Counter Blow by Robert F. Clifton (ebook reader for pc .txt) 📕

“Got it”.

On Wednesday, November 7, 1977 at one thirty in the after noon. Captain Wallace parked the unmarked radio car across the street from the Jewel Restaurant, got out, locked the drivers side door and started across the street to Frank Beal's shoeshine stand. As he walked he read the sign hanging on the wall, “You Can't Look Neat If Your Shoes Are Beat.”

Wallace knew the background of Beal. As a young man he was a boxer. He was good, good enough to get a shot at the middle weight title. Instead, he made his money taking dives. As fast as he made it he spent it, booze, parties, women, gambling, he pissed it all away. Now at age seventy he scratched out a living shining shoes.

“Mornin Captain. Care for a shine?” Asked Beal.

“I think I will”, said Wallace as he climbed up and into the wooden chair.

Frank Beal began brushing the Captain's shoes using one hand. With the other hand he passed a white, business size envelope to Wallace.

Robert Wallace turned the envelope over and saw that the letter or its contents was addressed to Father Salvador Presti, Saint John Monastery, Running Deer, Montana.

Wallace reached into his inside pocket of the blue blazer he wore. After removing a manila envelope he placed it with the letter and handed both to Frank Beal.

“Looks like it goin to be a right nice day. Yes it do”, said Beal.

“It sure does”, Wallace replied.

Chapter Thirteen

Retribution

On Tuesday, December 13, 1977 Ramon Delgado, also known as Leroy Dunbar sat on a bar stool sipping from a shot glass filled with rum. The tavern was filled with the usual clientele, the pimps and whores that worked the barrio near the ocean front.

The smell of rum and whiskey mixed with the aroma of cigar smoke together were unable to mask the odor of stale, rancid piss on the sawdust and dirt floor.

As he looked around Leroy noticed two young white women sitting at a table nursing Cuba Libra’s, which consisted of rum, cola and lime juice. One was a redhead who had her hair styled like a beehive. The brunet had a pixie cut.

He could tell they were hookers. The mere fact that they were in this place was enough to convince him that they were prostitutes. As he looked at them one, the brunet raised her glass and smiled.

Leroy got up off of his stool and walked to their table. He put his drink on the table and sat down in one of the empty chairs and said, “You girls look thirsty. Can I buy you a drink?”

“You can do that and other things”, said the other woman a red head.

“That right? And just what that be?”, asked Dunbar.

“We need jobs”, said the brunet”.

“Why you tellin me this?”, asked Dunbar.

“We talked to Gabriela and Rosalinda. They said that you were looking for a white woman to put in your business”

“That be true. Seems the white, European johns like the dark Latino babes. At the same time the hometown boys want you white bitches. Which one of you wants the job?”. Asked Dunbar.

“Both of us”, said the redhead.

“I got to think it over. Two would double my take. I'll need to test the product if you know what I'm sayin”, Dunbar replied.

“Naturally, but we can't do it here”, said the brunet”.

“First, let's get to know each other. They call me Ramon Delgado. You go to work for me, I takes care of you. You hustle, I protect. You hustle we both make money. You be responsible for the clothes you wear, condoms, and doctor visits. You get clapped up, your ass is out of here. You know what I'm sayin?

“We understand baby. No problem.”

“Good, one more thing. I feeds you and put a roof over your head. Usually I goes sixty forty, other times I goes fifty fifty. Depends on how good you are at your job”.

“Sounds good to me sugar. Now, when do we audition?”, asked the redhead.

“In awhile. What be your name Red?”

“Mildred Perkins. They call me Molly”.

“You got a New England kinda accent. Where you from?”, Dunbar asked.

“Boston”.

“You hustle in Bean Town?”

asked Leroy.

“Scollay Square”, answered Molly.

“Heard of it. Ain't never been there. How about you. What be your name and background?”, asked Dunbar speaking to the brunet

“Tess. I worked New York, Times Square. My real name is Theresa Jenkins”.

“Why you leave, Tess Jenkins?”, asked Dunbar.

“My pimp beat me up. I had enough so I left”.

“Your pimp a brother or a white dude?” Dunbar asked.

“He's black”.

“And, you Molly. Why you leave Bean Town.?”

“I saw a murder on the Square. I don't want to get involved so I packed up and left”, Perkins answered.

“Seems alright. How did you bitches get into Cuba?”

“I flew out of Toronto to Havana. Got here three days ago”, said Jenkins.

“I went to Mexico City and from there to here. I got here last week.”said Perkins”.

“On Cubans de Aviation”, said Jenkins.

“Same here”, said Perkins.

“How come it is that you two are from two different places and one of you flew out of Canada and the other Mexico yet here you are sittin in front of me, best friends, both hookers and both want to go to work for me. It seem odd. Got to think this over”, said Dunbar.

“The answer is simple we both just happened to be working the same hotel lounge when we met each other. Instead of competing against each other we decided to work together. Unfortunately we don't know who or how to pay off. We don't want to work for a Cuban. So we asked around and your name came up”, said the brunet.

