Gus’s Cadillac was parked directly in front of a huge warehouse that had been converted into a Peace Heaven by Father Divine. The word PEACE appeared in huge white letters on each side of the gabled roof, and could be seen only by looking down from the bridge. It had later been abandoned and was now sealed in darkness.
“I’d sure hate to be here alone,” Jackson said.
“Don’t worry, son, we got you covered,” Grave Digger reassured him. He locked Gus’s Cadillac and put the key into his pocket.
“Okay, Bud, get your hat and let’s get going,” Coffin Ed said to Gus.
Gus picked up his hat, straightened it out and put it on. His face had already swollen so much that his eyes were almost closed.
“Just act as if nothing happened,” Grave Digger ordered.
“That ain’t going to be easy to do,” Gus complained.
“Bud, you’d better make it good, easy or not.”
“Well, coppers, here we go,” Gus said.
He led them down a narrow dark alleyway beside the abandoned Heaven to a small wooden shack on the bank of the river. It was painted a dark, dull green but looked black at night. There were two shuttered windows on the side visible from the walk, and a heavy wooden door at the front. No light showed from within; no sound was heard but the distant chug-chug of tug boats towing garbage scows down the river and out to the sea.
Coffin Ed motioned to Gus with his pistol.
Gus rapped a signal on the door. He rapped at such length that Coffin Ed tensed. The slight click of his pistol being cocked shattered the silence like a giant firecracker exploding, causing Jackson to jump halfway out of his skin.
Suddenly a Judas window opened in the black door. Jackson’s heart tried to fly out of his mouth. Then he found himself looking directly into an eye staring from the Judas window. He couldn’t see the eye well enough to recognize it, but it seemed to speak to him.
There was a turning of locks and a drawing of bolts, and the door opened outward.
Now Jackson could see the eye and its mate plainly. A high-yellow sensual face was framed in the light of the door. It was Imabelle’s face. She was looking steadily into Jackson’s eyes. Her lips formed the words, “Come on in and kill him, Daddy. I’m all yours.” Then she stepped back, making space for him to enter.
Her words shocked Jackson. He crossed himself involuntarily. He wanted to speak to her but he couldn’t get the handle to his voice. He looked at her pleadingly, tried to swallow and couldn’t make it, then stepped into the room.
It was a single room, about the size of a two-car garage. There were two shuttered windows on each side and another door at the rear, which was locked and bolted. It might have been a foreman’s office or a timekeeper’s bureau for some firm operating on the river.
To one side of the rear door were a large flat-topped desk and a swivel chair. Two cheap overstuffed chairs, three straight-backed wooden chairs, ashstands, a glass-topped cocktail table, a tin filing-cabinet, and a phony cardboard safe covered with black canvas so that only the bottom half of the dial could be distinguished in the dim light in the corner, had obviously been added as props by the confidence gang. This was to create an atmosphere of luxuriousness and comfort to impress the suckers while they were being trimmed. Light came from a floor lamp between the armchairs, a ceiling lamp in a glass globe, and a green shaded desk-lamp.
Looking past Imabelle, Jackson saw Hank sitting behind the desk, his yellow face looking corpse-like in the green upper glow from the desk-lamp.
Jodie sat on a campstool beside the back door, dressed in high laced boots and dungarees. His straightened hair was gray with dust. All he needed was a scabby burro to give the illusion of coming down a mountain trail loaded with gold nuggets.
Slim sat in a straight-backed chair against the wall beside the desk, wearing over his suit a long khaki duster like those worn by mad scientists in low-budget horror motion pictures. The legend U.S. Assayer was embroidered on the chest.
At sight of Jackson all three sat bolt upright and stared.
Before anyone could move, Grave Digger put his foot against Gus’s back and shoved him into the room with such force that he catapulted across the floor and rammed headfirst into Jackson’s back. Jackson was knocked forward into Jodie just as Jodie was rising from his campstool. Jodie was pinned against the wall.
Following close behind, Grave Digger shouted, “Straighten up!”
Coffin Ed sealed up the open doorway with his cocked .38 and echoed, “Count off!”
Slim jumped to his feet with his hands elevated. Hank sat frozen with his hands on the desk top. Momentarily shielded from the detectives’ guns by Jackson’s body, Jodie punched Jackson twice, hard, in the belly.
Jackson grunted and grabbed Jodie by the throat. Jodie kneed Jackson in the groin. Jackson backed painfully into Gus. Gus grabbed Jackson by the shoulder to keep from falling, but Jackson thought Gus was trying to hold him and twisted violently from his grip.
In a blind rage, Jodie whipped out his his switchblade knife and slashed open the sleeve of Jackson’s overcoat.
“Drop it!” Grave Digger shouted.
Red-eyed with pain and fury, Jackson kicked Jodie on the shin as Jodie drew back the knife to stab at him again.
Imabelle saw the poised knife and screamed, “Look out, Daddy!”
Her scream was so piercing that everyone except the two detectives ducked involuntarily. It even scratched the casehardened nerves of Grave Digger. His finger tightened spasmodically on the hair trigger of his pistol and the explosion of the shot in the small room deafened everyone.
Gus had ducked into the line of fire and the .38 bullet penetrated his skull back of the left ear and came out over the right eye. As he fell dying, Gus made one more grab at Jackson, but Jackson leaped aside like a shying horse, and Jodie grappled with him.
Jackson clutched Jodie’s wrist and tried to swing him about into Grave Digger’s reach, but Jodie outpowered him and backed Jackson toward Grave Digger instead.
Taking advantage of the commotion, Hank snatched up a glass of acid sitting on the desk. The acid had been used to demonstrate the purity of the gold ore, and Hank saw his chance to throw it into Coffin Ed’s eyes.
Imabelle saw him and screamed again, “Look out!”
Everybody ducked again. Jackson and Jodie butted heads accidentally. By dodging, Slim came between Coffin Ed and Hank just as Hank threw the acid and Coffin Ed shot. Some of the acid splashed on Slim’s ear and neck; the rest splashed into Coffin Ed’s face. Coffin Ed’s shot went wild and shattered the desk-lamp.
Slim jumped backward so violently he slammed against the wall.
Hank dropped behind the desk a fraction of a second before Coffin Ed, blinded with the burning acid and a white-hot rage, emptied his pistol, spraying the top of the desk and the wall behind it with .38 slugs.
One of the bullets hit a hidden light-switch and plunged the room into darkness.
“Easy does it,” Grave Digger shouted in warning, and backed toward the door to cut off escape.
Coffin Ed didn’t know the lights were out. He was a tough man. He had to be a tough man to be a colored detective in Harlem. He closed his eyes against the burning pain, but he was so consumed with rage that he began clubbing right and left in the dark with the butt of his pistol.
He didn’t know it was Grave Digger who backed into him. He just felt somebody within reach and he clubbed Grave Digger over the head with such savage fury that he knocked him unconscious. Grave Digger crumpled to the floor at the same instant that Coffin Ed was asking in the dark, “Where are you, Digger? Where are you, man?”
For a moment the speechless dark was filled with violent commotion. Bodies collided in a desperate race for the door. There was the sound of crashing objects and shattering glass as the floor lamp and cocktail table were overturned and trampled.