that I knew what I was doing, of course, but they were dead set against calling an ambulance. And the boys didn’t seem to be in any particular danger, only sleep.
* However, even then I knew that this kind of trouble was something I couldn’t handle alone. It was a tossup what to do—the smart thing was to call the precinct right then and there; but I couldn’t help feeling that that would make the Leopards clam up hopelessly. The six months I had spent trying to work with them had not been too successful—a lot of the other neighborhood workers had made a lot more progress than I—but at least they were willing to talk to me; and they wouldn’t talk to uniformed police.
Besides, as soon as I had been sworn in, the day before, I had begun the practice of carrying my .38 at all times, as the regulations say. It was in my coat. There was no reason for me to feel I needed it. But I did. If there was any truth to the story of a “zip” knocking out the boys—and I had all five of them right there for evidence—I had the unpleasant conviction that there was real trouble circulating around East Harlem that afternoon.
“Champ. They all waking up!”
I turned around, and Hawk was right. The five Leopards, all of a sudden, were stirring and opening their eyes. Maybe the smelling salts had something to do with it, but I rather think not.
We fed them some of the black coffee, still reasonably hot. They were scared; they were more scared than anything I had ever seen in those kids before. They could hardly talk at first, and when finally they came around enough to tell me what had happened I could hardly believe them. This man had been small and peculiar, and he had been looking for, of all things, the “Mafia,” which he had read about in history books—old history books.
Well, it didn’t make sense, unless you were prepared to make a certain assumption that I refused to make. Man from Mars? Nonsense. Or from the future? Equally ridiculous....
* Then the five Leopards, reviving, began to walk around. The cellar was dark and dirty, and packed with the accumulation of generations in the way of old furniture and rat-inhabited mattresses and piles of newspapers; it wasn’t surprising that we hadn’t noticed the little gleaming thing that had apparently rolled under an abandoned potbelly stove.
Jap picked it up, squalled, dropped it and yelled for me.
I touched it cautiously, and it tingled. It wasn’t painful, but it was an odd, unexpected feeling—perhaps you’ve come across the “buzzers” that novelty stores sell which, concealed in the palm, give a sudden, surprising tingle when the owner shakes hands with an unsuspecting friend. It was like that, like a mild electric shock. I picked it up and held it. It gleamed brightly, with a light of its own; it was round; it made a faint droning sound; I turned it over, and it spoke to me. It said in a friendly, feminine whisper:Warning, this portatron attuned only to Bailey’s Beam percepts. Remain quiescent until the Adjuster comes.
That settled it. Any time a lit-up cue ball talks to me, I refer the matter to higher authority. I decided on the spot that I was heading for the precinct house, no matter what the Leopards thought.
But when I turned and headed for the stairs, I couldn’t move. My feet simply would not lift off the ground. I twisted, and stumbled, and fell in a heap; I yelled for help, but it didn’t do any good. The Leopards couldn’t move either.
We were stuck there in Gomez’s cellar, as though we had been nailed to the filthy floor.
Cow
When I see what this flunky has done to them Leopards, I call him a cool cat right away. But then we jump him and he ain’t so cool. Angel and Tiny grab him under the arms and I’m grabbing the stuff he’s carrying. Yeah, we get out of there.
There’s bulls on the street, so we cut through the back and over the fences. Tiny don’t like that. He tells me, “Cow. What’s to leave this cat here? He must weigh eighteen tons.” “You’re bringing him,” I tell him, so he shuts up. That’s how it is in the Boomer Dukes. When Cow talks, them other flunkies shut up fast.
We get him in the loft over the R. and I. Social Club. Damn, but it’s cold up there. I can hear the pool balls clicking down below so I pass the word to keep quiet. Then I give this guy the foot and pretty soon he wakes up.
As soon as I talk to him a little bit I figure we had luck riding with us when we see them Leopards. This cat’s got real bad stuff. Yeah, I never hear of anything like it. But what it takes to make a fight he’s got. I take my old pistol and give it to Tiny. Hell, it makes him happy and what’s it cost me? Because what this cat’s got makes that pistol look like something for babies.
*First he don’t want to talk. “Stomp him,” I tell Angel, but he’s scared. He says, “Nay. This is a real weird cat, Cow. I’m for cutting out of here.”
“Stomp him,” I tell him again, pretty quiet, but he does it. He don’t have to tell me this cat’s weird, but when the cat gets the foot a couple of times he’s willing to talk. Yeah, he talks real funny, but that don’t matter to me. We take all the loot out of his bag, and I make this cat tell me what it’s to do. Damn, I don’t know what he’s talking about one time out of six, but I know enough. Even Tiny catches on after a while, because I see him put down that funky old pistol I gave him that he’s been loving up.
I’m feeling pretty good. I wish a couple of them chicken Leopards would turn up so I could show them what they missed out on. Yeah, I’ll take on them, and the Black Dogs, and all the cops in the world all at once—that’s how good I’m feeling. I feel so good that I don’t even like it when Angel lets out a yell and comes up with a wad of loot. It’s like I want to prime the U.S. Mint for chickenfeed, I don’t want it to come so easy.
But money’s on hand, so I take it off Angel and count it. This cat was really loaded; there must be a thousand dollars here.
I take a handful of it and hand it over to Angel real cool. “Get us some charge,” I tell him. “There’s much to do and I’m feeling ready for some charge to do it with.”
“How many sticks you want me to get?” he asks, holding on to that money like he never saw any before.
I tell him: “Sticks? Nay. I’m for real stuff tonight. You find Four-Eye and get us some horse.” Yeah, he digs me then. He looks like he’s pretty scared and I know he is, because this punk hasn’t had anything bigger than reefers in his life. But I’m for busting a couple of caps of H, and what I do he’s going to do. He takes off to find Four-Eye and the rest of us get busy on this cat with the funny artillery until he gets back.
*It’s like I’m a million miles down Dream Street. Hell, I don’t want to wake up.
But the H is wearing off and I’m feeling mean. Damn, I’ll stomp my mother if she talks big to me right then.
I’m the first one on my feet and I’m looking for trouble. The whole place is full now. Angel must have passed the word to everybody in the Dukes, but I don’t even remember them coming in. There’s eight or ten cats lying around on the floor now, not even moving. This won’t do, I decide.
If I’m on my feet, they’re all going to be on their feet. I start to give them the foot and they begin to move. Even the weirdie must’ve had some H. I’m guessing that somebody slipped him some to see what would happen, because he’s off on Cloud Number Nine. Yeah, they’re feeling real mean when they wake up, but I handle them cool. Even that little flunky Sailor starts to go up against
