The Heat's On Read Online Free PDF Page B

looking evil as housemaids scrubbing floors, began pushing between the tables, roughing up the customers, shaking down the joint for someone eating watermelon.
    Grave Digger had the presence of mind to whip the plates containing the rinds and seeds from atop the table and hide them on the floor underneath their chairs. No one else was eating watermelon, but Coffin Ed went undiscovered.
    When finally the dancing was resumed, Grave Digger let out his breath. “That was a close shave,” he said.
    “Let’s get out ef here before we get caught,” Coffin Ed said, wiping his mouth with the palm of his hand.
    “We! What we?” Grave Digger exploded.
    The proprietor escorted them to the door. He wouldn’t let them pay for the dinners. He gave them a big fat wink, letting them know he was on their side.
    “Live and let live, that’s my motto,” he said.
    “Yeah. Just don’t think it buys you anything,” Grave Digger said harshly.
    It was pressing S a.m. when they came out into the street, almost an hour past their quitting time.
    “Let’s take a last look for Gus,” Grave Digger suggested.
    “What for?” Coffin Ed asked.
    “For reference.”
    “You don’t never give up, do you?” Coffin Ed complained. It was 5:05 when Grave Digger drove past the apartment over on Riverside Drive. He kept down to Grant’s Tomb, turned around and parked on the opposite side of the street, three houses down. Gray dawn was slipping beneath an overcast sky and the sprinklers were already watering the browned grass in the park surrounding the monument.
    They were about to alight when they saw the African come from the apartment, leading the mammoth dog by a heavy iron chain. The dog wore an iron-studded muzzle that resembled the visor of a sixteenth-century helmet.
    “Sit still,” Grave Digger cautioned.
    The African looked up and down the street, then crossed over and walked in the opposite direction. His white turban and manycolored robe looked outlandish against the dull green background of foliage.
    “Good thing I’m in New York,” Grave Digger said. “I’d take him for a Zulu chief out hunting with his pet lion.”
    “Better follow him, eh?” Coffin Ed said.
    “To watch the dog piss?”
    “It was your idea.”
    The African turned down steps descending into the park and passed out of sight.
    They sat watching the apartment entrance. Minutes passed. Finally Coffin Ed suggested, “Maybe we’d better buzz her; see what’s cooking.”
    “Hell, if Gus ain’t there, all we’ll find is dirty sheets,” Grave Digger said. “And if he’s home he’s going to want to know what we’re doing busting into his house when we’re off duty.”
    “Then what the hell did we come for?” Coffin Ed flared.
    “It was just a hunch,” Grave Digger admitted. They lapsed into silence.
    The African ascended the stairs from the park. Coffin Ed looked at his watch. It read 5:27. The African was alone.
    They watched him curiously as he crossed the street and pressed the bell to the apartment. They saw him turn the knob and go inside. They looked at one another.
    “Now what the hell does that mean?” Coffin Ed said.
    “Means he got rid of the dog.”
    “What for?”
    “The question is, how?” Grave Digger amended.
    “Well, don’t ask me. I’m no Ouija board.”
    “Hell with this, let’s go home,” Grave Digger decided suddenly.
    “Don’t growl at me, man, you’re the one who suggested this nonsense.”

4
    Pinky peered through the plate-glass window of a laundrymat at the corner of 225th Street and White Plains Road in the Bronx. There was an electric clock on the back wall. The time read 3:33.
    The sky was overcast with heavy black clouds. The hot sultry air was oppressive, as before a thunderstorm. The elevated trestle of the IRT subway line loomed overhead, eerie and silent, snaking down the curve of White Plains Road. As far as he could see, the streets were empty of life. The silence was unreal.
    He reckoned it had