Destroyer 030 by Mugger Blood

Author:Mugger Blood
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Seven

The building was only three blocks from Macy's in the center of Manhattan but when Macy's and Gimbel's rang their closing bells, the whole area cleared out as if it were a blackboard and God had wiped the wet eraser of night over it.

Reverend Wadson slumped deeper into the back seat of the car as it pulled to a stop in front of an old lime-stained brick building that looked like a hiring hall for rats. He looked cautiously out his side window, then craned his neck to look behind the car.

"Ah doan laks dis place," he said. "This neighborhood not safe dis time of night."

"I'll protect you, Porkchop," Ingrid said.

"Ain" got my piece," said Wadson. "Ain' nobody got no right make somebody go into some place like dis without him got a piece to protects him."

"Like those old white people you turned loose in that jungle tonight? That got burned alive?"

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"Weren't my fault," Reverend Wadson said. If he could just get her talking, maybe he could get his hands on that little black box she kept pressed between her legs as she drove. "Dey volunteers. Dey volunteer to make up fo' centuries of white oppression."

Ingrid carefully took off her driving gloves. She seemed in no hurry to leave the car, as if she were waiting for a signal. Wadson moved up slightly on the edge of the seat.

One big hand around her neck and her own hands would probably fly up to her throat to save herself. Then he could pluck that little black box from between her legs. But carefully. Carefully.

"They were poor old people who didn't know any better," Ingrid said. "They believed all that bilge that they heard from fakers like you and others just like you. You should have protected them."

"Not my job to give dem protection. Gubbermint not give me 'nough money to give de protection. Gubbermint cheat de black man again and now try to blame dat accident on the black man. Oh, when will it end, dis oppression?" he moaned.

"The strong have an obligation to protect the weak," said Ingrid. "In the old colonies of the western world, that used to be called the white man's burden. Nowadays, in these jungles ..." she paused and started to turn toward him ". . . it's the jungle bunny's burden."

Wadson had almost reached the edge of his seat when Ingrid turned and gave him a full bright smile of perfect pearlescent teeth. "You move another inch toward me, darkie, and you're going to be singing soprano for the rest of your life."

Reverend Wadson slumped back in the corner of the seat again.

"Ah still cloan lak dis place," he said.

"If we're attacked by a marauding band, you can give 102

them all your all-inen-are-brothers sermon. That should raise their consciousness.

Assuming they have any."

She seemed satisfied that Wadson had given up any aggressive plans, so she turned back and continued looking out the front window. Just to remind him, she touched the red toggle switch atop the black box.

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