Chapter 6 third chapter

At 3:30, they finally returned to the district police station to fill out the report.The heat and the detective work delayed them. Even after two o'clock in the morning, "The Valley"—the flat, low land in East Harlem on Seventh Avenue—was like a hot pot in purgatory.The pavement steamed and the asphalt seemed to be boiling, but the air pressure pressed it back to the ground like a pot lid. Negroes languish in overcrowded, over-rented tenements; in the streets, late-night sensual establishments, and brothels; seasoned with depravity, disease, and crime. The hot stench of hot pots hangs in the still hot air, enveloping the area under the roof - mingled with the smell of sizzling barbecue, burnt hair, exhaust fumes, putrefaction The smell of garbage, cheap perfume, low-class body odor, musty smell of old buildings, offal of cats, dogs and livestock, whiskey and vomit, and all the sour smells of poverty that have been dried for years.

Shirtless people sat by open windows or gathered on fire escapes; others walked up and down sidewalks or roamed the streets in battered cars. It's too hot to sleep, everyone is too vicious to love, and too loud to relax Dreaming of cool pools and the shade of neem trees.The night sky is filled with the blaring volume of countless radios, the frenzied neighing of cats playing in the streets, hysterical laughter, car horns, screaming curses, chattering quarrels and screams of knife fights. The bar was closed, so they had to drink bottled wine, and that was the only thing they could do.Painful drinking of bad whiskey spirits, then hotter, then stealing, fighting.

A sudden small case delayed the return journey of "Gravedigger" Johns and "Coffin Bucket" Ed. Thieves broke into the supermarket and stole fifty pounds of beef stew, twenty pounds of smoked sausage, twenty pounds of chicken livers, twenty-nine pounds of vegetable butter, thirty-two pounds of cooking lard, and a television. A drunk man staggered into a funeral home and insisted on "superb service". Man stabs woman because she 'wouldn't give anything'. A woman has stabbed a man she claims stepped on the corn on her left pinky finger. Then, on the way back, they were caught in a fight at Eighth Avenue and 126th Street.The dispute started when someone attacked another with a knife during a game of craps in the back room of a dingy cheap restaurant.The victim ran out into the street and grabbed a metal pipe from a trash can - something he had hidden before gambling for emergencies like this.As soon as the man with the knife saw the previous victim grabbing the iron pipe and returning, he immediately turned around and ran in the opposite direction.Then, the friend of the man with the knife rushed over from the dark door with a bat in his hand, and fought the man with the iron pipe.At this time, the man with the knife returned to the scene to support his friends with the bat.The chef who witnessed the incident rushed out of the cheap restaurant, brandished a meat cleaver, and demanded a fair duel.So, the man with the knife confronted the chef with the meat cleaver, and the two sides started a one-on-one battle.

When "Gravedigger" Johns and "Coffin Bucket" Ed rushed to the scene, the scene had already been flying with knives and sticks, making it dusty and smoky. "Coffin Bucket" Edzui hit the knife-wielding man with the butt of his gun unprepared. The man staggered on the sidewalk, desperately clutching the knife that he was too scared to use.His legs kept swinging, his knees were limp and paralyzed, and he said, "You can't hurt me if you hit me on the head." On the other hand, "Gravedigger" Johns began to slap the bat man with his left hand, and waved his gun in the air with his right hand to prevent them from approaching; at the same time, he shouted: "Stop!"

"Coffin Bucket" Ed also echoed: "Report the number, red-eyed guy! Be safe!" The two of them looked no different from the bunch of black people who were fighting in groups, with bloodshot red eyes, dirty faces, sweaty bodies, and a vicious breath.The onlookers and the brawlers are the same type of people, they all have the physique of a "working population"-tall, broad shoulders, ruffian-like, and flat feet, and the scars on their faces are exactly the same as those of the gangsters. The face of "Gravedigger" Johns is full of lumps left by felons attacking with various weapons in the past; as for the face of "Coffin Bucket" Ed, it is a work made up of scars, because of the corrosion of sulfuric acid. The burned skin left multiple graft scars.

The only other thing was that they had guns, and everyone in Harlem knew them as the "Burst Busters." The cook took the opportunity to sneak back into the kitchen and hid the cleaver behind the stove.The man holding the iron pipe quickly hid the weapon in the trouser leg, and limped away quickly, like a one-legged man with prosthetics participating in a disabled race. After a while, everything returned to calm. "Gravedigger" Jorns and "Coffin Bucket" Ed walked to the car without saying a word, climbed into the car and drove away. So they went back to the police station and wrote the report.

Vice-captain Anderson read the report, and asked that Pink Boy lied about the fire alarm because he suspected that the administrator's wife had murdered her for money. He questioned, "Do you believe it?" "I believe it," replied "Gravedigger" Jones, "unless there is a better reason." Deputy Captain Anderson shook his head. "These people don't have any criminal motives." "If you think about it carefully, you will find the reason." "Coffin Bucket" Ed strives. "This kind of thing is left to the psychiatrist to worry about, it has nothing to do with our police." He said.

