Death List by Donald Goines Read Free Book Online

Kenyatta? We ain't never had any kind of misunderstanding like this before. I bring you what you ask for, but you've changed the fuckin' price. How the hell will you feel if I should do the same thing to you the next time you put in a big order for guns, huh?"

    It didn't take a mind reader to see that he had hit on a vital organ. The steady supply of fresh, untraceable guns was indispensable. It was of the greatest importance that Kenyatta keep his gun connection. Angelo saw this and pushed home his point. "You and me, Kenyatta, we been doing business for over two years now, without ever having any trouble. Now, all at once, here comes some bullshit. Okay, I accept the fact that ten grand was too much money for the information you wanted, but don't rub my nose in shit, boy."
    There it was again, that fuckin' term "boy." Kenyatta gritted his teeth before jumping up and stalking around the desk. "Angelo, I'm goin' tell you one time, man, and only once. The way you honkies have of calling us `boy' is too much. I'm one nigger who just can't stand it. Now, I know you probably don't mean a fuckin' thing by it, but it still rubs me to the quick to hear a peckerwood call me `boy,' so you done run out of chances. If you do it again, no matter how bad I might need your gun connect, I'll personally kick you in your fat ass until all the lard runs off it."
    All the while the tall black man spoke, he pointed his finger down into the white man's face. Angelo could only sit in the chair and stare up at him with his mouth open. He promised himself though, if he got out of that office alive, it would be a cold day in hell before he'd ever come down near the ghetto and do business with the black bastards again. Oh yes, he'd continue to sell them guns. It made him feel good to know that he was supplying the guns they were killing each other with. In time, maybe they'd kill so many of their brothers that the white people could start getting back some parts of the cities because, the way things stood, niggers had already taken over the major portions.

    "I didn't mean no harm, Kenyatta; it's just that I forget how to pronounce your name at times and `boy' comes out. But don't worry, I won't make that mistake again."
    Kenyatta glared down at the man without smiling. "I ain't worried about it at all," Kenyatta said. "I've already warned you; the rest is up to you." He turned his back on the fat man and walked back around his desk. This time he did pick up the envelope. He opened it quickly, glanced down at the names, then back up at Angelo. "What kind of shit is this you're giving me, Angelo? You got the Kingfisher in charge of the dope on the west side, east side, north side, and south side of the city. In other words, you got a black man in charge of all the dope that goes into the ghettos."
    Angelo held up his hand, catching himself before he made the mistake of calling Kenyatta boy. "It's the goddamn truth. I was surprised as hell when I found it out. I didn't know a nigger had that much power." He became tongue-tied as he suddenly realized the word he had used, but since no warning came he continued. "It's the truth though. Kingfisher has the whole ball of wax. There's not a white distributor in the whole fuckin' city who can put any dope in the ghettos without the okay of the Kingfisher."

    Angelo's words rang in Kenyatta's ears. "That's the way that bastard has got it set up. No drugs are sold on the large levels unless he has something to do with it. It's no big outlet in the suburbs yet, so the big boys have to play to the Kingfisher's tune for now. They damn sure don't like it, but what can they do about it? There's not another colored guy around anywhere as big as the Kingfisher. He don't allow it. If the big white boys try and set up another black guy, something always seems to happen to the guy. It's a short investment, so they have to do business with the Kingfisher."
    The spectacle of watching the facial expressions of Kenyatta was