by Amos Gunner
CHAPTER 4: BOBBY
My brain shut down and I ran. Later, much later, when I was close to Conrad’s, a destination I hadn’t even consciously aimed for, I slowed to a jog. I tasted bitter bile and the eggs I had for breakfast.
I landed on the bench in front of the bar and sucked in gales of air. That got my brain ticking a little. I made a plan: tell Sampson what happened, quit the job, start over and build a normal life. I’d never even think about jaywalking ever again.
I stood. My legs didn’t want to carry my weight. If I could feel them now, they’d still be sore. I wobbled to the door and looked in. I saw my reflection.
Inside, I had to hang out in the doorway until my eyes adjusted to the black. During the day, I think the night hangs out at Conrad’s until it’s time to do its thing. The tables, four small, wobbly tables made out of splinters, came into focus. Lucas shot me a glance from behind the bar sparsely stocked with watered down bottles, then went back to his newspaper. Never saw him serve a drink. Then again, never saw a customer. Why didn’t Marcus call his place Go Away?
I made out Sampson’s beanpole frame in the shadows, back at the pool table. I don’t want to know what favor he must’ve done for Marcus to allow a pool table. But before I saw Sampson, I heard Benny’s evil cackle.
Benny’s killed people. But he’s killed because he wanted to, not because he was pressured. I know. But even if I didn’t know, his dead eyes would’ve given him away. He’s crossed the line and proudly wore the mark of a killer like it was his birthright.
I went behind the bar. Lucas, engrossed in his crossword puzzle, wasn’t going to budge and didn’t indicate he noticed me reach around him and get some water. I emptied the glass in two gulps. I heard the click of the cue ball followed by a thunk. Sampson laughed. I put the glass in the sink and went over.
Sampson nodded to me. “I need the nine and eight. Benny needs a miracle.” He lined up the shot, steadied his cue and completely missed.
“You’re bad luck, kid.” Yeah. Me. Not the frayed and warped table. “Where’s Darryl?”
“We need to talk.”
Benny aimed for one of his striped balls. He sunk the eight. “Man, these sticks curl like my pubes. Let’s go again. I’ll kick your ass.”
Sampson chalked up. “Man, you suck.”
Benny revealed his gold tooth. “Suck like your mom.”
“That’s Marcus’ sister.”
“I don’t give a fuck.”
“Whatever. Total’s now two twenty-five.” Sampson puffed on his stick, making a light blue cloud. “Talk about what?”
“I’m getting a refill.” Benny left for the bar. In the entire time I knew him, he never said one word to me. He didn’t know he was doing me a favor.
“Get me a Coke,” Sampson said.
“No.”
Sampson circled the table and emptied the pockets. “Talk about what?”
“The cop.”
Sampson squeezed the ball in his hand. “Let’s see Marcus.”
“Let me tell you what happened and you can tell Marcus.”
“That ain’t the way it works.” He bowled the ball down the table. It hit the lip of the pocket and rolled to the middle.
I followed Sampson through the empty kitchen to the staircase. Halfway down, he stopped and turned to me.
“I stuck my neck out for your ass.” He said it quiet but angry, like a hiss. “Don’t get it chopped off.”
“You set up the bad deal you insensitive jerk. Wanted to see if we could step up? Well, you got my brother shot. Ended his life and ruined mine. Apologize or I’ll beat you in front of your mom.”
I wish I had said that.
At the bottom of the staircase, Sampson knocked on the door. Silence. He knocked again.
“Damn it. What?” A big voice for a big man. But a deep voice for a shallow man. Nothing makes sense.
I followed Sampson inside.
The side walls of the office were lost in darkness. The desk lamp made a bubble of weak light in the black space. I think if you step out of the bubble you fall off the earth. The bubble held Marcus’ upper half behind his desk and a framed poster of some famous painting on the brick wall behind him.
He held up a book and asked Sampson if he’d ever read it.
“No.”
“That’s what I thought. You?”
I came out from behind Sampson and leaned in and squinted.
“Huck Finn. The Adventures of. No? They don’t make you read this in school? It’s good. I recommend it. Go buy a copy. Can’t be hard to find. Sampson, know what it’s about?”
“That’s not why we’re here.”
“Okay. But do you know what it’s about?”
“No.”
“It’s about two hundred and fifty pages. What do you care? Illiterate.” He tossed the book on his desk and folded his fat hands. “When will you learn? Takes more than money to get their respect. Now, what do you want?”
Sampson stepped on the edge of the bubble of light.
Marcus’ gaze, as heavy as his fist. But there had to be a way to tell him, a version so sad that he’d break character to weep and hug me. But I couldn’t tell that version. I couldn’t tell him anything. I opened my mouth but my heart beat against my throat and nothing came out.
Marcus looked to my left. “This kid mute? And I thought you were the dumb one.”
Then it rushed out of me. “It was a set up. They were cops. We ran. They shot Darryl.”
“Son of a bitch.” On “bitch,” Marcus hammered his desk. The light fluttered. “Sampson, who made the contact? Was it Rebus Jefferson? Son of a bitch.” I could barely hear him add, “Need that money, too.”
“Darryl?” Sampson stood five feet from me, but I could barely see him. He looked like a ghost.
“Dead.” That was the first time I said it. It was the first time I thought it. It hurt. It hurts.
“Oh my God.”