“Why don't you think it over as we audition. It could be that our bedroom skills might help you make up your mind”, said the redhead.

“Absolutely, you can try us one at a time or both of us at the same time. That's up to you”, the brunet suggested.

“Damn girl. You puttin some kinky ass ideas in my head. Unless you want another drink, we're out of here”.

Later, an old Ford sedan converted to a taxi cab stopped in front of the hacienda of Ramon Delgado. Both girls followed him into the building, ignoring the odor of the unkempt dwelling, filled ashtrays, empty beer and rum bottles and a filthy sink filled with dirty dishes.

“Where's the bathroom. I have to pee”, said the redhead.

“That door on the left Red. We'll wait right here for you”.

Ten minutes later Molly joined Tess and Leroy and

said, “Alright, let's have some fun”. Dunbar led both girls into his bedroom then stood and watched as both women took off their clothes. When they were nude he undressed and got on top of the bed.

He was joined by the brunet and as she lay there next to him he leaned over and kissed her on the cheek. Looking up at the redhead he said. “Come on baby. You know why you're here. Ramon want both of you”.

“I'm coming. I just want to fix my hair “.

Dunbar watched the woman as she reached up to the back of her hair and removed a hairpin which she placed in her mouth. After adjusted her hairdo she replaced the pin.

“How come you still wear your hair in beehive? Thought that went out a couple of years back”, said Dunbar.

Mildred Perkins got on the bed and smiled “This isn't a beehive baby. It's called a big hair”.Dunbar laughed and turned his head towards the brunet. When he did Molly carefully removed the straight razor from the back of her hair, opening and placing it quickly between her thumb and forefinger. As Dunbar was involved in trying to kiss Tess the redhead nimbly ran the edge of the blade across the throat of Leroy. The cut was long and deep, severing the jugular vein and carotid artery. Both women jumped up off of the bed. Then stood and watched as blood gushed out of the wound flowing on to the dirty sheets and pillow on the bed. They heard him gasp. They saw him stand and reach his hand to his throat in an attempt to stop the flow of blood. Then, they saw him collapse, unconscious as blood did not reach his brain.

As the two women dressed they saw that the man no longer breathed. Blood no longer flowed. He was dead.

Outside in the dark. Molly and Tess looked up the street. There a man in a black sedan blinked his headlights. Molly waved and the car's engine started. It then moved to where the women stood. They both got into the rear of the automobile and the driver slowly drove away from Ramon Delgado's hacienda.

The next day, Cubana de Aviacion flight 327 from Havana to Toronto took off as scheduled. On board and in First Class two young women one a brunet the other a redhead ordered Cuban Libre's from the stewardess.

Chapter Fourteen

Requital

Donovan Bennett didn't like being in prison, but then again, who did? Still, it was better than being executed or facing life with no parole for his part in the murders of the nightclub owner and the cop. In his mind he wouldn't be here at all if he hadn't hooked up with Leroy Dunbar. Dunbar was not only a dumb son of a bitch be was also a blood thirsty bastard. One of those who demanded respect even though he didn't deserve it. The kind that used the lack of respect as an excuse to maim or kill. He was also the asshole that was causing Bennett to serve time in prison.

Many times, as he lay in his bunk in the cell he thought of Dunbar who shot the two men that night and ditched the shotgun in the trashcan belonging to Iris. “The fool didn't have enough brains to think just how easy it would have been to slide it right into the sewer drain on the corner. No, the simple bastard put it in the trashcan of his woman. Thank Christ, the Catholic Priest married them. That took Iris out of the picture. No questions asked. No answers given. Sweet.

Now it becomes a waiting game. Do the time. Stay out of trouble. Be a model prisoner. Yes Sir, no sir. Do two, maybe three years. The old Jew gotta die sometime. When he do, my lawyer makes an appeal. Only witness be gone, no sweat, I walk,” he thought to himself.

His cellmate was Calvin Epps, age twenty eight, a man doing life for the murder of his girl friend when he caught her cheating on him. He was a weird dude. He was a brother, but he acted and sounded like a white dude. The bro read constantly. Most of the time he was reading about the stars and planets. Instead of soul music he listened to classical music and opera. He stood at six feet, eight inches and weighed two hundred and twenty five pounds. There wasn't An ounce of fat on his body. His morning routine was one hundred push ups on the cell floor and one hundred pullups using the bars on the cell door. The color of his skin was a deep black and when he spoke he used big words like those found in a dictionary. Sometimes Bennett didn't even understand what the man was saying.

Calvin Epps played chess. The board was set up and the pieces left in position day after day. Epps and somebody in the cell block below had a continuing game going. They passed notes to each other in the prison mess listing each others next play.

Epps had long ago realized that he would spend the rest of his life in prison. Instead of being distraught about his circumstances he decided to take advantage of them. He had entered prison as a high school drop out. In his confinement he studied and got