Daddy Cool (8 page)

"Okay, Al," he said quickly, "I'll take ten grand now and the other fifteen when the job's finished."

"Good, good," came the voice from the other end of the line. "You can come on over now and get your money. While you're here, I'll brief you on what you'll have to know. We got the punk's address and everything, so all you need to do is get there and handle it in your same old manner."

Daddy Cool hung up the telephone, then called out to his wife. "Shirley, I want you to pack me a few things. I'm going to take a trip to the West Coast," he stated, as his wife came hurrying into the bedroom.

"While I'm gone, Shirley, if you hear from Janet, tell her I'm sorry and ask her to come back home. Tell her I said I'll buy her a small compact car just for her if she's here when I get back."

Shirley wasn't surprised by her husband's instant generosity. It was his way whenever he tried to make up for something he had done. Money or gifts were always the result. He believed he could pay for anything.

Daddy Cool walked over to his closet and pulled out a heavy strongbox. He took a key from his pocket and opened the huge lock on it. Opening the dresser drawer, he removed the ten thousand dollars he had so carelessly thrown inside the dresser. Shirley watched him silently.

Again there was no surprise. She had long ago become accustomed to seeing him with extremely large sums of money. Yet she had no idea where it came from. But over the years she had started putting small things together. Whenever he came back from a trip, he always seemed to have large sums of cash.

After asking once about it and getting cursed out for being too damn nosey, she didn't make that mistake again. Her man was a cold one, and she had long ago found out that she was out of her element when dealing with him.

Now that he had finally made up his mind, Daddy Cool felt better about the whole thing. Maybe this was what he needed: a trip, so that he could get his mind off his family problems. He began to dress with care as he wondered idly about which technique he would use on this contract. Well, he reasoned, the best thing to do was wait until he knew more about it, then he could decide on how best to handle it.

One thing was sure though: there wouldn't be any gun used. No, not this time. No way was he going to try and take a gun on an airplane. His best bet would be to just wait until he got to California; then he would see how the case needed handling.

For now, the best thing for him to do would be to hurry on over and pick up the ten grand. Yeah, the thought of the money brought a smile to his cold, expressionless face.

14S THE WARNING LIGHT came on in the airplane, Daddy Cool felt the old uneasiness that always filled him whenever his plane landed or took off. He quickly fastened his seatbelt, then put out the cigarette he had been smoking. It had been a fast trip anyway, he reasoned. He glanced out the window beside him and saw the lights of Los Angeles down below.

To take his mind off the landing, he removed the picture of the man he was seeking and stared at it closely. He would know the face now if he met the man in a crowd. On and off for the past six hours he had been reading the file he had on the man.

The envelope containing the file was still in his lap, though he had orders to destroy it as soon as he was acquainted with everything inside of the small dossier. It told in detail of the man's habits. Every little quirk of the man was written down inside the folder.

Suddenly the airplane bounced once, then landed smoothly. They taxied down the runway swiftly. Daddy Cool had that indescribable feeling in the pit of his stomach as the airplane began to slow down. He wiped the sweat off his face and began to take off his safety belt. The stewardess came down the aisle and gave him a bright smile, then asked if he had a pleasant trip.

"Yes," he replied, "I had an enjoyable trip, thank you."

He spoke softly, then watched her walk on down the aisle. Now that the plane was coming to a halt, all his earlier apprehensions disappeared. I guess I'll never get used to flying, Daddy Cool told himself.

The tall, elderly white woman across from him smiled in his direction when she saw him look up and catch her eye. She had been eyeing the attractive black man ever since she had boarded the airplane, and while on the trip west she had cursed herself for not having the nerve to have taken the seat next to him. It wasn't every day that she had a chance to meet a man that attractive. Now, as she watched him stand up and get ready to leave the plane, she realized someone she would have loved knowing was getting ready to walk out of her life.

"I say, sir," she said hesitatingly, "would you help me get my small handbag down, please?"

Daddy Cool glanced coldly at the woman. He had noticed the glances she had been casting his way all during the trip but had pointedly ignored them. The last thing he wanted was to get involved with a woman. That was one of his rules whenever he was on a job. He never became involved with a woman.

But helping her get her bag wouldn't be an involvement, so he quickly reached up and removed the bag she had pointed out. It was very light, and he knew at once that she could have handled it with ease. Since she was tall, she wouldn't have had any problem. Before he had only a hunch that she wanted some action, but now he knew it was a fact.

Without seeming to be rude, he gave her the bag, then quickly mumbled something that she couldn't understand and made his escape down the aisle. The woman followed slowly, surprised at the handsome man's action. He actually seemed to be in a hurry to get away from her. Maybe his wife was waiting for him, she decided, and slowed her pace down even more. The last thing she needed was a scene with some angry woman.

Daddy Cool was one of the first people out of the airplane. He hurried down the ramp and quickly disappeared inside the terminal. With his long strides he quickly crossed the waiting room and went out the door. He waved down the first cab he saw and gave an address in Hollywood.

Daddy Cool settled back and enjoyed the scenery as the cab moved swiftly through the traffic on Imperial Street. The driver reached the freeway and turned onto it. Soon they were moving swiftly in the evening traffic on the freeway.

It seemed as if he had just gotten comfortable when the cab pulled off the freeway and turned right on Wilshire Boulevard. In another minute the cab pulled up in front of an old hotel.