Marcus leaned in. “You’re sure they was cops?”
“Darryl knew.”
“How many?”
“One.”
“One?”
I nodded.
“So where’s the shit?”
“What shit?”
Marcus’ chest expanded, then deflated as he yelled, “Don’t play me boy.” His voice bounced around the room, so there must’ve been walls on the side after all. That was somehow reassuring.
I stammered out Darryl had carried the bag and I guessed the cops had it.
Marcus caught my eyes and peered into them and through them, reached into my skull to search behind my guess for a more acceptable answer that I might be hiding. I took in small bursts of air to keep myself alive.
Sampson stepped into the light. “Marcus, the kid doesn’t have the shit if that’s what you’re driving at.”
“Oh, you know?” Marcus said it to Sampson without letting me go. “Like you knew they was cops?”
“I swear I’m gonna personally take care of Rebus.”
Marcus broke his stare. I tried hard not to crash to the cement floor. He reclined and looked up. “Lemme tell a story.” He brushed the sleeve of his black suit.
“Long time ago, there was this heavy bruiser named Hannibal. He trained a herd of elephants to attack the enemy. Trained ’em for months. But when the battle came, the elephants squashed Hannibal’s own men.
“See, back in the day, something similar happened. Some kid, young and dumb, tells me he was jacked by the heat. Not busted. Jacked. I should’ve fired him right away. But I say, ‘Okay. We’ll eat the loss and poke around. Bust some heads if we find the right heads to bust.’ But we didn’t find none and I shrugged it off. Kid got jacked a few more times. Strange, huh? Sure enough, I find out the little shit’s selling on the side. I was pretty displeased with him as you can imagine, but I was more upset with myself for letting him get away with it even once. I made a vow. That shit ain’t gonna happen again. Never. I worked too damn hard.”
&nb
sp; Marcus swiveled his chair to face the wall. “Samson, you wasn’t there. All’s you know is you send the kid out with some coke, he comes back empty handed. That’s all you know. I’ll deal with you later.”
My legs shook. They couldn’t support both the running and the fear. Getting shot at is scary but Marcus is worse. He’s short but big, like a thunderstorm raging in a small balloon. I’d rather dodge cop bullets all day than spend five minutes with Marcus. I don’t know how Sampson could handle so much Marcus. Being the nephew didn’t matter. Marcus would chop off his nephew’s head as soon as anyone’s.
“The kid didn’t do anything.”
Marcus swiveled back to us and stood, rising above the bubble and decapitated by the dark.
“Fuck that. The scales of justice have been thrown out of whack. How can we balance them, here, among ourselves? How’s this?” He pointed his thick index finger at me. “You owe me either the three thousand or the coke. You’re choice, although I’d prefer the money. You owe it right now of course, but I’ll give you till Friday. Today’s Monday. Best hustle.”
Sampson stepped up to Marcus’ desk. He had no fear or else no brains. “All because someone ripped you off a long time ago?”
“We’re all paying for someone else’s sins. Besides, I’m only asking for what’s mine. We’re done. You can leave.”
At the bar, Sampson poured two shots of something clear. “This is just some shoot the messenger shit. Don’t sweat it.” He slammed both shots and coughed.
I opened the front door and the sun blinded me. I stood awhile until my vision returned. I staggered to the bench, then my legs gave out. Sampson sat beside me and told me not to worry, sounding worried.
“It seems like you’re in trouble too. Sorry.”
I can’t believe I said that. Embarrassing. I take it back. Screw him.
“It’s okay.” It wasn’t. “It’s my fault.” It was. Good. At least admit it. “You weren’t ready.” To be set up? “I shouldn’t have trusted Rebus Jefferson.” No kidding. “And it sucks about Darryl.”
“I don’t want to talk about it.”
“Look. Cops’ll find out who you are if they haven’t already. Better not go home.”
At that exact moment the cops were breaking the news to mom. Then I bet they asked her questions. She cried but she did her best to answer. After they left, she called my cell. I forgot it at home. I don’t know why. I just did. It rang in our room. She walked down the hall and looked in and saw Darryl’s stuff and it hurt to see all the stuff that Darryl will never need again. She won’t go in again for along time. I can’t think about it. Not even now.
“Wait here.”
Like I had a choice, like I could’ve gone anywhere. I made a list of people who could help and places I could go and crossed out the possibilities one by one. First of all, I hated everyone in the crew to different degrees and would rather sleep in a dumpster. It was never a gang. We never had each other’s back. We were employees. That’s all. No reason to expect anything from any of them.
There was Wendy, but there was no way her parents would let me stay over. A few relatives, but none in Columbus. My cousins in Illinois were worse off than me. Dad’s crazy sister in Nebraska or somewhere like that? Never. Then I remembered my mom’s brother in Florida. Rick. Only met him once. He was nice and he always sent Darryl and me a Christmas card with a twenty in it. I should’ve moved in with him months ago. My dad? He might be dead for all I know. Anyway, he’s dead to me.
Sampson came back and took a key off a giant key ring. He told me where an apartment was and made me repeat the address until I proved to him I had it memorized.
“Can’t I just stay with you?”
“No.” He handed me the key. “This place recently became available. You can stay for two weeks, I think. After that, might get complicated. Look, stand like a man, it’ll all be cool.”
Liar. At least the key felt solid and firm.
