by Stacia Kane
“Terrible? Are you there?”
“Aye.”
“Well? Do you have anything to say about this?”
“What you wanting me to say?” He tried to keep the annoyance from his voice, but didn’t think he succeeded. Tension crept up his back, into his muscles. “Told her I work nights an she gave me the ask take a night off. Told her my neighborhood ain’t safe for a little girl, she say she certain I can keep her safe. Told her I ain’t got a place for her, she ask why don’t I love her enough to let her sleep my bed. You wanting her stay off my place, you give her a fuckin no, aye? Quit makin me lie like I ain’t wanting her here.”
“You want her there?” Felice sounded even more annoyed. “Are you actually saying you want to take my daughter into that part of town?”
“My daughter, too.” The second the words left his mouth he regretted them, knowing what would come next, knowing he’d just turned a disagreement into a fight.
“Not legally. Not according to her birth certificate, she’s not. Don’t forget, you see her because we let you see her. And you just try going to court and proving paternity. You don’t even fucking exist as far as the Church is concerned, do you? And I somehow doubt you want them getting your fingerprints and DNA on file.”
He tried not to think of Felice as a bitch. She weren’t a bitch. She were just tryna do her best, and keep Katie safe, which he could get behind all the way. And sometimes—most of the time—they could still smile and have a chatter and get along fine.
But other times … other times he just wanted to start breaking shit. “Happy taking my money, aye? Ain’t see you complain on what you getting, or on she college account, or—”
“So you help support the child you made and that means I should let you take her into drug dens, or to hang out with thieves and prostitutes or that sleazy pimp you work for?”
“What? You thinking I—” He took a deep breath, tried to stay calm. Which weren’t easy. Felice thought he’d take Katie to the fucking piperooms or some shit? That he’d take Katie there? What the fuck? “Quit with that shit, aye? You know I ain’t do that. Never saying I think she oughta be down here, neither. Only sayin I ain’t should be the only one giving her the no. Quit fuckin leaving it all on me, dig? Makin me the bad guy.”
Silence. He was glad of it, too; gave him a chance to get heself calmed down a minute. Hard enough figuring what to say when he weren’t pissed off.
Finally Felice spoke. “You’re right. You shouldn’t be the only one.”
Felt like she were waiting for him to answer, but he was still too mad, and figured anything he might say could start another fight, too.
She sighed, loud and heavy through the phone. “Look, I didn’t call to argue. I guess we need to figure out something to tell her together. And I know you wouldn’t take her to hang out with prostitutes. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.”
“Ain’t should have got mad myself,” he said. It still stung; it stung because he knew, deep down, that Felice did think he might take Katie to the piperooms or to hang out at Bump’s place with porn on the walls. That she thought he were so dumb he ain’t knew what was right for a little girl to see.
But then, it weren’t really right for a little girl to be spending time with somebody like him, was it? Even if she was his, the only one he’d ever have, and she were tall like him and smiled when she saw him. Even if she were the only totally clean, totally pure thing in he entire life. Closest other thing he had to it was Chess, how she made him feel, cepting of course most of the thoughts he had about Chess—the things he wanted to do to Chess—weren’t clean or pure at all.
“Okay, well, look,” she said. “Maybe tomorrow you can stop by while she’s at school. And you can go pick her up, if you want. And we’ll figure out a way to explain to her that she is not going to be spending any nights with you. Because you know that’s not going to happen. Not as long as you live where you live, and do for a living what you do.”
“Aye,” he said. “Aye, I know.”
Nobody on the streets, least not anybody with owes. Which fucking sucked, because after he finally got off the phone with Felice—after she got pissed he couldn’t be at hers the next day, after she got pissed he weren’t certain when he could be at hers, after she got pissed in general—he could have done with some collecting. He was tense and annoyed and anxious, felt stuck in place and wanted to move. Wanted to get rid of it, that tension that almost hurt—that did hurt, like a burning in his gut that radiated out to his whole body.
