Airtight Willie & Me by Iceberg Slim Page A

chords were paralyzed. My lips banged together soundlessly as I obeyed the imperative command of porcine Mutt’s head dip at the sofa. I collapsed onto the sofa with gluey palms. Mutt shoved his blue fedora back off his face and sat on the coffee table facing me. My ticker boomed counterpoint to Savannah’s tearjerker.
    Jeff stage-whispered something in Sicilian. Mutt grunted and belched a stinking gust of garlic and pasta. Jeff materialized an automatic piece from a shoulder holster as he cat crept into the bedroom. Jeff came back into the living room scowling. He sat down on the coffee table beside Mutt. They glared at me.
    I found my voice to say inanely, “What’s the trouble?”
    Mutt said, “Who are you, kid?”
    I said, “Bobby Lancaster.”
    Jeff leaned and tapped my forehead with the snout of his piece. He said, “Now, Bobby, we got urgent business with Otis . . . very important! Where is he?”
    I bit my lip thinking fast. They exchanged a few rapid words in Sicilian as I procrastinated. I caught a bit of it for I had grown up next door to Sicilian pals in Rockford, Illinois. Their rap had sounded like, “squeeze the skinny asshole.” Jeff stomped his heel down on my bare instep. My eyes leaked water. I almost tinkled in my pajamas with the jolt of pain.
    I was about to blurt out the info when the truth hit me. They had to waste me since Streak was a walking dead man already. They couldn’t leave me alive. They couldn’t risk my possible identification after they hit Streak! I closed my eyes and thought about Mama. I remembered how she had wept and pleaded with me to stay in school, to avoid ruin and early death in the underworld. I thought about unforgettable, dazzling Opal, my childhood sweetheart. Now it was all over. I was finished at nineteen.
    Savannah’s song was winding up. I heard Phyl’s key in the lock. I groaned. She was finished too. I opened my eyes. Jeff raced to the side of the door with pistol ready. Phyl opened the door. My friendSparky, the pimp, and his dozen-odd mob of hustler pals were spilling out of his suite. Mutt released his grip on my hair. Sparky embraced Phyl’s waist from behind and nuzzled her ear.
    Sparky glanced at me on the sofa and hollered as he waltzed Phyl into the room, “Young Blood, my man!”
    The wild mob followed Sparky and Phyl into the suite. Jeff dropped his piece tight against his hip. He jerked his head at Mutt as he stepped into the hallway. Everybody froze and stood staring at my mussed up condition.
    Mutt snarled, “Clear the way!” He moved from behind the couch waggling the automatic. The crowd parted to make an aisle to the door.
    Sparky said, “What the fuck is going on, Slim?”
    I said, “Everything’s cool now.”
    Mutt went past the muttering, menacing mob into the hallway. I went to the window and watched Mutt and Jeff drive away. I knew their unfinished business wouldn’t take them far from the hotel.
    While Phyl was helping me clean myself up in the bathroom, Sparky came to the doorway. He said, “Baby bro, you better cut Streak loose.”
    I said, “Streak and the mob split to an after-hours spot down the street.”
    Phyl and I split to our pad. I called Tracy’s joint several times and got the busy. I put in an emergency call. No dice; the line was out of order. I paced the floor and glanced out the window every few seconds. Streak was a cinch to be ambushed if I didn’t risk my life and go to Tracy’s and pull his coat. But I was leery!
    Then I got it! I’d send Phyl in a cab. I went to the bathroom doorway and watched tiny Phyl cold creaming off the ho makeup from her baby face. I couldn’t send her. Her face looked like a trusting child’s in the mirror.
    She smiled at me. “Daddy, you feel like making love?”
    I kissed her hard and said, “For real, baby! Soon’s I get back.”
    It