The room
smells of fish. A big red haired man leans against the door jamb. He is acting
as a doorman vetting all who enter the room. It is a fish fry so all are
welcome if they pay their dues, but he don’t want any riff raff in the joint.
The room is hot and the window is open. Outside the rain beats down with
continuous drops. Almost joined together
as one long rod. They hit the pavement with large splashes bouncing up
before dispersing. The sign on the drug store flashes on and off red, green,
white in sequence. Drug store, sodas, ice cream red green and white. The
red haired man has a gun in
shoulder holster and a badge of the NYPD in his pocket stating he is officer
Getz of the 5th precinct. His usual beat is of Chinese restaurants,
gambling dens and back rooms filled with opium fumes. Tonight is his day off,
moonlighting as a bouncer. On the settee is a blond with track marks in her
arms, she is asleep or zonked. The room is full of sections of the armed
forces. Sailors mainly and a few merchant seamen, and of course hookers. The
piano player by the window is a large black man wearing a brown derby and a
fancy waistcoat. A flash of
lightning lights up his face showing a wide smile below a pencil thin
moustache. He is playing “Aint misbehaving” The bare boards in the room are
bouncing with a couple dancing the
lindy hop. She is athletic and he is strong swinging her through his legs and
over his shoulder. His suit flaps around him as it is cut in the baggy style
known as a zoot suit.
In a back
room there is a card game going.
Five card stud aces high. It is a big money game 5G’s to join no limit.
Four men and one woman sit round the table. The woman deals. Her chips are
stacked high, she is on a winning streak. A large black man sits opposite her,
his chips are just as high, there are only two in the game the others are just
interested spectators. She is a looker. Blond with deep blue eyes. They bore
straight into his soul. He swears she can read his mind but is determined to
beat her. Show her who is boss. Who runs this neighbourhood. This must be the hand that does it. He
has two aces and two tens. He discards the two of hearts and draws another ten.
The stakes
go higher and higher he is down to his last chips so he calls. She has four
kings and a two. He is livid and
draws his gun.
‘You
fucking whore, they are out of the back of your hand.
She leans
forward and gathers in the chips.
‘Don’t you
just hate sore losers. Are you going to use that or are you yellow as well as a
white mans whipping boy.’
‘I’m no
white man’s Uncle Tom’
‘Oh no,
what about Doil, you’re his stoolie, right.’
The storm
intensifies and the temperature rises. Fats Waller at the piano has sweat
running down his face and dark patches are discolouring his shirt. He is
improvising on a stride piano riff. Sgt Doil of the NYPD and the IGBI is talking to Officer Getz. The atmosphere is electric. The lightning is
almost continuous. The lights go dim then go out. The room is lit only by the
lightning and sporadically by the neon sign.
The blue
eyed blond enters the room from the card game. Doil gives her a brief nod of
recognition. Officer Getz draws his gun. Two sailors are arguing over the
hooker on the couch. Her eyes are open but there is no light in them. One pulls
a knife and lunges at the other. Getz pistol whips him and he falls across the
blond. Getz prods the other sailor in the chest with the barrel of his 45.
‘Git.’ The
sailor leaps over the couch, his buddy and the blond and out he door. Getz re-
holsters his gun.
As he does
so the pimp from the card game rushes in and starts shooting. Getz goes down
and so does the blue eyed blond.
Doil
tackles the pimp to the ground relieves him of his gun and snaps on some cuffs.
Paramedics
arrive and take away Getz and the blue eyes.
Doil tells
Fats to wrap it up.
‘What no
waiting, no jail cells, no whore house arrest’.
‘If you
want to bunk up in Harlem, be my guest. Or fuck off home.’
******************
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