Fighting weren’t the only way to do it, but Amy and Sela weren’t around neither.
And he ain’t could call Chess. Not til he’d finished finding Gav, causen he didn’t want to have to take off fast again. Aye, being with her wouldn’t let him work off all that the way he usually did, but … it still calmed him. He just wanted to see her smile, hear her voice. Chess ain’t thought he were just some thug not good enough to be seen at her place. Chess ain’t thought he were so dumb he’d take a little girl into a piperoom or to hang out with whores—not that Felice would even get that most of em were whores, iffen she met em. They were nice dames, most were. Just tryna make their livings, put food on them tables like anybody else. They had themselves something worth selling and they sold it, just business. Just like Felice’s fucking husband with he bank job. Only difference between he and Bump was his kind of stealing and lying were legal.
Thinking on it made it worse. He lit a smoke, turned up the Lazy Cowgirls on the stereo. It ain’t helped. This was bullshit, driving around. Too cold for the streets to be real busy; he passed flickering candles in windows, shadows moving behind em, small crowds of three or four huddled together on steps for warmth. Firecans lined the road at intervals, flames bright orange lighting up the faces of them standing around with hands out to catch the heat. A few people had blankets and patchworks of cheap furs thrown over em, too. The lucky ones.
He parked a block over from the squat, ducking the Chevelle into an alley where it wouldn’t be so visible, and started walking. Even the little groups he’d been passing were absent up there, the street just a long stretch of empty broken cement with silent buildings looming over it.
But the street-man were on the corner like he should be—he’d talk to him first—and even besides him, Terrible had been spotted, and he knew it. Could feel eyes on him, more with every step he took.
And just like always he felt something … switch inside him. Like he had feelers coming from every inch of skin and could cast them out into all the empty windows and blank spaces, almost like he could feel the air move. Hyperaware, he’d read somewhere. That were what it felt like. And he had to be that way, causen every time he stepped on the street somebody might could be aiming a gun at he head, planning to jump out at him. Aye, chances were they wasn’t—most were smart enough to know it’d be a big fucking mistake—but crazy fucks existed everywhere, and crazy fucks ain’t used common sense. He were always, always careful.
Were a good thing that night, causen something weren’t right on that street, and he guessed he were about to find out what it was.
The street-man were Ronnie Jay. Been with Bump maybe two years, had he a lot of friends. He straightened up when Terrible approached, started reaching into his pocket for what money he’d collected.
Terrible shook his head, but waited to talk til he were real close. “This you regular corner, aye?”
Ronnie nodded. “Almost a year. You wanting what I get so far, see how I do this night? Be busy, it is, ain’t for certain why it slowing down on the sudden twenty minutes or so past but it done. Afore that I selling lots.”
That feeling of something being wrong got stronger, and his anger rose. “What you meaning, got quiet twenty minutes past? Why you ain’t called that shit in?”
Ronnie Jay shrank back. “Sorry, sorry, only—ain’t gave it the thought til just now, you digging? Ain’t hardly gave it the notice, I figuring it just be one a them lulls, see, ain�
�t—”
“Ain’t doing you fucking job.” Ronnie Jay weren’t a bad dude. Worked hard and were honest. But this were fucking important, it were, and Terrible couldn’t seem to stop the hand that reached out and grabbed Ronnie Jay’s arm hard. So hard he felt the bones creak under the skin. One of the dames could be attacked right then. Somebody could be getting killed right then. “What you been told? Be on the watch, aye? Causen we got shit going down, you supposed to be watching close. Why the fuck you ain’t?”
“Been watching, got the license plates an all, been writing down what them all look like, sorry, I been watching. Just ain’t were thinking, sorry, just ain’t were thinking right up.”
Terrible looked at him close, leaned in even closer. The sharp bitter scent of dollar wine was like a blanket of rancid vapor wrapped around him. Motherfuck. “You fucked up? Been drinkin, aye? How much?”
