Brainquake Read Online Free
Author: Samuel Fuller
Jaediker of the
Daily News
shouted:
“Any suspects, Lieutenant?”
“A threat was called in, by an unidentified male who may go by the street name ‘Black Psycho.’ ”
“Black…?”
“Psycho, that’s right, Mr. Jaediker. They come in all colors, even mine. Now move back.”
The media and the cops parted for her as she strode forward, as single-minded as a torpedo. She saw the men in the crowd watching her, and knew there was something in their eyes other than respect. Sometimes it was lust, sometimes fear. Sometimes anger. Sometimes…
Zara imagined what it had been like for her ancestor Jero Zara, the first nigra cop assigned to protect Andrew Johnson in New York. Jero Zara was killed by a bullet intended for Johnson, who became President when Lincoln was assassinated. She imagined her grandfather, Tom Zara, the first nigger to command the pioneering Vice Squad in the Force. Tom Zara was shot in the back by the pioneering Murder, Inc.
She walked with her head up and her back straight.
From a distance came the crying, the baby in that carriage busting its lungs to live in the world of savagery it had been born into.
Like Zara had cried, a baby sitting on her father’s knee, her mother standing beside them proudly, the three of them posing for the newspaper cameras the day her father, Ray Zara, became the first colored Captain of Detectives. He never liked the word colored, preferring Negro to the day he was hammered to death in a Harlem race riot.
The same savage world had awaited the baby sitting on Ray Zara’s knee, now working as the first black female Homicide Detective First Class, battle-scarred, with five citations for bravery, and as contemptuous of pithy epithets as her daddy had been. Nigra, nigger, colored, now black. What would they next change the color of black to?
Her mind turned to Frankie Troy. The dead man rankled her.
If he had no record, she had nothing. If he had no friends, she had only the widow’s word based on Frankie’s word that a man called Black Psycho had threatened his life. She only had the widow’s word about the ten thousand dollars Frankie supposedly owed.
If she could find out what business transactions Frankie Troy was involved in, maybe she’d have something to go on. But Michelle Troy looked to be no help there.
Was Black Psycho an actual psycho, a psych ward patient, a medicated schizophrenic? Or was it just a sobriquet, a nom de guerre? In gutter business or pavement conning, characters called each other psychos. Like Crazy Eddie wasn’t really crazy. Just his prices were insane.
Her watch said 10:30. Kelleher should be finished checking Frankie Troy’s prints. Zara was banking on those prints. She had to know all about Frankie Troy before she could go after his killer.
A sudden roar made her look up. A news helicopter was hovering above the carriage. They were filming three men wheeling a big machine down the ramp of the Bomb Squad van, moving it across grass to the side of the carriage. One officer waved the helicopter away but it remained. A second camera was on the crying baby.
Zara pulled out her gun, aimed it at the cameras. The chopper swept off like a hawk.
Would she have fired? Didn’t matter. What mattered was, they believed she would.
Reputation. It cost something, but it was worth something too.
* * *
Paul watched Zara put her gun away. He’d seen her first only at a distance, a woman crossing No Man’s Land. Not a single cop ran out to order her behind the cordon. Which meant she was a cop herself. When she got closer, he saw who she was. Black female detective, over six feet tall—there was only one. The Boss had told him about Zara, how she’d shot a pirate who killed a bagman and got away with his bag of cash. Zara tracked down the pirate, who drew first. She shot him between the eyes, read his rights to the corpse. In the hijacked bag was $12 million, which she turned over to her captain. The pirate was black. The Boss said
Daily News
shouted:
“Any suspects, Lieutenant?”
“A threat was called in, by an unidentified male who may go by the street name ‘Black Psycho.’ ”
“Black…?”
“Psycho, that’s right, Mr. Jaediker. They come in all colors, even mine. Now move back.”
The media and the cops parted for her as she strode forward, as single-minded as a torpedo. She saw the men in the crowd watching her, and knew there was something in their eyes other than respect. Sometimes it was lust, sometimes fear. Sometimes anger. Sometimes…
Zara imagined what it had been like for her ancestor Jero Zara, the first nigra cop assigned to protect Andrew Johnson in New York. Jero Zara was killed by a bullet intended for Johnson, who became President when Lincoln was assassinated. She imagined her grandfather, Tom Zara, the first nigger to command the pioneering Vice Squad in the Force. Tom Zara was shot in the back by the pioneering Murder, Inc.
She walked with her head up and her back straight.
From a distance came the crying, the baby in that carriage busting its lungs to live in the world of savagery it had been born into.
Like Zara had cried, a baby sitting on her father’s knee, her mother standing beside them proudly, the three of them posing for the newspaper cameras the day her father, Ray Zara, became the first colored Captain of Detectives. He never liked the word colored, preferring Negro to the day he was hammered to death in a Harlem race riot.
The same savage world had awaited the baby sitting on Ray Zara’s knee, now working as the first black female Homicide Detective First Class, battle-scarred, with five citations for bravery, and as contemptuous of pithy epithets as her daddy had been. Nigra, nigger, colored, now black. What would they next change the color of black to?
Her mind turned to Frankie Troy. The dead man rankled her.
If he had no record, she had nothing. If he had no friends, she had only the widow’s word based on Frankie’s word that a man called Black Psycho had threatened his life. She only had the widow’s word about the ten thousand dollars Frankie supposedly owed.
If she could find out what business transactions Frankie Troy was involved in, maybe she’d have something to go on. But Michelle Troy looked to be no help there.
Was Black Psycho an actual psycho, a psych ward patient, a medicated schizophrenic? Or was it just a sobriquet, a nom de guerre? In gutter business or pavement conning, characters called each other psychos. Like Crazy Eddie wasn’t really crazy. Just his prices were insane.
Her watch said 10:30. Kelleher should be finished checking Frankie Troy’s prints. Zara was banking on those prints. She had to know all about Frankie Troy before she could go after his killer.
A sudden roar made her look up. A news helicopter was hovering above the carriage. They were filming three men wheeling a big machine down the ramp of the Bomb Squad van, moving it across grass to the side of the carriage. One officer waved the helicopter away but it remained. A second camera was on the crying baby.
Zara pulled out her gun, aimed it at the cameras. The chopper swept off like a hawk.
Would she have fired? Didn’t matter. What mattered was, they believed she would.
Reputation. It cost something, but it was worth something too.
* * *
Paul watched Zara put her gun away. He’d seen her first only at a distance, a woman crossing No Man’s Land. Not a single cop ran out to order her behind the cordon. Which meant she was a cop herself. When she got closer, he saw who she was. Black female detective, over six feet tall—there was only one. The Boss had told him about Zara, how she’d shot a pirate who killed a bagman and got away with his bag of cash. Zara tracked down the pirate, who drew first. She shot him between the eyes, read his rights to the corpse. In the hijacked bag was $12 million, which she turned over to her captain. The pirate was black. The Boss said
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