Blue Eyes by Jerome Charyn Read Free Book Online Page A

his mouth, her tongue behind clamped lips (she couldn’t have left otherwise), and searched for a cab in the street. A hand pushed her toward the sidewalk but didn’t allow her to fall. She saw pits of black through a red wig. The Chinaman was grateful to Isobel. She had fed him water and Arrowroots in the detention cage when Coen brought him into the house to be fingerprinted. He wouldn’t assault a portorriqueña on Columbus Avenue; he meant only to remind Isobel of his obligation to her. He was holding a shopping bag in his other hand.
    â€œIs that where you keep Arnold’s boot?” she said.
    The Chinaman showed his teeth. “What’s the matter? Doesn’t Blue-eyes take a shopping bag to work?”
    â€œChino, are you following Manfred?”
    â€œNever,” the Chinaman said. “The cop didn’t buy this avenue. I’m hunting for bargains.”
    â€œWhat kind of bargains?” Isobel asked.
    â€œAll kinds.”
    â€œChino, give me the shoe. I won’t tell Manfred where I got it. I’ll say it was in the sewer.”
    â€œThe Spic has to suffer,” he said, holding the shopping bag out of reach. He put Isobel in a cab.
    â€œMake him fast, Isobel. Blue-eyes is going to have a short life.”
    The Chinaman took no pleasure in Isobel’s puffy eyes; he had misjudged the extent of her loyalty to Coen.
    â€œDon’t worry,” he said. “I’m the Blue-eyes’ angel. With me in Manhattan what harm can come?”
    Isobel arrived at the stationhouse while the foot patrolmen were turning out. Some of them marched with night sticks between their legs, aimed at Isobel’s groin. “Coen’s lady,” they said. “The bride of Shotgun Coen.” And they poured out of the house, bumping Isobel along until she broke free of their crush. The captain’s man, who was minding the switchboard in Isobel’s absence, laughed so hard he forgot to scold her. He couldn’t complete his afternoon’s assignments with Isobel away from the board. He had to locate a particular brand of cigars for the captain’s brother-in-law, and chauffeur the lieutenant’s wife to a beauty parlor in Queens. Isobel didn’t object so much to his wandering thumbs. The captain’s man was too preoccupied with his chores to dig very hard. And Isobel was thinking of Coen.

5 Coen had to sing his name twice before Arnold would allow him in. Arnold hobbled over to his couch. He lived in a hotel on Columbus Avenue for single-room occupants, or SROs. He kept a cocoa tin on the radiator with all his kitchen supplies. Outside his window was a dish for American cheese. He had blue scrapes on both sides of his nose. He was holding a Japanese sword.
    â€œI’ll kill the Chinaman, he visits me. I’ll teach him fan-tan. I’ll write a checkerboard on his stomach.”
    â€œArnold, what happened?”
    Arnold hit his crooked foot with the blunt edge of the sword. “He jumped me, Manfred. On Amsterdam. The cholo put a shopping bag between my legs. He stole my big shoe.”
    â€œWas he wearing a red mop?”
    â€œI can’t tell. He moved too fast.”
    â€œAre you sure it was Chino?”
    Arnold made a bitter face. “I know the Chinaman’s style. You can’t hock a shoe. Only a cholo would think to grab it off a cripple. He talked to me, Manfred. He said regards to Baby Blue-eyes.”
    â€œI’ll handle him, Arnold. You rest.”
    Coen sat on the couch. Arnold watched him fidget. His patrón was being polite, respecting Arnold’s sores. So Arnold unburdened him. “Manfred, tell me what you need?”
    â€œNothing,” Coen said.
    Arnold wanted to catch him before Coen went utterly quiet. “What can I buy for you? Manfred, play fair.”
    Coen bent his head. “A white pimp named Elmo, Elmo the Great. He trails little girls. Where can I find him?”
    â€œLend me a