The Destroyer - 30 - The Destroyer 030 - Mugger Blood by Warren Murphy & Richard Sapir

Author:Warren Murphy & Richard Sapir [Murphy, Warren & Sapir, Richard]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Pulp Action
Publisher: PINNACLE BOOKS
Published: 2010-03-19T14:53:21+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?”

“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 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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