free! Suddenly, now, I was the peer of the other young hustlers I had admired.
It was at this time that I discovered the movies. Sometimes I made as many as five in one day,
both downtown and in Harlem. I loved the tough guys, the action, Humphrey Bogart in
"Casablanca," and I loved all of that dancing and carrying on in such films as "Stormy Weather"
and "Cabin in the Sky." After leaving the movies, I'd make my connections for supplies, then roll
my sticks, and, about dark, I'd start my rounds. I'd give a couple of extra sticks when someone
bought ten, which was five dollars' worth. And I didn't sell and run, because my customers were
my friends. Often I'd smoke along with them. None of them stayed any more high than I did.
Free now to do what I pleased, upon an impulse I went to Boston. Of course, I saw Ella. I gave
her some money: it was just a token of appreciation, I told her, for helping me when I had come
from Lansing. She wasn't the same old Ella; she still hadn't forgiven me for Laura. She never
mentioned her, nor did I. But, even so, Ella acted better than she had when I had left for New
York. We reviewed the family changes. Wilfred had proved so good at his trade they had asked
him to stay on at Wilberforce as an instructor. And Ella had gotten a card from Reginald who had
managed to get into the merchant marine.
From Shorty's apartment, I called Sophia. She met me at the apartment just about as Shorty went
off to work. I would have liked to take her out to some of the Roxbury clubs, but Shorty had told
us that, as in New York, the Boston cops used the war as an excuse to harass interracial couples,
stopping them and grilling the Negro about his draft status. Of course Sophia's now being married
made us more cautious, too.
When Sophia caught a cab home, I went to hear Shorty's band. Yes, he had aband now. He had
succeeded in getting a 4-F classification, and I was pleased for him and happy to go. His band
was-well, fair. But Shorty was making out well in Boston, playing in small clubs. Back in the
apartment, we talked into the next day. "Homeboy, you're something else!" Shorty kept saying. I
told him some of the wild things I'd done in Harlem, and about the friends I had. I told him the
story of Sammy the Pimp.
In Sammy's native Paducah, Kentucky, he had gotten a girl pregnant. Her parents made it so hot
that Sammy had come to Harlem, where he got a job as a restaurant waiter. When a woman
came in to eat alone, and he found she really was alone, not married, or living with somebody, it
generally was not hard for smooth Sammy to get invited to her apartment. He'd insist on going out
to a nearby restaurant to bring back some dinner, and while he was out he would have her key
duplicated. Then, when he knew she was away, Sammy would go in and clean out all her
valuables. Sammy was then able to offer some little stake, to help her back on her feet. This
could be the beginning of an emotional and financial dependency, which Sammy knew how to
develop until she was his virtual slave.
Around Harlem, the narcotics squad detectives didn't take long to find out I was selling reefers,
and occasionally one of them would follow me. Many a peddler was in jail because he had been
caught with the evidence on his person; I figured a way to avoid that. The law specified that if the
evidence wasn't actually in your possession, you couldn't be arrested. Hollowed-out shoe heels,
fake hat-linings, these things were old stuff to the detectives.
I carried about fifty sticks in a small package inside my coat, under my armpit, keeping my arm
flat against my side. Moving about, I kept my eyes open. If anybody looked suspicious, I'd quickly
cross the street, or go through a door, or turn a comer, loosening my arm enough to let the
package drop. At night, when I usually did my selling, any suspicious person wouldn't be likely to
see thetrick. If I decided I had been mistaken, I'd go back and get my sticks.
However, I lost many a stick this way. Sometimes, I knew I had frustrated a detective. And I kept
out of the courts.
One morning, though, I came in and found signs that my room had been entered. I knew it had
been detectives. I'd heard too many times how if they couldn't find any evidence, they would plant
some, where you would never find it, then they'd come back in and "find" it. I didn't even have to
think twice what to do. I packed my few belongings and never looked back. When I went to sleep
again, it was in another room.
It was then that I began carrying a little .25 automatic. I got it, for some reefers, from an addict
darsice
(darsice)
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