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my sister. He looked as though he was trying to kill her, daddy."

    Racehorse stared at her. "All you white whores are crazy," he said harshly. "You should know better than to interfere with their fights. Whatever they do, it don't have a damn thing to do with you, you understand that, bitch?"
    "It won't happen again, daddy, I promise!" she cried, nodding her head vigorously. Her bright red lipstick was smeared and there was a dark mark over her right cheekbone. Her blonde hair fell down around her shoulders as she tossed her head back and stared up into Racehorse's face.
    Racehorse gave her a slight shake. "You better make sure it don't, 'cause if it does, I'm puttin' your ass out."
    Tony gave Donna a kick before he turned and spoke to the tall Negro. "I'm sorry, Race, about beatin' your woman, but the bitch put her ass in where it didn't belong."
    Racehorse shrugged. "The bitch was wrong, so she got what she was lookin' for."
    The phone began to ring and Racehorse walked into the bedroom. In a moment he reappeared in the doorway with the phone in his hand. "Tony," he said, "come in here for a second, will you?"
    Tony followed him into the bedroom, closing the door silently.
    "Don't worry," Racehorse spoke softly into the receiver. "We'll take care of everything."
    He hung up the receiver and walked over to the dresser, pulling out the bottom drawer. After remov ing some shirts, he pulled out two snub-nosed thirtyeight automatics.

    Racehorse examined the pistols carefully before speaking. "That was Prince, Tony. He's got a little job for us to do down in the projects on Hastings."
    "Damn," Tony said lightly. "He didn't waste any time, did he?"
    "That's right, baby. I figured he would get home sometime this week, but I sure didn't think we'd be going into action this fast."
    Laying the guns on the dresser, Racehorse walked over to the closet. "We got to take an hour to get to Wilkins and Hastings. By then a hot car will be sitting there waiting for us. I told Prince that we didn't want a driver, Tony. I figured that you and I could handle it better by ourselves."
    "I dig that," Tony answered. "The less people know about it, the better off we are."
    Racehorse took his time dressing, putting on a black suit. He stuck both pistols down inside his belt and stopped in front of a floor-length mirror to make sure the guns didn't bulge. His dark brown eyes were unreadable as he studied himself closely. Sharp hawklike features stared back at him from a cold black face.
    "You about ready, Tony?" he asked, his voice trembling slightly with excitement over the coming job.
    "Yeah, Race, I'm just about ready. I got to pick up my hardware from my room, then we can pull up."
    Forty-five minutes later a black coupe pulled up in front of a crowded tenement. A tall black Negro leaned out of the car window and spoke to one of the kids playing on the steps.

    "What the hell do you want with Square Dave?" a cocoa-brown-skinned girl asked from the top of the steps. She was about thirteen years old.
    The young Italian driver spoke quietly to the sharpfaced Negro next to him. Before the Negro could answer, a tall, husky, pleasant-faced black man came out of the apartment building. The girl at the top of the steps nodded toward the car.
    "Them guys want to see you, Dave," she said in a small voice.
    Dave stopped for a moment, then started on down the steps. The motor of the black coupe leaped to life. People walking up and down the trash-littered street stopped in their tracks and looked around. From dilapidated ruins that still passed for houses, people peered out, smelling trouble with the built-in instinct of the oppressed.
    A warning flashed through his mind, and Dave hesitated. Flames of death streaked from the car window as shot after shot found its mark. As Dave staggered the rest of the way down the steps, the coupe roared away from the curb, leaving behind the beginning of murder and the promise of terror.
    A clamoring crowd gathered around