Even in the darkness he could see the fear in Ronnie Jay’s eyes. “Only a little, I swearing, ain’t drunk, just to keep warm. Be so cold, Terrible, so cold out, an—”
Terrible punched him. Not hard—not as hard as he could, nowhere near as hard as he could—but Ronnie Jay’s head snapped back. “An what happen, dame gets attacked again? S’posed to be keeping em safe, you dumb fuck. S’posed to be payin fuckin attention. Been quiet twenty minutes an you ain’t even think be a problem?”
He let go of Ronnie Jay and turned to scan the street, plucking his phone from his pocket. Needed to get another street-man there, he did, send Ronnie Jay—whimpering behind him like a pussy—home. The street-man number was the fifth autodial button on he phone; he hit it, kept looking up and down the street and ignoring Ronnie Jay.
Malia answered. “Aye?”
“Needs me another street-man Forty-eighth an Grant,” he said. “Now. An send a van. Get a body-van up here, aye? Fast.”
He’d just spotted two kids ducking into an alley on the other side of the squat. The side where he guessed the entry was. Aye, kids could live in there. Could be heading into there for anything. But something in the way they moved, and in the way he suddenly heard what sounded like more than a couple voices over there, made he suspect he had a good idea what they were doing there. What they was looking at.
Being right fucking sucked sometimes. A crowd had formed in the alley, not big but big enough; he pushed through it and saw the corpse. He’d never laid eyes on Gav before, but he ain’t had too much doubt that were Gav lying there with a bullet through he brain and wide, blank eyes staring at the dull winter sky overhead.
Terrible knelt by the body. Shit. “Any see anything?”
Murmurs behind him. He ignored em, kept looking at the body—somebody’d speak up iffen they had knowledge for him. One shot in the head, upper left. Looked like the gun been close up when he shot, causen Terrible had seen enough bullet holes to know what them black speckles around em meant. Somebody Gav knew, then? Somebody right-handed, facing him.
No bruises or aught, so no fight, or iffen there were a fight he died so soon after there ain’t had been time for bruises to form. He skin were cold, but seeing as how it were below freezing outside, that ain’t told much. But he didn’t have a dark line on he eyeballs, so he probably ain’t had been dead more’n a couple hours.
He almost wished he had been. Iffen Gav were only dead a few hours, meant he were killed after Terrible found out who he were. Meant maybe iffen Terrible’d gotten there earlier he coulda talked to him. Meant maybe somebody knew Gav told people he’d been a look-out.
“I seen summat.” Young dude, maybe late teens, stepped forward. “Found he, I done. Seen a shape having a jumping over that there wall, I seen, jumping right over. Be a ghost. All blacked up, clothes and all, see? A ghost like a shadow.”
Fuck. That ghost shit again, and the eyes of every person in that crowd went wide.
But thanks to Chess, Terrible knew more about ghosts. Knew no way could it be a ghost done what the kid just said. “Ain’t a ghost.”
“How you knowing?” Another voice; Terrible hunted, found the one who said it. Watched his face pale and he head duck down.
“Knowing causen ghosts ain’t can jump walls, dig?” He stood up, still staring at the little fuck. “Ain’t can climb like that. This weren’t a ghost.”
“Be a ghost around, though, aye?” Another voice, a dame. Little thing wearing a huge fur coat wrapped around she twice. “I hearing be a ghost around.”
“Naw, no fuckin ghost.” He looked at the rest of the crowd, the crowd getting bigger by the second. “You dig? No fuckin ghosts here. I hear any spreading that shit I comin have a chatter with you, aye? No ghosts. Now any see anything real?”
Movement in the back of the crowd, a dark head ducking and running. Right. Terrible shoved his way after it, not paying attention to where the people he shoved fell. Anybody tried to run away from a scene like that were either real sensitive or real involved, and he bet he knew which it was.
