Chapter 19 Chapter Sixteen

Old Black Boy was a little black man with a monkey face and a shiny bald head.He was shirtless in a small, dingy, sweaty gym.Huge gourd-shaped breasts with brown teats drooped like a woman to the navel; flabby muscles seemed to hang from the bones, and the poopy belly was big enough to give birth to triplets. Hooking his thumbs in his frayed suspenders - the suspenders were fastened to what appeared to be bulging wide hips - he chewed a cigar stub in the corner of his mouth as he stared at two chocolate-skinned middleweight boxers in greasy Fight on the canvas field. "Wait a minute, Ed," he said, and blew the whistle that hung around his neck.

The boys stopped punching and stared at him. He climbed into the ring and adjusted the boxing position of one of the boys. "like this." As he spoke—the cigarette butt wobbling from the corner of his mouth—he punched the boy head-on with his left fist. The boy automatically dodges in defense when his right fist passes through and hits the boy in the stomach.The boy was about to throw a right hook when his right shoulder collapsed.Old Heizai threw a left hook at the boy's jaw, so fast that the boy didn't even have time to see it.The boy fell to the ground with a dazed expression on his face.

Old Blackboy turned to the other boy. "Did you see what I just did?" The boy nodded quietly. "Come and try." The boy thrust out a left fist, and Old Heizai lowered his head to meet him, and hit him in the abdomen with a left hook.The boy bent slightly, dropped his left arm, and tried to cross with his right hand.But he wasn't quick enough.Old Heizai hit him in the jaw with an overhand right fist, knocking him unconscious. He spits tobacco residue onto the canvas and climbs out of the ring.There was sadness in the old, dull brown eyes. “These kids these days,” he lamented. "It's hard to be successful."

Old Black Boy used to be the lightweight world boxing champion.He was rumored to have splurged more than a million dollars on white women and Cadillacs.He doesn't seem to regret it. "That's what the old man said," Ed "Coffin Bucket" objected. "There's always good and bad, and you can't expect everyone to be like you." "Maybe you're right." He looked at the two boys who helped each other up. "What's the matter with your visit?" "I'm looking for Pinky." Old Heizi scratched his bald head. "That's wonderful, just now a stinky bitch came here to look for him, a cat-eyed woman. About ten minutes ago."

"Coffin Bucket" Ed tensed up, and his muscles began to twitch slightly. "Just by herself?" Old Heizai didn't look directly at him, but he didn't miss the momentary change either. "Yes," he said. "She came by herself, but I'm curious, a whore like her wants Pinkie for one reason, to shoot him. So I look out the window as soon as she leaves. She gets into a car with Two white guys' car—like a gang figure." He stopped there. "Coffin Bucket" Ed felt his heart constrict and his breathing was heavy.I'm biting your tail now, you fucking bastards, he thought.Pain spilled over his head like a hemorrhage, and the convulsions came and went.He tried to control his voice.

"Did you see them clearly?" "I didn't look carefully. Well, let's go and take a look. Maybe they're still hanging around here." They went to the old dusty window looking down on 116th Street. "They drive a gray Buick, little car," said Old Blackboy again. Their eyes searched for cars parked along the sidewalk. The sun shines on the south, and the whole street is shrouded in shadow.Groups of coolly dressed black men wandered on the wide sidewalk, their bright black faces peeking out from under various hats, and their black arms were exposed from under the thin cotton material.

A two-wheeled cart stacked with packs of ice-packed watermelon slices and covered in wet jute bags was parked behind a van that wasn't carrying ice.There is a handwritten slogan on the car body: "Sweet Georgia Watermelon", and the letter S has a twist.Water dripped from under the car. Beyond that, there was an old man's cart selling flavored ice.Colorful bottles and jars lined the shelves, and nearby was a chunk of ice covered in wet newspaper.Behind the ice stand is an open-air hot dog stand facing the sidewalk, with large bottles of orange-flavored ice water, and hot dogs on the grill lined up like soldiers in a military parade.

The bar's windows had their shutters drawn down.The billboard in the movie theater hall depicts the scene of the super invincible gangster in history holding a flaming gun and shooting out.In the street in front of the theater, skinny black children in loincloths were playing in the jets of water from fire hydrants. Ed "Coffin Bucket" left the dog in the car, and it poked its head out the window, panting.A group of people gathered around to look at it.Although it was muzzled, they kept a safe distance. A little boy with a mongrel in his arms came to see the big dog.The mongrel looked very uncomfortable.

