All Shot Up_ The Classic Crime Thriller - Chester Himes [13]
Grave Digger brushed it off. “All right, let’s finish with Snake Hips. Who is his current lover?”
“I’m not sure, sir—you know how these things are with these people—” He choked a little, but they let it pass. “I mean, one never really knows. He’s been going around with a person called Black Beauty.”
They didn’t ask him if this person was a man, and he didn’t elaborate.
“But Black Beauty’s been seen around town with a man named Baron; and I know for a fact Baron’s been hanging around with a white man—I don’t know his name.”
“You ever see him—the white man?” Coffin Ed asked.
“Yes, sir.”
They avoided asking him where.
“Was he one of the trio—the heistmen?” Grave Digger asked.
“Oh no, sir. He wasn’t anything like that. He was a sort of a gentleman type—you find on Broadway,” he amended.
“All right, that does for Snake Hips,” Grave Digger said as they stored away the information against future use. “You know Casper Holmes by sight?”
“Yes, sir, he’s a customer here.”
“What?”
The bartender shrugged slightly, spreading his hands, holding the glass in one and the towel in the other.
“Sometimes. Not a regular. It’s just near his office, which is upstairs, and he drops by sometimes for a short one.”
“Did he pass by the front here?” Coffin Ed asked.
“Yes, sir. He must have just come from his office. But he didn’t stop in here. Snake Hips was dancing, and he passed right by him as if he didn’t see him—like he had something on his mind.”
“Does he know Snake Hips?”
The bartender lowered his eyes. “It’s possible, sir. Mr. Holmes gets around.”
“Could Snake Hips’ dancing act have been a tip-off?”
“Oh, I’m sure it wasn’t that, He was just trying to drag me. You see I got a wife and two children—”
“And you still got time for these boys?”
“Well, that was it. I didn’t—”
“Let him go on,” Grave Digger said harshly. “So Casper didn’t see him, or rather didn’t acknowledge him.”
“It was more that. He must have seen him. But he was walking in a hurry, looking straight ahead and carrying a pigskin bag—”
Both detectives stiffened to alert.
“Brief case?” Grave Digger asked in an urgent whisper.
“Why, yes, sir. A pigskin brief case with a handle. It looked new. He was going toward Seventh Avenue, and I figured he was going to take a taxi.”
“Let us do the guessing.”
“Well, he usually parks his car out front. It wasn’t there, so I figured—” Grave Digger’s look cut him off. “Well, anyway, he was just past the doorway when a black Buick sedan pulled to the curb—”
“There was parking space?”
“Yes, sir—it so happened that two cars had just pulled off.”
“You know whose they were?”
“The cars? No, sir. I think the drivers came from —or rather the passengers, there was a party of ’em—came from the Palm Café.”
“Casper notice it?”
“He didn’t act like it. He kept on walking. Then two cops—or rather men dressed in cops’ uniforms—got out and another one stayed behind the wheel. My first thought was that Mr. Holmes was carrying valuables and the cops were a bodyguard. But Mr. Holmes tried to walk past them—between them rather, because they sort of separated when he tried to pass them—”
“Where was the white man?”
“He was on Mr. Holmes’ right, toward the street. Mr. Holmes was carrying the brief case on that side. Then they took him by the arms; one took hold of each arm. Mr. Holmes seemed surprised, then mad.”
“You couldn’t see his face from here.”
“No, sir. But his back stiffened, and he looked like he was mad, and I know he was saying something because I could see the side of his face working. It was it by the sign light, and it seemed as if he was shouting, but of course I couldn’t hear him.”
“Well, go on,” Grave Digger urged. “We haven’t got all night.”
“Well, sir, that was the first I figured there was something wrong. Then the next thing I knew I saw the white man knock Mr. Holmes’ hat off; he sort of flicked it off from behind so that it fell in front of Mr. Holmes. And at the same time the colored cop—man—sapped Mr. Holmes behind the left ear; he was on Mr. Holmes’ left side.”
“Did you see the