Chapter 19 Chapter Nineteen

Imabella ran downstairs, leaving Goldie and her Jackson, who were helping her with the gold ore box, to cast a quick glance at the parked hearse and giggle; Park Avenue, run toward the station on 125th Street. Imabella didn't know the train schedule, but there must be a train to Chicago. "This pretty woman must catch the train," she said to herself. The 125th Street station, just under the viaduct, faces the street like a man-made island.Since the platform, the two lanes here have been widened to four lanes.Whenever a train passed by, the platform would vibrate like a stroke, and the loose planks would rattle like dry bones.

The strip of lights at 125th Street can be seen from the platform—from the Tri-Arbor Bridge, which connects the Bronx to Brooklyn, across the island to the 125th Street Ferry, and across Hard Sun River, entering New Jersey. The streets were particularly sweltering, brightly lit waiting rooms filled with wooden benches, newsstands, long lunch tables, coin vending machines, ticket machines, and random people.The two-way staircase at the back of the waiting room can lead to the platform, and there is a toilet under the stairs.Tucked away in the back, both impossible to find and even more difficult to access, is the luggage room, which almost no one can see.

Surrounded by pubs, flea-infested cheap hotels, all-night coffee shops, short-term rentals, brothels and casinos, they cater to every human instinct. Blacks and whites are here, and at any moment they may suddenly meet—on the bar of a bar or on a street with cars passing by.They were arguing, their eyes were red, and they even punched each other.In the evening, they sat side by side by the food processing factory under the neon lights, eating something that didn't look like food on the table. Whores chirped like blowflies hovering over pig intestines.Every night, the blues singer's sad voice came out of the jukebox, echoing in the foul-smelling air like an incomprehensible dream.

When I was a kid, my mother told me that those men could kill me as much as whiskey. The scarred-faced bandit surveys the lonely passerby like a hyena at a lion's feast.The robbers snatched a wallet and fled into the shadows beneath the viaduct, trying to dodge police bullets on the pillars.Sometimes they succeed, sometimes they fail. Four or five white robbers, sitting together in a luxurious bulletproof van, went around the headquarters of the consortium on the street, looking for targets, and sometimes passed by the patrol car, looking at the people sitting in the car, Police in uniform.

In the station, there are plainclothes police patrolling 24 hours a day, and there are always police cars on the street outside. But Imabella is more afraid of Hank and Jordy than the police.She has never been robbed, and her fingerprints have not been recorded at the police station. All the police will not take her seriously.The girl believed that this was a fair deal that would not turn into a horrific robbery. She buttoned up her tight black coat, and as she ran, the skirt flared out in a flared shape, revealing the red straps underneath, quite provocatively. A middle-aged churchgoer, on his way to work, is a model husband and the father of three daughters who are still in school.He was wearing a clean starched shirt and work jacket.When he came out from the ground floor of the apartment, he heard the sound of Imabella's heels treading lightly on the road.

"A whore with frivolous steps," he muttered to himself. But when he stepped onto the sidewalk and saw her gleaming dark yellow face and gaudy red skirts under the street lamps, he was so electrified that he couldn't control himself.His wife was sick and God knows how he stayed up until dawn every day.He looked at that beautiful chick, walking briskly on the road, the teeth on her black face shone like a lighthouse on the sea. "Are you waiting for me, baby?..." the man asked in a deep voice, and then, grabbing her arm, offered five dollars. Imabella was not frightened, she slapped the idiot hard in the face with her black handbag.This blow surprised him more than the pain in his body.

He didn't intend to hurt Imabella, he just wanted to play with this girl.However, when he thought about being a believer and being beaten by a prostitute, he was enraged. He grabbed Imabella and yelled at her, "Bitch, how dare you hit me." "Let go, fuck you black person," Imabella yelled angrily, trying roughly to break free. The opponent is a garbage collector as strong as a horse, and Imabella can't escape his bondage. "Bitch, shut up, I want you today, whether you want it or not." Already in unhinged rage and lust, he was ready to throw Imabella onto the pavement and rape her on the spot.

"You son of a bitch, get the hell out of here!..." Imabella cursed loudly, following Jody's example, she took out a switchblade from her pocket and slashed at his cheek. The man hurriedly jumped back, touching his cheek with one hand, while still holding her with the other.He moved his hand away, surprised to see that it was covered with blood.It was his own blood. "You stinky bitch, how dare you chop me up." His voice was full of horror. "I'm going to chop you up again, you son of a bitch," she said, and slashed at him frantically.He let go of her and started backing away quickly, warding off the knife with his bare hands like he was fighting off a wasp.

