.She stepped on the carpet with bare feet to mix wine, her bony knees poked out the fabric and protruded forward, and her violently swinging buttocks were raised back, like the tail wings of a hen hatching an egg.The top half of the clothes protruded from the chest, like the mouths of two hungry pigs.

Her long, thin face has a flat nose and a prominent chin.Curly, thick black hair hung greasy on his back.Slanting cloudy yellow eyes winked at the African. "Gravedigger" Johns tapped on the window. The woman was startled, and the juice spilled from the glass onto the tablecloth. Africans see them first.His eyelids are white. Then the woman turned around too, and saw them.Her big, wide, thick lips puffed out. "You niggers better get out of the window, or I'm going to call the police," she growled emphatically. "Gravedigger" Jorns pulled a felt-lined wallet from the side pocket of his coat and showed his police badge.

The woman looked displeased. "Nigger police," she said contemptuously. "What are you bitch catchers up to?" "Go in," said "Gravedigger" Johns. She looked at the food in her hand, as if she didn't know what to do with it.Then she said, "You are not allowed in the house. My husband is not at home." "It doesn't matter, it's enough to have you here." She looked at the African.The African was about to get up, as if preparing to leave. "You stay and we'll talk to you too," said "Gravedigger" Jones.

The woman suddenly turned her gaze to the window, her narrowed eyes revealing suspicion. "What are you going to talk to him about?" "Woman, where is the door?" "Coffin Bucket" Ed suddenly said, "Let's go in and ask a few questions." "The door is at the back; where else do you think the door is?" she said. So they got up and walked around to the back of the building. "It's been a long time since I've seen a woman with real cat eyes," Ed "Coffin Bucket" said. "I would never want one of these things," declared "Gravedigger" Johns.

"That's all you said." Stairs lead to a basement door painted green.The woman had opened the door and was waiting for them with her hands on her hips. "Gus isn't in trouble, is he?" she asked.She didn't look worried, but rather ferocious. "Who's Gus?" Johns the Gravedigger asked, stopping at the bottom of the stairs. "He's my husband, the building manager." "What kind of trouble?" "How do I know? Isn't the trouble your close lover? It's the middle of the night, what good will you do fooling around here, unless—" She stopped abruptly; there was a hint of malice in her narrowed yellow eyes. "I just don't want another malicious stinky white guy accusing us of stealing or something, because we're going to Ghana," she said in a gruff voice. "They're always slandering people."

"Garner!" shouted Jones the Gravedigger. "Ghana in Africa? Are you going to Ghana?" Her expression immediately became triumphant. "That's right." "Who are we?" asked Ed "Coffin Bucket" standing behind "Gravedigger" Jorns. "It's me and Gus." "Let's go in and sort things out," said "Gravedigger" Johns. "If you think we stole something, you've got the wrong guy," she said. "We didn't take anything from anyone." "Just wait and see." She turned and walked down a brightly lit, gray-painted hallway, her lean, muscular shoulders hunched stiffly, her high hips dangling like tadpoles.

