Death List by Donald Goines Read Free Book Online Page A

enough to scare the shit out of some people, and Angelo was no exception. At first Kenyatta had been defiant, then uncontrolled fury flashed across his features. Just the mention of the Kingfisher was enough to make Angelo wish he was somewhere else.
    "Well," Angelo began, "I'd appreciate it if we closed our little business deal, because I've got to get uptown and check on a shipment of guns. You do still want that big order, don't you?" It was clear he was trying desperately to change the subject.
    With difficulty Kenyatta managed to bring his mind back to the business at hand. A blinding white rage had blotted out all his thoughts for a moment, until the only thing he could think about was revenge.

    But the guns were of immediate concern to him. Without them, he couldn't begin to put into practice any of the far-reaching plans he had. It took a few seconds but he managed to gain control of his anger.
    "Yeah, Angelo, I know where you're coming from. Just hold on to your shirt for a minute, man," he said, as he reached inside his pocket and removed an envelope. He took his time and counted out the money on the desk. Angelo counted the money alongside him, not even attempting to keep the greed out of his eyes.
    "Why don't you give me a partial payment down on the guns now, Ken, and tomorrow night when you send your people over to pick them up, they won't have to have that much cash on them." Angelo's eyes continued to follow the large roll of money still inside the envelope.
    Kenyatta laughed loudly. "Man, you must really need some bread bad, Angelo. Suppose I did what you asked me to do, then something happened during the pickup. I'd be out of my money, plus the guns. No, baby, ain't no way for it to go like that. I couldn't stand to lose on both ends. It would hurt me bad enough if the cops knocked off our pickup spot, but it would ruin me if I lost all my bankroll along with it." The tall, lean, black man stood up from behind his desk, showing by his actions that the interview was over. He walked around the desk and took Angelo's arm, leading the white man toward the door. "To show you how much I'm concerned about you, Angelo, I'm even going to walk you out to your car so that there won't be no chance of somebody knockin' you off for the few bucks you just picked up. I don't want no shit out of you, you know what I mean? Like you calling me back in an hour tellin' me some shit about somebody knockin' you over. Well, baby, I'm goin' make damn sure that don't happen."

    The black man's deep laughter boomed out loudly as they went through the outer office. Neither man took notice of the black men standing around in the room.
    Near the front window, two Negro men stood peeping out. One of them yelled out to Kenyatta before he opened the front door. "Hey, baby, maybe you had better be cool. It's a couple of detectives parked down the street. They been there ever since fat boy pulled up and parked. At first we thought they might have been a couple of his boys, you know, trying to put a little protection on him, but we checked them out and it's them two detectives from homicide. The black and white cops that always work together."
    Kenyatta stopped with his hand on the door, undecided on which course to take. "You say they been down there checkin' out the place, huh?" he asked, his mind racing.
    "Naw," the tall, angular black man called Jug replied. "Naw, I didn't say they were checkin' out our joint. I said they seemed to be checkin' out fat boy's car."
    As Jug talked, Angelo stared at the black man. He shook his head. They did all look alike, only this one had hair. If he cut off his hair, he'd probably look just like Kenyatta, Angelo reasoned quietly.

    It was true to a certain extent. Kenyatta and Jug were almost the same height; both men had the same lean build, with wide shoulders tapering down to a small waist-men built for power, speed, and explosive action.
    "Goddamn it, Kenyatta, I told you you should have come downtown