Cool counted the money out in the drunk's hand, then held back five dollars. "Now, this is yours whenever you come out with the right knives. You dig?"
The drunk took the money, nodding his head. Daddy Cool watched him stagger off into the store. He smiled as he realized that the white saleswoman would be scared shitless at the sight of the bum. But it was better this way, he reasoned. If the knives were ever traced, she would remember the funky drunk while forgetting about the customer earlier who hadn't bought either knife.
In a few minutes the drunk came out, clutching a bag to his chest. He looked back in the store and cursed. "I see what you mean, my man," he said as he came up to Daddy Cool. "That stupid bitch wouldn't even pull the motherfuckin' knives out until after I showed her some money. I mean," the man continued, "people just don't do business that way, you understand what I mean?"
Slowly disengaging the man's hand from the bag that contained the knives, Daddy Cool agreed with him. Keeping up a steady flow of bullshit with the man, he checked the package, making sure it had just what he wanted.
"Here you go, old man," Daddy Cool stated as he removed an old bill from his pocket. He shoved the five-dollar bill into the drunk's hand.
"Next time I need a good man," Daddy Cool stated slowly, "I'm goin' be sure to look you up, my man," he said as he began to walk in the opposite direction of the bum.
The bum waved his hand in farewell. He was only too glad to see the man he considered a fool leave. All the time Daddy Cool had been talking, the bum had been afraid that the man would change his mind and try to keep the five dollars. Now that he had the money clutched tightly in his fist, he hurried away, wanting to put as much distance between him and the giver as possible.
Daddy Cool grinned as he watched the bum hurrying away. Without another backward glance, Daddy Cool made his way to the nearest main street and hailed a cab for the short trip back to his hotel.
He went immediately up to his room and relaxed. After taking a quick shower, Daddy Cool removed the two knives from the bag. He began practicing with them until he was well acquainted with each one. After an hour of steady knife throwing, he knew he could hit his target without any trouble. He now handled the two knives as if they had been in his hands since birth.
Moving with slow deliberation, Daddy Cool removed the picture of the man he was tracing from his coat and studied it closely. When he finished, he replaced the picture. After dressing in an old dark-blue suit that was at least ten years old, Daddy Cool placed a man's wig on his head. The wig was a bushy natural. He studied the effects of his appearance in the mirror.
Not quite satisfied, he took out a jar and opened it. He began applying the lotion from the jar onto the palms of his hands, then slowly rubbed it evenly over his face. After about ten minutes, he replaced the lid. The effect of the lotion was instantly recognizable.
His skin color had changed slightly. Now he appeared to be much darker than normal. The tanning process had worked quickly. Instead of there being a light-skinned black man, now there was a brown-complexioned man staring back at him out of the old dresser mirror. Taking his time, Daddy Cool went into the toilet and washed his hands, making sure there were no traces of the mixture he had used.
Daddy Cool took one more look at himself in the mirror before leaving. After that, he let himself out into the hallway. Daddy Cool walked down the stairway and made his way into the lobby. He bought a cup of coffee out of the machine, then found a soft cushioned chair and sat down. He picked up an old newspaper lying on the table and hid his face behind it. The seat he took allowed him to see everybody who came in and out of the hotel door.
He was visible only to the people who walked in the area on the right side of the desk. True, anyone taking the stairway up or down
The drunk took the money, nodding his head. Daddy Cool watched him stagger off into the store. He smiled as he realized that the white saleswoman would be scared shitless at the sight of the bum. But it was better this way, he reasoned. If the knives were ever traced, she would remember the funky drunk while forgetting about the customer earlier who hadn't bought either knife.
In a few minutes the drunk came out, clutching a bag to his chest. He looked back in the store and cursed. "I see what you mean, my man," he said as he came up to Daddy Cool. "That stupid bitch wouldn't even pull the motherfuckin' knives out until after I showed her some money. I mean," the man continued, "people just don't do business that way, you understand what I mean?"
Slowly disengaging the man's hand from the bag that contained the knives, Daddy Cool agreed with him. Keeping up a steady flow of bullshit with the man, he checked the package, making sure it had just what he wanted.
"Here you go, old man," Daddy Cool stated as he removed an old bill from his pocket. He shoved the five-dollar bill into the drunk's hand.
"Next time I need a good man," Daddy Cool stated slowly, "I'm goin' be sure to look you up, my man," he said as he began to walk in the opposite direction of the bum.
The bum waved his hand in farewell. He was only too glad to see the man he considered a fool leave. All the time Daddy Cool had been talking, the bum had been afraid that the man would change his mind and try to keep the five dollars. Now that he had the money clutched tightly in his fist, he hurried away, wanting to put as much distance between him and the giver as possible.
Daddy Cool grinned as he watched the bum hurrying away. Without another backward glance, Daddy Cool made his way to the nearest main street and hailed a cab for the short trip back to his hotel.
He went immediately up to his room and relaxed. After taking a quick shower, Daddy Cool removed the two knives from the bag. He began practicing with them until he was well acquainted with each one. After an hour of steady knife throwing, he knew he could hit his target without any trouble. He now handled the two knives as if they had been in his hands since birth.
Moving with slow deliberation, Daddy Cool removed the picture of the man he was tracing from his coat and studied it closely. When he finished, he replaced the picture. After dressing in an old dark-blue suit that was at least ten years old, Daddy Cool placed a man's wig on his head. The wig was a bushy natural. He studied the effects of his appearance in the mirror.
Not quite satisfied, he took out a jar and opened it. He began applying the lotion from the jar onto the palms of his hands, then slowly rubbed it evenly over his face. After about ten minutes, he replaced the lid. The effect of the lotion was instantly recognizable.
His skin color had changed slightly. Now he appeared to be much darker than normal. The tanning process had worked quickly. Instead of there being a light-skinned black man, now there was a brown-complexioned man staring back at him out of the old dresser mirror. Taking his time, Daddy Cool went into the toilet and washed his hands, making sure there were no traces of the mixture he had used.
Daddy Cool took one more look at himself in the mirror before leaving. After that, he let himself out into the hallway. Daddy Cool walked down the stairway and made his way into the lobby. He bought a cup of coffee out of the machine, then found a soft cushioned chair and sat down. He picked up an old newspaper lying on the table and hid his face behind it. The seat he took allowed him to see everybody who came in and out of the hotel door.
He was visible only to the people who walked in the area on the right side of the desk. True, anyone taking the stairway up or down
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