Daddy Cool removed his one bag and paid the cab fare. He walked slowly into the dimly lit building. The hotel had seen better days, that he was sure of. If his prey hadn't been staying at the Gilbert Hotel, Daddy Cool would never have chosen it for his lodgings. He checked in under a false name and paid his rent for two weeks. That way, he reasoned, the people on the desk wouldn't have any cause to disturb him for anything.

After putting his suitcase away, he walked down the hall until he found the incinerator. Quickly he pushed the folder down inside it and waited to make sure it had fallen down the chute. He made his way back to his room and stretched out on the bed. After taking another glance at his watch, he decided to turn in. There was a four-hour time difference from Michigan, so it was still fairly early.

Just ten o'clock in the evening. But Daddy Cool felt tired. Before turning in, he took a quick shower and cursed when he found out he didn't have any hot water. Rubbing himself vigorously, he climbed in between the sheets and soon was fast asleep.

When the first rays of the morning sunlight came through his window, Daddy Cool climbed out of the bed. He felt refreshed now and decided that he would get right on the case. He took a shower, then opened his suitcase and dressed in dark work pants. The shirt he put on was black with long sleeves.

Now that he looked more like a working man, he decided he was ready. He stopped in the hotel lobby and set his watch by the clock downstairs. It was just nine o'clock in the morning, but early enough for people to be up and around.

He wished there was some way he could check to find out if his hiding contract man was still in the hotel. Daddy Cool had the number of the informant who had sold them the information in the first place, but he didn't want to contact the man. The less he had to do with strangers the better off he would be.

He crossed the dingy hotel lobby, studying the faces of the few occupants of the hotel who were already up and sipping coffee from a machine and gossiping with each other. He noticed that most of them were elderly people who had more than likely stayed at this hotel for years. The women looked to be in their fifties, while the two men he saw were just as old.

Once outside he walked slowly down the street until he found a restaurant that appeared to be fairly clean. He found a seat near the front window and ordered pancakes with a large glass of milk. After eating, Daddy Cool caught a cab and rode up to Hollywood Boulevard, where he got out and, beginning at one end of the block, slowly took his time and searched for the small store he was looking for.

In the third block he finally found it. He went in and examined the knives on display in the case. He had the woman pull out two long-bladed hunting knives. These he went over closely. After a long, careful examination, he walked back out without buying any thing. He stood outside the store and searched the display windows until he found the knives he had examined in the window display.

After that, he took his time and walked around. It was later in the day when he found just what he was looking for. A tall, slim black man approached him and asked for a quarter.

"What you want, brother, some wine money?" Daddy Cool inquired, staring coldly at the man.

The winehead hesitated for a second. Before he could frame his lie, Daddy Cool spoke up again. "I was gettin' ready to buy me a taste, but if you don't want any, that's cool with me."

The man wiped his lips with the back of his hand. The shirt he had on was filthy. Dirt was everywhere. Daddy Cool led the man to the nearest store, then went in and bought a bottle. They walked around until they found an alley. There Daddy Cool knocked the top off the bottle and took a long drink. When he finished, he passed the bottle to his friend, who had been watching him drink with watery eyes.

"How would you like to make five dollars?" Daddy Cool inquired as the man drained the bottle.

"What I got to do, bro," the man asked in a hoarse, whiskeyfilled voice.

"I was going to buy two huntin' knives so that when I went fishing I could use them to clean my fish. But I got to arguing with the woman in the store and now I'm ashamed to go back inside and buy them myself. I told her I could get them down the street cheaper, but the motherfuckers cost more down the street," Daddy Cool stated, watching the man's reactions out of the corner of his eye.

"Now, I'll give you five dollars to go in the store and get them for me, but I don't want you comin' out with the wrong thing, nigger."

"You ain't got to worry 'bout no shit like that happenin'," the man stated.

"Good, then," Daddy Cool replied, then began to lead the way back to the store. He stopped in front of the display window. "I don't want that white bitch in there to see me, man. Those are the knives I want."

The drunk stared fish-eyed at him. "Man, you sure that's all you want me to do?"

"I just want you to do that, and that's all, man. But like I said, I don't want no shit out of you. I know how much they cost, and I'm going to give you the right money, so don't go in there and buy the wrong thing. If you do you ain't goin' get no five dollars."

Daddy Cool pointed out the knives again. "You notice the white bone handle on the end, well, they ain't got no other kind in there, so you shouldn't make no mistake."

"I ain't goin' make no mistake, man," the drunk replied, still suspicious.

Daddy Cool counted the money out in the drunk's hand, then held back five dollars. "Now, this is yours whenever you come out with the right knives. You dig?"

The drunk took the money, nodding his head. Daddy Cool watched him stagger off into the store. He smiled as he realized that the white saleswoman would be scared shitless at the sight of the bum. But it was better this way, he reasoned. If the knives were ever traced, she would remember the funky drunk while forgetting about the customer earlier who hadn't bought either knife.

In a few minutes the drunk came out, clutching a bag to his chest. He looked back in the store and cursed. "I see what you mean, my man," he said as he came up to Daddy Cool. "That stupid bitch wouldn't even pull the motherfuckin' knives out until after I showed her some money. I mean," the man continued, "people just don't do business that way, you understand what I mean?"

Slowly disengaging the man's hand from the bag that contained the knives, Daddy Cool agreed with him. Keeping up a steady flow of bullshit with the man, he checked the package, making sure it had just what he wanted.

"Here you go, old man," Daddy Cool stated as he removed an old bill from his pocket. He shoved the five-dollar bill into the drunk's hand.

"Next time I need a good man," Daddy Cool stated slowly, "I'm goin' be sure to look you up, my man," he said as he began to walk in the opposite direction of the bum.