A large dark green suitcase was leaning against the wall next to the elevator door.The luggage tag on it read: "Queen Mary, Kuna Shipping Company, Reserved".Both handles are labeled. The two detectives grew more interested. The door to the caretaker's suite opened directly into the overstuffed living room.When they entered, the African was sitting on the edge of an upright armchair, shaking a rum and soda. The radio is off. As she turned to close the door, an animal crept across the kitchen porch. The detectives felt their scalps go numb. It looks like a lioness at first glance, with a large tawny head, erect ears and twinkling eyes.Then it let out a low growl from its throat, and they realized that it was a dog. Ed "Coffin Bucket" fished the revolver from the butt. "It won't hurt you," the woman said dismissively. "It's chained by the stove." "Are you going to take this animal with you?" "Gravedigger" Johns asked in surprise. "It's not our dog, it's an albino black man named 'Pink' who Gus brought here to help him," she said. "Pink boy, is he your son?" "Gravedigger" Johns deliberately provoked her. "My son!" she flew into a rage. "Do I look like that nigger's mother? He's even older than me." "But, he said your husband is his father." "Gus doesn't have that stuff, though he's old enough to be a father. Gus just picked him up and took pity on him." Ed "Coffin Bucket" nudged "Gravedigger" Jorns lightly with his elbow, indicating that there were four tan plastic suitcases that he hadn't seen before. "So, what about the people of Garth?" Johns the Gravedigger asked. She looked unhappy again. "I don't know where he is. I guess he went out to the street to watch the fire." "Didn't he go out to get a dose of drugs?" "Gravedigger" Johns asked blindly, remembering their prisoner Jack. "Garth!" she seemed exasperated, "he's not addicted to drugs—he's not addicted to anything except his churchgoing habits." She thought for a moment, then said, "I guess he's probably hoarding to get the suitcase in the room, because I saw it was already in the hall." "Then who has an addiction?" "Coffin Bucket" Ed asked. "Pink is addicted. He's on heroin." "How can he afford it?" "do not ask me." "Gravedigger" Johns stared at the nervous African. "What is this guy doing here?" he asked her suddenly. "He's an African chief," she said proudly. "I believe you are right, but you did not answer my question." "He sold the farm to Gus, if you must know." "What farm?" "The cocoa garden is in Ghana where we are going." "Your husband bought Ghana's cocoa orchard with this African?" "Coffin Bucket" Eddie was suspicious. "What kind of illegal business is this?" "Show him your passport," she told the African.The African took out his passport from the folds of his robe, and handed it to Johns the Gravedigger. "Gravedigger" Johns ignored it, but "Coffin Bucket" Ed took the passport, inspected it curiously, and returned it to him. "I don't care about that," "Gravedigger" Jones took off his hat and scratched his head, and said, "Where did all this money come from? Your husband can afford to buy a cocoa plantation in Ghana with his manager's salary alone. His assistants have the ability to become addicted to heroin." "Don't ask me where Pinky got his money," she said. "Garth's money was all legal. His wife died and left him a North Carolina tobacco plantation, and he sold it." "Gravedigger" Johns and "Coffin Bucket" Ed raised eyebrows and looked at each other in dismay. "I thought you were his wife," "Gravedigger" Jones said to the woman. "Now I am," she said triumphantly. "Then he is a bigamist." She chuckled. "Now he's not." "Gravedigger" Johns shook his head. "Some people just get lucky." There was the sound of fire engines starting outside, and they began to evacuate. "Where's the fire?" she asked. "There was no fire at all," said "Gravedigger" Johns. "It was Pinkie who went to ring the fire alarm. He wanted to get the police." Her squinting yellow eyes widened into almonds. "So it was him! Why did he do that?" "He said you and this African were going to murder and rob his father." Her complexion suddenly turned gray and ugly.The African jumped up, as if stung by a wasp on the ass; he denied it frantically, in grotesque English, and his voice was rough.She cut him off sharply, "Shut up! Gus'll take care of him. That fucking filthy white nigger! We've done all we've done for him and he's giving us trouble the day before we're leaving the country." "Why did he do this?" "It's not because he doesn't like Africans. He's just jealous because his own pale complexion can't be darkened." "Gravedigger" Johns and "Coffin Bucket" Ed shook their heads in unison. "I can't believe my ears," said "Gravedigger" Jones. "Now there's a black man with albinism who lied about the fire at the Riverside Church, got half the firefighting equipment in New York City, and alerted all the police in the surrounding area-what is this for? I ask you, for what?" "Because he doesn't like dark people," Ed "Coffin Bucket" said. "You can't blame the hot weather. That's no excuse." "Gravedigger" Jones said.The front doorbell rang.The ringing was long and urgent, like someone trying to poke a button into a wall. "In the middle of the night, who is it?" the woman said. "Maybe Gus" "Coffin Bucket" Ed said. "Maybe he lost the key." "If it's Pink Boy who lied about calling the fire alarm again, he'd better be careful." The woman said threateningly.She opened the door to the corridor and went out to answer the door.The detectives followed her up the stairs and into the vestibule. Outside the glass door, uniformed police surrounded the entrance. The woman flung open the door. "What are you doing now?" she demanded. The white policemen looked at the two black detectives suspiciously, and one of them said in a stern questioning tone: "We have received several reports that two black men who look like thieves are sneaking around this house. You know this time something?" "That's us," "Gravedigger" Johns said, and he and Ed "Coffin Bucket" showed off their police badges. "We've been poking around here all the time." The white policeman blushed. "Well, don't blame us," he said. "We've got to look into these notifications." "Hell, we don't blame you," said "Gravedigger" Johns, "we only blame the heat." They leave with the rest of the cops and take to the streets to find Shorty Jack.But Jack was gone, and a patrol officer who remained nearby said he had been taken to the hospital. Although the fire engines had already left, there were still a few unmanned patrol cars parked randomly on the street.Some policemen were still looking for Pinky, the albino giant, but they found nothing. "Coffin Bucket" Ed checked his watch. "Twelve past two," he said. "The farce lasted for more than two hours." "The bars are closed, too," said "Gravedigger" Johns. "Before going back to check in at the bureau, we'd better visit the 'Valley' first." "What about Jack?" "He can't die, let's go and see the situation there first." They drove off in a black sedan, looking like two country bumpkins who had just arrived in town.