Walkin The Dog

Socrates looked at Biggers but the black cop didn't seem to think his partner meant any insult to

his

race or kind.

?One out of five is more like three or four outta five because the one you get's prob'ly done a couple'a others.? Beryl smiled. ?Like those three Mexican kids killed up on MLK last March. Girl was raped and shot just like this Minnie Lee. Would you submit to a blood test, Mr. Fortlow??

Whatever it was they expected from Socrates, it wasn't laughter.

?Shit, man,? the big friendly killer replied. He took a deep breath and then sat up straight. ?I ain't never bled for nobody wasn't willin' t'give up sumpin' too. Shit.?

?We know you killed her, Socrates.? Biggers spoke so softly it was almost a whisper. ?And we intend to bust you for it, don't make any mistake about that.?

?Tell me, Detective Biggers,? Socrates said. ?What's your first name??

?We're asking the questions here,? Beryl answered for his partner.

?Listen t'me, motherfucker.? Socrates stood up from his chair. ?I ain't afraid of you. You get that? You ain't gonna scare me into pleadin'. An' if you think you could hurt me then you don't know what pain is.? Socrates thumped a heavy point finger against his own chest. ?

I

am pain. Me. I ain't killed nobody in a lotta years. So you could forget a confession. Ain't nuthin' that the cop squad gonna get outta me. You sure cain't hurt me. You could kill me. You could set me up. You can put chains on my arms and legs but you sure the fuck cain't make me lie on myself.?

The policemen stood straight and made subtle defensive motions with their hands. Socrates laughed again.

He looked into Bigger's face and said, ?Listen, brother. You one'a them, I know that, but you one'a us too. You know what it's like out here. You know what it's like. Read up on me, brother. Read about how when I woke up and found I had killed my friends I just wandered off to a bar somewhere, I didn't even know where I was. When the cops come and th'ew down on me I gave up. They asked if I knew why I was bein' arrested. I said yeah. I knew. I knew. I ain't no gangster, man. I ain't no thief or hired muscle. I'm just mad, mothahfuckah. Now take this white man an' get outta my house.?

The veins on Socrates' neck writhed as if some unnatural evil threatened to burst through his skin.

Beryl stepped in front of his partner but there was no need.Neither man would have stood up to Socrates, not in the mood he was in, not if he was eighty.

?We're gonna take you down on this one, Fortlow. You'll be back in prison soon enough. And this time there won't be any parole for you.?

Socrates went in to work. He was only half an hour late. He avoided Marty most of the day. Even when they had to talk, Socrates kept it short and gave away nothing of what was going on.

?How's it going?? Marty asked after the lunch break.

?Fine.?

?The police come to see you any more??

?Naw. They just want somebody t'pin it on. I woulda been the one if you hadn't put your cousin on the case. Thanks, Marty. I owe you.?

?Have you?? the manager began.

?I got to get to work, Marty,? Socrates said. ?Talk to you later.?

Socrates was sure that the knock on the door at six thirty that evening was the police again. He looked forward to their visit more than any friends. Enemies brought out his strength. Somebody to go up against where you knew the trouble and were ready for war. That's what Socrates knew best.

He put away his evil grin before pulling the door open but the men standing there were not official.

?Darryl. Howard. How you boys doin'??

?You gonna stand outta the way an' let us in?? Howard asked.