"Gravedigger" Johns winked at Ed "Coffin Bucket". "If you're white, it's easy to talk about." He pretended to be a schoolboy and recited. "Coffin Bucket" Ed continued: "If your skin is brown, we will talk about it later..." "Gravedigger" Johns added: "If you're black, look cool." Vice Captain Anderson blushed.Although he has long been used to these two powerful men speaking rudely, it always makes him feel a little uncomfortable. "You may be right," he said, "but it's taxpayers' money to go after these crimes."

"Stop joking," "Gravedigger" Johns wanted to confirm. "Coffin Bucket" Ed changed the subject and asked, "Do you know if they caught him?" Deputy Captain Anderson shook his head. "They caught everyone, like bums, perverts, whores, johns, and a hermit; but they just didn't catch him." "He shouldn't be too hard to find," said "Gravedigger" Johns. "I don't think there's going to be a lot of places to hide for a big albino black guy covered in bruises." "Enough, stop messing around," Anderson said. "And what about prosecuting drug offenders?"

"He's one of the major suppliers to the nearby black drug criminals, but he's smart enough to avoid Harlem," said "Gravedigger" Johns. "As soon as we saw him choking half to death, we knew he was slamming the little powder packets on his body, so we cleared those things before he digested them, so that he could prove that he was illegally possessing drugs." "Coffin Bucket said Ed. "It's in that paper bag," "Gravedigger" Johns nodded towards the table. "After testing, they will find about five or six bags of half-chewed heroin."

