“We’re just starting.”
“How do you start reclaiming a shithole like Diamondback?” Ollie said.
“Well, I don’t know as it’s incumbent upon us to explain our operation to you,” Worthy said.
“No, it ain’t incumbent at all,” Ollie said. “How long’ve you been in business here?”
“Close to a year.”
“You sure you ain’t running a numbers drop?”
“We’re sure,” Chase said.
“This is just a nice legit operation, huh?”
“That’s what it is,” Worthy said. “We’re trying to make Diamondback a decent place to live.”
“Ah, yes, ain’t we all,” Ollie said, imitating W. C. Fields. “Ain’t we all.”
“And we’re trying to make a buck besides,” Chase said. “Ain’t nothing wrong with the black man making a buck, is there?”
“Don’t bleed on me about the black man,” Ollie said. “I ain’t interested. I got a black man lying on the floor downstairs, and chances are he was done in by another black man, and all I know is that black men give me trouble. If you’re so goddamn beautiful, how about starting to act beautiful?”
“Reclaiming the area is a legal, responsible, and proud enterprise,” Worthy said with dignity. “Charles Harrod worked for us on a part-time basis. We have no idea why he was killed or who killed him. His murder in no way reflects on what we’re trying to do here.”
“Well put, Professor,” Ollie said.
“If you’re finished,” Worthy said, “we’ve got work to do.” He picked up the glossy photographs of the gasoline stations, turned to Chase, and said, “This one is on Ainsley and Thirty-first. Have you...?”
Ollie suddenly reached over, clamped one hand into Worthy’s shirtfront, yanked him out of his chair, and slammed him against the wall of tenement blowups and architectural drawings. “Don’t get wise with me,” he said, “or I’ll ram those gas stations clear down your throat, you hear me?”
“Cut it out, Ollie,” Hawes said.
“You keep out of this,” Ollie said. “You hear me, Mr. Robinson Worthy, or do you hear me?”
“Yes, I hear you,” Worthy said.
“What’d Harrod really do for this bullshit operation?”
“He took pictures of abandoned tenements that we...”
“Don’t give me any crap about your development company. You and your friend here probably got records as long as...”
“That is not true,” Worthy said.
“Shut up till I’m finished talking,” Ollie said.
“Let go of him,” Hawes said.
“Go on home,” Ollie said over his shoulder. His fist was still clamped into Worthy’s shirtfront, and he was still holding him pinned to the wall like one of his own architectural drawings. “The stiff downstairs is mine, and I’ll handle this any way I want to.”
“I’ll give you thirty seconds to turn him loose,” Hawes said. “After that, I’m calling in to file departmental charges.”
“Charges?” Ollie said. “What charges? This man is running a phony bullshit operation here, and he’s scared to death I’m going to find out just what he’s covering. Ain’t that right, Mr. Robinson Worthy?”
“No, that’s not right,” Worthy said.
Hawes walked slowly and deliberately to the telephone on one corner of the desk. He lifted the receiver, dialed Frederick 7-8024, and said, “Dave, this is Cotton Hawes. We’ve got a police officer manhandling a witness here — unnecessary use of force and abuse of authority. Let me talk to the lieutenant, please.”
“Whose side are you on, anyway?” Ollie said, but he released Worthy’s shirtfront. “Put up the phone, I was just having a little fun. Mr. Worthy knows I was just kidding around. Don’t you, Mr. Worthy?”
“No, I don’t,” Worthy said.
“Put up the phone,” Ollie said.
Hawes replaced the phone on its cradle.
“Sure,” Ollie said. He sniffed once, tucked his shirt back into his trousers where it had ridden up over his belt, and then walked to the door. “I’ll be back, Mr. Worthy,” he said. “Soon as I find out a little more about this company here. See you, huh?” He waved to Hawes and walked out.
“You okay?” Hawes asked Worthy.
“I’m fine.”
“Were you telling the truth? Did Charlie Harrod really take pictures for you?”
“That’s what he did,” Worthy said. “We’re looking for buildings that’ve been abandoned. Once we find them, we do title searches and then try to locate the landlords — which isn’t always an easy job. If we can get to them before the city repossesses a building...” Worthy paused. In explanation, he said, “If a building’s been abandoned, you see, the landlord stops paying taxes on it, and the city can foreclose.”
“Yes, I know that,” Hawes said.
“What the city does then is offer the building to any city agency that might want to use it. If none of them want it, the city offers it for sale at public auction. They have seven or eight of these auctions every year, usually at one of the big hotels downtown. Trouble is, you get into a bidding situation then, and so we try to find the landlord before it comes to that.”
“What do you do when you find him?” Hawes asked.
“We offer to take the building off his hands. Pay the back taxes for him, give him a little cash besides, to sweeten the pot and make it worth his while. Usually, he’s delighted to go along. You’ve got to remember that he abandoned the building in the first place.”
“What do you use for capital?” Hawes asked.
“We’re privately financed. There are black men in Diamondback with money to invest in projects such as this. The return they expect on an investment is only slightly more than we would pay a bank for interest on a loan.”
“Then why not go to a bank?”
“We’ve been to every bank in the city,” Chase said.
“None of them seem too enthusiastic about the possibility of developing property in Diamondback.”
“How many buildings have you bought so far?”
“Eight or ten,” Worthy said. He gestured toward the wall again. “Those marked with the red crosses there, plus several others.”
“Did Harrod find those buildings for you?”
“Find them? What do you mean?”
“I take it he served as a scout. When he saw a building that looked abandoned...”
“No, no,” Chase said. “We told him which buildings to photograph. Buildings we already knew were abandoned.”
“Why’d you want pictures of them?”
“Well, for various reasons. Our investors will often want to see the buildings we hope to acquire. It’s much easier to show them photographs than to accompany them all over Diamondback. And, of course, our architects need photographs for their development studies. Some of these buildings are beyond renovation.”
“Who are your architects?”
“A firm called Design Associates. Here in Diamondback.”
“Black men,” Chase said.
“This is a black project,” Worthy said. “That doesn’t make it racist, if that’s what you’re thinking.”
“Did Harrod take these gas-station pictures, too?”
“Yes,” Worthy said. “That’s another project.”
“An allied project,” Chase said.
“How long was he working for you?”
“Since we started.”
“About a year?”
“More or less.”
“Know anything about his personal life?”
“Not much. His mother lives alone in a building off The Stem. Charlie was living with a girl named Elizabeth Benjamin, over on Kruger Street. She’s been up here once or twice. In fact, she called him while he was here today.”