When I see what this flunky has done to them Leopards, I call him a cool
cat right away. But then we jump him and he ain't so cool. Angel and
Tiny grab him under the arms and I'm grabbing the stuff he's carrying.
Yeah, we get out of there.
There's bulls on the street, so we cut through the back and over the
fences. Tiny don't like that. He tells me, "Cow. What's to leave this
cat here? He must weigh eighteen tons." "You're bringing him," I tell
him, so he shuts up. That's how it is in the Boomer Dukes. When Cow
talks, them other flunkies shut up fast.
We get him in the loft over the R. and I. Social Club. Damn, but it's
cold up there. I can hear the pool balls clicking down below so I pass
the word to keep quiet. Then I give this guy the foot and pretty soon he
wakes up.
As soon as I talk to him a little bit I figure we had luck riding with
us when we see them Leopards. This cat's got real bad stuff. Yeah, I
never hear of anything like it. But what it takes to make a fight he's
got. I take my old pistol and give it to Tiny. Hell, it makes him happy
and what's it cost me? Because what this cat's got makes that pistol
look like something for babies.
* * * * *
First he don't want to talk. "Stomp him," I tell Angel, but he's scared.
He says, "Nay. This is a real weird cat, Cow. I'm for cutting out of
here."
"Stomp him," I tell him again, pretty quiet, but he does it. He don't
have to tell me this cat's weird, but when the cat gets the foot a
couple of times he's willing to talk. Yeah, he talks real funny, but
that don't matter to me. We take all the loot out of his bag, and I make
this cat tell me what it's to do. Damn, I don't know what he's talking
about one time out of six, but I know enough. Even Tiny catches on after
a while, because I see him put down that funky old pistol I gave him
that he's been loving up.
I'm feeling pretty good. I wish a couple of them chicken Leopards would
turn up so I could show them what they missed out on. Yeah, I'll take on
them, and the Black Dogs, and all the cops in the world all at
once--that's how good I'm feeling. I feel so good that I don't even like
it when Angel lets out a yell and comes up with a wad of loot. It's like
I want to prime the U.S. Mint for chickenfeed, I don't want it to come
so easy.
But money's on hand, so I take it off Angel and count it. This cat was
really loaded; there must be a thousand dollars here.
I take a handful of it and hand it over to Angel real cool. "Get us some
charge," I tell him. "There's much to do and I'm feeling ready for some
charge to do it with."
"How many sticks you want me to get?" he asks, holding on to that money
like he never saw any before.
I tell him: "Sticks? Nay. I'm for real stuff tonight. You find Four-Eye
and get us some horse." Yeah, he digs me then. He looks like he's pretty
scared and I know he is, because this punk hasn't had anything bigger
than reefers in his life. But I'm for busting a couple of caps of H,
and what I do he's going to do. He takes off to find Four-Eye and the
rest of us get busy on this cat with the funny artillery until he gets
back.
* * * * *
It's like I'm a million miles down Dream Street. Hell, I don't want to
wake up.
But the H is wearing off and I'm feeling mean. Damn, I'll stomp my
mother if she talks big to me right then.
I'm the first one on my feet and I'm looking for trouble. The whole
place is full now. Angel must have passed the word to everybody in the
Dukes, but I don't even remember them coming in. There's eight or ten
cats lying around on the floor now, not even moving. This won't do, I
decide.
If I'm on my feet, they're all going to be on their feet. I start to
give them the foot and they begin to move. Even the weirdie must've had
some H. I'm guessing that somebody slipped him some to see what would
happen, because he's off on Cloud Number Nine. Yeah, they're feeling
real mean when they wake up, but I handle them cool. Even that little
flunky Sailor starts to go up against me but I look at him cool and he
chickens. Angel and Pete are real sick, with the shakes and the heaves,
but I ain't waiting for them to feel good. "Give me that loot," I tell
Tiny, and he hands over the stuff we took off the weirdie. I start to
pass out the stuff.
"What's to do with this stuff?" Tiny asks me, looking at what I'm giving
him.
I tell him, "Point it and shoot it." He isn't listening when the
weirdie's telling me what the stuff is. He wants to know what it does,
but I don't know that. I just tell him, "Point it and shoot it, man."
I've sent one of the cats out for drinks and smokes and he's back by
then, and we're all beginning to feel a little better, only still pretty
mean. They begin to dig me.
"Yeah, it sounds like a rumble," one of them says, after a while.
I give him the nod, cool. "You're calling it," I tell him. "There's much
fighting tonight. The Boomer Dukes is taking on the world!"