Not a single trace of the gray Buick. Old Heizi shook his head. "They must be gone." From the bar downstairs, the sound of jukebox music was loud and loud.A green head buzzed on the dirty windowpane. "Didn't you take a good look at them?" Ed "Coffin Bucket" finally asked, trying to suppress the disappointment in his voice. "I didn't look too carefully," Old Heizai admitted. "Those hooligans look like normal hooligans. One of them has a thin white face, sick, and looks like a drug addict. The other is fat, not as fat as the South American, probably Swedish. Two people Both wearing straw hats and sunglasses. Does that make sense to you?"

"Sounds like they're the ones who got rid of me and 'Gravedigger' Jorns." Old Heizi sputtered his tongue. "It's a shame what happened to 'Gravedigger' Jones. Do you think he'll make it through?" There wasn't much sympathy in his tone, but Ed "Coffin Bucket" understood.Although Old Heizi liked "Gravedigger" Johns, but at his age, he would only be thankful that it was someone else who was dying and not himself. "I don't know until the treatment is over," he said. "Hope I can help you. The woman was smartly dressed in a light green suit—"

"I know her." "Well, that's all I got from what I saw." "Every little detail counts. Have you seen Pinky?" "Saw it three days ago. What do you think these gangsters are after him?" "The purpose is the same as mine." Old Heizai stared at Ed's expression from the corner of his eyes, and then looked away. "It's a pity for that big ape-man," he said. "If it weren't for that skin, he might have made a name for himself in the boxing circle." "What happened to his skin?" "Coffin Bucket" Ed asked casually.His mind was now on the administrator's wife, trying to think in this new light. "Too easy to bruise," said Old Black Boy. "Touch him lightly and he'll be bruised and swollen. Every time he's in the ring he looks like he's going to die, if not hurt. I remember one time the referee called a stop, but Pinkie Not at all—" "I don't have much time, Blackie," Ed "Coffin Bucket" interrupted him. "Do you know where I can find him?" Old Heizi scratched his shiny bald head. "Well, he's got a place up there on Riverside Drive." "I know this, but he is currently absconding." "Ah? It's hard to say something like this." Old Heizai squinted his eyes, and took a tentative look at "Coffin Bucket" Ed. "People can't ask you questions, can they?" "It's not like that," Ed "Coffin Bucket" said. "I just don't have time to answer." "Oh, I hear he has an aunt who lives in the Bronx," Blackie offered. "It's called Sister Bliss. Have you heard of her?" "Coffin Bucket," Ed was thinking. "Yes, once or twice. But I never saw her." "She's said to be as old as the Stone Age. She runs a faith healing practice. But they say it's just a cover." "Cover what?" "It is said to be selling heroin." In his head, which was so painful that people couldn't open their eyes, "coffin bucket" Ed's thoughts rushed like ants on a hot pot.No matter how you search, it always comes back to heroin, he thought. "Does she have a temple church?" he asked. "I don't know." Old Heizai shook his head. "Pink says she has a chamber pot full of money, but she doesn't give him a penny. She must have a stronghold somewhere." "Do you know where it is?" "I don't know, it seems to be in some remote area." "It doesn't help much. The Bronx is full of backwoods." Old Heizai finally decided to give up the butts of his cigars.He spat it on the ground, carefully picking out the shreds of tobacco stuck between his teeth. "Papa Hadid might know," he said. "Do you know where he is?" "I know," Ed "Coffin Bucket" said, turning to leave. "Bye." "Don't tell him I told you." "I know." During the time he was in the gymnasium, Old Heizai had been watching him secretly.Old Heizi saw everything in his wise old eyes.He had two guns and a club hidden in him, and he thought there might be more to it. It wasn't until Ed "Coffin Bucket" reached the top of the stairs that he called out, "Wait a minute. There's blood on your shirt cuff." He would like to know whose blood it was, but it would be too risky to ask directly. Ed "Coffin Bucket" didn't even look at the cuff.He walked straight ahead without stopping or looking back. "Yes," he said. "I'm afraid there will be some more."