“Real estate.” Immy swallowed hard. “We invested in real estate.”
“Talking about around here, in nigger town?”
Immy nodded slowly.
“Uh-huh,” Gilmore said. He thought about what she said. “You invested in that rival company?”
Immy slowly nodded again. Her hands started to shake.
“You invested with Reliance,” Gilmore said. “The bid hasn't even closed…”
“It has,” Immy cut him off.
“Oh,” Gilmore said, sorrowfully.
“No one has made it public yet,” Immy said.
“You invested in a company who plans to build up Darktown,” Gilmore stood, pointing the half-eaten apple at her. “Give your kind a university, supermarkets, dry cleaners, a shopping center, etcetera, etcetera, etcetera. Make the world better for niggers. Truth be told, it's all about money. Everything is. Always has been, always will be.”
Immy tried to weigh options and realized she had none. Pita-Paul had the bedroom covered, the patrolmen had the front door blocked, and Gilmore stood in the way to get through the kitchen and out the back door.
“The governor's company Green Hills plans to do the same thing. You knew that.” he approached Immy one small step at a time, dragging that leg in its cast. “Why didn't you put that money with a winner? I mean, he cares for your kind, too. More so than that rinky-dink Reliance Oil company. They ain't for people's rights. I should know. I had dealings with them and Spiff, who by the way is in cahoots with…” Gilmore burst out laughing. “Holy shit. You used the money Spiff paid you off to invest in a company that's tied to him. You have big balls, negress!” He shrugged. “I have a question for you.”
“OK – OK,” Immy said.
“What were you blackmailing Spiff for? I'm surprised his yardbird didn't come after you.”
“His yardbird wouldn't hurt me,” Immy said. “I don't tell people's secrets.”
“Is that so? You have a special relationship with him, too, huh? You like your men white, I see. Come on, you can tell me now. Really won't make a difference,” Gilmore chuckled.
“Shaw heard Spiff and his daughter,” Immy said slowly. “They were in a… relationship unbecoming of society.”
“Is that so?” Gilmore laughed. “You know, you two dummies might have hit on something. Thing is, I started hearing a rumor about that when I worked with the union. Hmph! Must have been some truth to it!”
Gilmore nodded and the two patrolmen grabbed Immy by her arms. She cried out and kicked at anyone close by. Gilmore wagged a finger at Pita-Paul. Gilmore shoved the half-eaten apple in her mouth. Immy moaned, sobbed hard. Pita-Paul took out a switchblade from his pants pocket, showed Immy the blade. She squirmed, gurgled, let out a muffled scream.
“Hey, boys, y'all like brown meat? I hear it tastes good,” Gilmore laughed.
A bedroom door creaked open. The sound caught the attention of the Patrolman on the left. He turned and saw the barrel of a Smith and Wesson .38 poke through the crack of the door. Just as he was about to say something, the gun went off. A bullet caught the patrolman in the right side of his temple. Blood splattered Immy and Pita-Paul, blinding him temporarily.
Immy tore loose from the other patrolman and kicked Pita-Paul square in his crotch. He fell to his knees screaming like a wounded animal. She spat the apple out and screamed like a banshee as she tried to run away. Gilmore reached out for her, took hold of the front of Immy's dress and tore the fabric, exposing cocoa-colored skin against a white lacy brassiere. He bent down at the same time to pick up the switchblade. Immy pulled away from Gilmore's grip and her dress ripped all the way to the waist.
Scratch stepped out the bedroom, aimed the .38 and fired twice at the patrolman. Two bullets ripped through the patrolman's chest just as he unholstered his .357 Magnum. The patrolman fell on his back with a loud grunt.
Immy saw Gilmore maneuver slowly toward a hutch to use as leverage to stand. She sprinted over and pushed the hutch on top of Gilmore's legs. He cried out in agony as knick-knacks and dishes fell around him. Immy used the distraction to head to the kitchen. Gilmore reached out and grabbed Immy's ankle, his torn, jagged, filthy fingernails tearing into the nylon stocking on Immy's right leg. Immy fell, turned herself around and started to kick Gilmore in the neck and face with her other foot. Gilmore took the punishment. He pulled Immy closer to him.
By this time, Pita-Paul had gotten himself together. He rushed Scratch, tackling him with all his strength. Scratch thought he'd been hit by a freight train. The.38 flew out of Scratch's hands and landed near the dead patrolmen. Scratch covered his face to block punches from Pita-Paul and felt nasty stings to his wrists. He didn't stop there. Pita-Paul gave Scratch several rabbit punches to his midsection, each blow feeling like bricks slamming against his kidneys.
Finally, Immy got away from Gilmore. She grabbed a stucco pot that had been sitting on the hutch. She brought it down hard on Gilmore's head. He cried out as his skull cracked open. But that wasn't enough for her. Immy came down hard on Gilmore's skull again, and again, until he was no longer moving, just breathing shallowly.
He was a bloody mess.
Scratch had no chance to get to the gun. He did see the switchblade was close to him. He took one more driving fist to the chest. With all his strength, Scratch grabbed the switchblade and drove the blade into Pita-Paul's left eye. Pita-Paul screamed. He crouched, arms flailing but kept his balance. He back-pedaled and fell on his back, moaning and wailing.
Scratch and Immy trotted to Pita-Paul. They stood over him and listened to a man as big as a redwood tree weep like a baby. Words tumbled out of Pita-Paul's