Anderson opened the evidence handed over by the two detectives, which was the brown brown paper bag on the table.He shook out the folded handkerchief. "Pfft!" he exclaimed, stepping back. "it stink." "It doesn't stink like a drug dealer," "Gravedigger" Johns said. "I hate drug trafficking the most. Even God hates original sin less than I do." "Coffin bucket" Ed said with a low chuckle: "Anyway, it's something he just ate before he started to swallow the evidence." Anderson said seriously: "I know your intentions are right, but you can't beat people around to collect evidence, even if they are serious criminals. Do you know that this person was sent to the hospital?" "Don't worry, he won't protest," said "Gravedigger" Johns. "If he knows the time, it won't happen." "Coffin Bucket" Ed echoed. "Not every borough is like Harlem," Anderson warned. "What you get away with here, you can get away with in other boroughs." "If I kick the iron plate, I will eat the iron plate." "Gravedigger" Johns said. "Speaking of eating, I don't think we've eaten yet," said Ed "Coffin Bucket." They were tired of Mama Louie's food, but the other all-night diners and kebab joints were unappetizing.So they decided to have dinner at the Great Man's Nightclub on 125th Street. "I like a place where I can smell the sweat of a woman," Ed "Coffin Bucket" said. The front of this nightclub is a bar facing the street, and the back is a tavern with singing and dancing performances that can only be entered by paying a membership fee of two yuan. As soon as the two detectives flashed their police badges, they immediately became free members. They passed through the veiled entrance, and were greeted with noise, heat, and revelry.The space is small and cramped, making pleasure-seekers almost bum-to-shoulder at adjoining tables.Excited faces in the dim light, boiling like a large pot of cannibal stew, mostly only eyes and teeth visible.Smoke-blackened nudes play in murals on the outer edge of the canopy, beneath pencil sketches of a host of Harlem celebrities, interspersed with autographed photos of jazz musicians.The exhaust fan on the back wall was running in vain with no noticeable effect. "You want to get rid of the smell, and you can get it now," said "Gravedigger" Jones. "Plus all kinds of things that follow." Ed "Coffin Bucket" corrected. Some rowdy chap was yelling defiantly: "I'm only paying for two whiskeys because I only had two and someone must have stolen the other three because I didn't see them. " At the back of the dance floor where there are almost only two people standing, a striking black man in a white silk shirt repeatedly plays the ten keys on the baby piano; The snake danced between the tables, shouting: "Dear money, money, money..." while lifting up the skirt, wearing nothing underneath. As long as someone took out a banknote, she changed the lyrics to: "Oh Ming, uncle, money... money makes me feel so wonderful..." and made explicit movements to collect money. The proprietor cleared a table in the back corner for the two detectives, and opened his mouth wide in a grin full of teeth. "I'm a big believer in the old saying 'Your convenience, mine convenience, everyone's convenience'." He said right away, "What would you two guests like to eat?" Choose from fried chicken, grilled pork ribs, and New Orleans gumbo chowder.They opted for the restaurant's signature dish, the gumbo chowder.This is a delicacy based on okra and sweet potato soup, adding fresh pork, chicken gizzards, pig testicles and prawns, and 27 kinds of seasonings, spices and herbs. "This dish is guaranteed to cool down the fire." The owner boasted. "I don't want to be so cold that I don't come back," said "Gravedigger" Jones. The owner grinned and showed more teeth, giving him a "relieved" smile. After the gumbo chowder, a quarter-sized portion of black-seeded watermelon was served. While they were eating watermelon, four tall, muscular, auburn-skinned showgirls entered the dance floor, turned their backs to the audience and began to dance bumper.They tossed their smooth hind thighs like they were tossing a hundred-pound bag of brown sugar. "Go all out, throw it higher!" someone shouted. "I see, those thighs can't be thrown up." "Coffin Bucket" Ed murmured secretly. The sweltering, tense air churned into an excited din. "Coffin Bucket" Ed couldn't resist this powerful temptation.He took a mouthful of watermelon seeds and began spitting at living targets.Before reaching the fifteen-foot range, the watermelon seeds were sprayed on the backs of the necks of guests at a table next to the stage, nearly causing a dispute.When "Coffin Bucket" Ed's melon seed bullet finally hit the target, the group was already furious and ready to find someone to fight.One by one, the girls on the stage jumped in panic and slapped their buttocks as if they had been stung by bees.The audience thought it was part of the performance, and the atmosphere was very enthusiastic. A certain guy was so excited that he improvised the "itch in the crotch" movement. Then, a certain girl got a black watermelon seed stuck to her fair buttocks. She twisted it and looked straight at it. Then she stopped dancing and turned to the audience with an angry face. "Which fucking bastard sprayed me with watermelon seeds?" she publicly stated. "I gotta get him out." The other three dancers also scrutinized the watermelon seed.Then all four of them became like maids scrubbing the floor, squeezed between the dining tables with fierce faces, treated the guests roughly, and thoroughly searched for those who ate watermelon during the dinner. "Gravedigger" Jones calmed down, quickly put away the plate containing the watermelon rind and watermelon seeds from the table, and hid it on the floor under the chair.No one else in the store ate the watermelon, but Ed was not found either. "Gravedigger" Johns breathed a sigh of relief when the dance performance resumed. "It was really dangerous just now," he said. "Let's dodge before we get caught," Ed "Coffin Bucket" said, wiping his mouth with the palm of his hand. "We! What us?" "Coffin Bucket" Ed was furious. The store owner sent the customers to the door.He wouldn't let them pay for the meal and gave them a big knowing wink to let them know he was on their side. "'Your convenience, my convenience, everyone's convenience', this is my motto." He said. "Yes, but don't think it's all going to work," said "Gravedigger" Jones mercilessly. It was nearly five in the morning when they hit the street, about an hour after they got off work. "Let's go see Gus one last time." "Gravedigger" Jones suggested. "What are you doing?" Ed "Coffin Bucket" asked. "Check it out." "You never give up, do you?" Ed "Coffin Bucket" complained. At 5:05, "Gravedigger" Johns drove past the apartment building on Riverside Drive.He drove down to Grant's Tomb, then turned around and stopped at the end of the street with three houses.The gray dawn is gradually protruding from the hazy sky, and the sprinklers in the park have begun to automatically water the withered and yellow turf near the monument. When they were about to get out of the car, they saw the African coming out of the apartment and leading a big long-haired dog on a thick chain.The dog had an iron studded muzzle like the visor of a sixteenth-century helmet. "Sit still." "Gravedigger" Johns reminded. The African looked around the streets and alleys before crossing the street and walking in the opposite direction.His white hood and colorful robes looked eerie against the dark green foliage. "It's a good thing I'm in New York," "Gravedigger" Johns said. "Otherwise I would have thought it was some Zulu chief who took his pet lion to hunt." "Better follow him, eh?" Ed "Coffin Bucket" said. "So I can follow the dog to pee?" "That was your idea." The African slowed down into the park and disappeared. They sat and watched the door of the apartment.After a few minutes, Ed "Coffin Bucket" finally expressed his opinion: "We'd better go warn her; see what happens." "Hell, if Gus wasn't there, we'd just find shit," "Gravedigger" Jones said. "If he was home, he would ask us why we broke into his house outside of duty hours." "Then what are we here for?" "Coffin Bucket" Ed became furious. "It's just a gut feeling." "Gravedigger" Jornstein admitted. They fell silent unconsciously. The African appeared, and he ascended the park stairs. "Coffin Bucket" Ed looked at his watch.Five twenty-seven. Africans are alone.They watched curiously as he crossed the street, rang the apartment bell, and he turned the handle and entered.They both looked at each other. "What the hell is going on now?" Ed "Coffin Bucket" said. "That means he's done with the dog." "why?" "The question should be 'how to solve it'?" "Gravedigger" Jorns corrected Ed's wording. "Hey, don't ask me, I'm not Die Xian." "Whatever, let's go back." "Gravedigger" Johns suddenly decided. "Don't yell at me, man, you started this nonsense."