"What the fuck is wrong with you bitch?" he asked in vain, but his voice was drowned out by the roar of the incoming train.Suddenly a siren sounded like a human scream. Imabella backed away in horror, thinking she heard the scream of the man she had scratched. "I'm going to kill you, you bitch." After he finished speaking, he was about to grab her knife. Imabella knew that she couldn't let that guy get close, but she couldn't hack him to death either.If he subdued him, he would definitely kill her.She turned and ran in the direction of the station, brandishing a knife as she ran.The man chased her, dragging the blood dripping from his face all over the floor.

"Don't let him catch you, baby." Someone encouraged her in the dark. The train was above their heads, roaring like thunder, even shaking the ground, shaking the man like a donkey unsteady, shaking the blood from his wound, splashing everywhere like rain. The train stopped, and the loud noise left Imabella terrified, with a sick feeling in her stomach. She threw the knife into the ghetto, ran past valet cabs, prowling whores, and loafing blacks, then turned a corner, went straight through the side door, entered the waiting room, ran into the women's room under the stairs, and threw herself Locked inside.

All kinds of people in the station were standing leisurely or sitting on wooden benches doing nothing, almost no one noticed Imabella.Besides, seeing a woman running around in this place is a very common thing. But when the man burst open the door like a bloody bull, everyone stood up. "Bastard, I'm going to kill that damn bitch." He rushed into the waiting room raving nonsense.A black dude looked at him and said, "He's missing love." The man was stopped by the white detective's arm as he ran to the bathroom. "Wait a minute, Brother Johns. What's the matter?" The man tried to evade the detective, but failed. "Look, white man, I don't want to get in trouble. That bitch got the knife on me, and I gotta show her some shit." "Wait a minute, brother. If she stabs you, we'll get her, but you can't break the law, understand?" The black detective strolled around leisurely, looked at the bleeding man indifferently, and asked, "Who cut him?" "He said a woman did it." "Where did she go?" "Runned into the women's bathroom." The black detective asked the injured: "What does she look like?" "A beautiful woman in a black coat and a red skirt." The black detective laughed: "You'd better not mess with those beautiful whores, old pervert." After speaking, he turned around and walked towards the women's room with a big smile. Two uniformed policemen in a certain patrol car rushed over after hearing the news, as if they were afraid that the world would not be chaotic.When they found out that there was actually nothing there, they seemed particularly disappointed. "Can you call an ambulance?" the white detective said to one of them. A policeman hurried back, parked outside in a police car, and radioed for a police ambulance.The other policeman was still standing there in a daze. People gathered in a circle to watch the slashed black man, whose blood dripped onto the brown tiled floor.A porter arrives with a wet rag and looks disapprovingly at the bloody floor. No one was surprised that this happened once or twice every night in the station, and it was not uncommon.The only thing that disappointed them was that no one died. "Why did she kill you?" the white detective asked. "That's right, you saw it too. She's a vile whore." The detective seemed to accept his version. The black detective found the bathroom door locked. He knocked on the door and shouted, "Open the door, pretty girl." No one answered. He knocked on the door again, and shouted inside, "I'm the police, baby. Don't make me call the station master to open the door. Daddy's going to be mad." The latch inside slid down.The detective pushed and the door opened. Imabella watched him in the mirror.She washed her face, put on makeup, put on lipstick, and wiped off her black lambskin high-heeled shoes, like a passenger who just got off the train. The black detective flashed his badge and grinned at her.She complained: "Are ladies wearing makeup, should they be disturbed by your police?" The detective looked around and saw two middle-aged white women cowering in a far corner. "You had a fight with that man?" the black detective asked, trying to trick her into admitting it.Imabella didn't cater to him. "Trouble with whom?" She frowned, looking annoyed. "I'm here to do my makeup. I don't know what you're talking about." "Baby, come here, don't trouble daddy!..." He seemed to have decided that she was lying. Imabella looked at him charmingly with her beautiful brown eyes, and her pearly lips curved into a meaningful smile. "If a man claims that there is any dispute with me, it is definitely his fault." "I see what you mean, honey, but you shouldn't have cut him either." "I didn't cut anyone." After she finished speaking, she turned and entered the waiting room. "That's the bitch who cut me." The man pointed at her and shouted, blood still dripping from his fingers. Sick people turned around and stared at her. "Dude, if it were me, I would definitely strike first," one person teased, "if you know what I mean." Imabela ignored these people. She pushed through the crowd, walked up to the black man who had been slashed, and stared straight into his face. "Is this who you said?" she asked the black detective. "The one who got cut." "I've never met this man." "The bitch is lying!..." the man growled. "Relax, pervert," the black detective warned him. "If I did it, why would I kill you?" Imabella asked defiantly.The bystanders all laughed. "Okay, where is the knife?" the white detective asked Imabella, "Stop playing tricks on me." "Better search the bathroom," put in the Negro detective. "She threw it outside," said the chopped man. "I saw her throw the knife before she came in." "Why the hell don't you pick it up?" the black detective asked the wounded man. "What would I want it for?" asked the man who had been chopped off. "I don't need a knife to kill this bitch. Just my hands." The black detective stared at him: "That's evidence. You said she cut you." "Let's go find it," said one patrolman to the other, and the two went out to find the knife. "It was she who cut me, you can see that." said the man who was cut. Laughter erupted from the crowd, and some walked away. "Do you wish to accuse this lady?" "Allegation? ... Yes, I will accuse her now, and you will testify for me." Someone joked: "If she didn't cut you, you better go to a doctor and look at your injured vein." "What else am I doing here?" Imabella said to the white detective. "I said, I've never seen this guy before. He's got the wrong guy." Another team of patrolling policemen came, took off their heavy gloves, and looked at the chopped black man with the curiosity of a white man. "You take these two to the precinct," said the white detective. "The man wants to sue the lady for assaulting him." "God, I don't want his blood all over the car." A policeman complained.The honking of an ambulance came from afar. "Here comes the ambulance," said the black detective. "I didn't do anything, why did you arrest me?" Imabella yelled at him. The black detective looked at her sympathetically and said, "I sympathize with you, but it's not up to you, baby." "If you can prove your innocence, you can appeal and ask him to compensate for the loss of wrongful arrest." The white detective added. "Oh, what's that?" she said angrily. Outside the station, two uniformed policemen were searching for knives left in the slums.There were two Negroes on the sidewalk, watching them silently. Finally, a policeman decided it was time to question them. "Have you two seen anyone, picked up a knife around here?" "I saw a black boy pick it up," admitted one. The faces of the policemen immediately turned black. "Damn it, don't you see we're looking for it?" a policeman snapped. "You didn't say what you were looking for, sir." "That damned guy may have run away with a knife," another policeman complained. "Where did he go?" asked the first policeman. The man pointed to Park Avenue.The two policemen threatened him with their eyes. "What does he look like?" the negro turned to his companion. "What do you think he looks like?" Another black man is upset that his partner has sold out a black boy to please the white police. "I didn't see him." His words expressed his disappointment.Both police officers stared at him angrily. "You didn't see him," repeated one of the policemen, imitating his tone. "Well, damn it, you're both under arrest." The police took the two black men to the station ahead, put them into the back seat of the patrol car, and sat in the front seat by themselves.Passers-by just glance at it curiously and move on. To show their authority, the police deliberately drove in the wrong direction on Park Avenue.The glowing lights are like devil's eyes.The car slowly moved along the side of the street, the lights shone on the faces of passers-by, the doorways of shops, the cracks, corners and open spaces of the street, among the half a million people of color in Harlem, looking for the one who held a handful of blood-stained black boy with knife. They saw a pickup with a cracked tailgate turning into 130th Street, but paid no attention. "What are we going to do with these two damn blacks?" a policeman asked his companion. "Let them go." So, he stopped the car and shouted at the back seat, "Get out." The two blacks got out of the car in a hurry and walked towards the station. When they arrived at the station, the ambulance had already left.The man who was chopped was sent to Harlem Hospital, so that he could heal his wounds before the local bureau sued Imabella.At the same time, the police car carrying Imabella to the precinct was speeding east on 125th Street. From Madison Avenue, a hearse slowly drove over. However, no one was suspicious of the hearse that appeared on the street early in the morning.In Harlem, people die every day. The patrolman turned Imabella over to the clerk and waited for the man who was hacked to come and charge her. "You mean, I'm going to stay here until..." Imabella was taken aback. "Shut up, sit down for me!..." The clerk interrupted her impatiently. Imabella showed a look of righteous indignation, thinking: This may be better.She crossed the room and found a long wooden bench against the wall, crossed her legs, sat down obediently, concentrated on painting her nails, and exposed her long and smooth thighs. "Gravedigger" Jorns just happened to come out of the captain's office at this time, with a white bandage wrapped under his cap turned upside down, his face was dangerously unretouched. He glanced at Imabella inadvertently, paused for a moment, and recognized her.He approached slowly, looking down at her. Imabella gave "Gravedigger" Johns a wink and jerked her red skirt up, exposing even more of her smooth thighs. "Bless my flat feet," Jones said with a smile. "Hey baby, I have some news for you." Imabella gave "Grave Digger" Jones a bright and cheerful smile, as if thanking him. However, "Gravedigger" Jones suddenly stretched out his palm like a beast, and slapped Imabella hard, knocking her flying from the chair, and in a strange gesture, "Bachi!" "It fell to the floor with a bang.Her legs were splayed, her stomach was on the floor, and her red skirt was billowed high, revealing black nylon shorts underneath. "That's not all," said "Gravedigger" Johns menacingly.