He caught the dame before she made it halfway down the street. Weren’t hard; she were tiny, and on teetery silver heels flashing against her dark skin. And she were crying. Maybe were a lie to put he off, but he ain’t thought so; he grabbed her less hard than he planned to, and talked quieter than he would have otherwise. She looked familiar, too, under the black eye makeup running all down she face, which made him wanna be nicer until he could recall why. “You knowing he, aye? Gav? Be yours?”
She started crying again, so hard he almost ain’t could be certain she were nodding, too. “Just … just were seeing he, just seeing he on the midday. All were right up, ain’t understanding … why this happen? Ain’t getting it, Terrible, ain’t … ”
She voice fell apart then, so he couldn’t understand what she were saying. But now he knew why she looked familiar. Not causen she knew he name—everybody did—but the way she said it, the way she tilted her head and the scent of her hair, made the memory finally click. “Carrie?”
She tried a smile that ain’t made it all the way across she face. “Callie. Ain’t thinking you recalled me.”
“Aye, Callie. Coursen I do.” Sort of. Shit. Remembered he’d never given her a ring-up after, aye, but not much else.
And double shit, causen that made it harder to ask her questions. He ain’t recalled she last name, iffen he’d ever knew it, or what she done for work. Thought she had a brother worked for Bump, in one of the warehouses or aught like that, but ain’t were certain. And he couldn’t ask on any of it without admitting he ain’t thought on her at all since he left her place however the fuck long ago it were.
Best to try and run over all that. She probably weren’t too concerned on it just then anyroad, what with she man shot in the head. “With Gav now, aye? How long?”
“Why somebody killing he?” She ain’t seemed to hear him, hugging herself tighter, hunching she shoulders like she could hide in her red coat. “Why any wanna kill he? Weren’t a bad one, he weren’t. Ain’t done nowt hurting any here, ain’t getting he all involved up.”
Excepting for being lookout while a dame got raped, but Terrible ain’t said that. “How long you been with he? You knowing him friends, who he hang with?”
“Almost nine months now.” She’d started to look calmed down, but when she say that one her face crumpled again. “Were movin he outta here, we was, we finding our own place on Ace. Nicer, dig? Was gonna pay us the deposit first thing on the morrow, just got us the lashers together, just got he share a few days past.”
Fuck. “How much? How much the deposit?”
She blinked. “Why? Gave it me for holding, he done, he ain’t had it on he for robbing—”
“How much it were?” He stopped and took a step back, his breath making steam in the sharp cold air. “Might matter, aye? Needing the knowledge.”
She ain’t argued, or sat thinking, which were cool. “Five hundred.”
“How he getting it? He usually have that much?”
She glanced at the crowd behind them. It had got bigger; it were
louder, and he heard scuffling feet, more than before. Somebody had lit up a firecan. The crowd’s bodies cast long spindly shadows on the street and walls, like fingers closing over him. “Thinkin them killed he causen they hearing him have money?”
Fuck, no. He were almost certain that weren’t it. But he ain’t could tell her that. “He usually have that much on he?”
A minute or two while she struggled again. Then, “Nay. Been tight last six months, real tight, ain’t had he much. Made he a score finally, though, he do, made he a score so’s we—so’s we can … ”
He saw it coming and lifted he hands from his sides, so when she fell forward into his chest he were ready. Felt awkward, and he ain’t really wanted to stand there holding her, but what the fuck else was he supposed to do?
Gave him a second to think, leastaways. So Gav’s duff game ain’t been going well—be why he squatting, aye. Then he met Callie, decided they’d set up house together, and all the sudden Gav needed he some money fast. Somebody came along offering he a chunk to be lookout …
“Callie.” He hated asking, and knew what the answer’d be, but had to ask just the same. “He give you the tell how he getting it? The five hundred, meaning. He say on it?”
She shook her head. Just as he figured. “Why? It mattering? You think—he ain’t steal from somebody he oughtn’t, aye? You thinking that were it?”
“Naw,” he said, and leastaways that weren’t a lie. Weren’t who he stole from killed him; were them he’d helped steal done it, and saved Terrible the trouble.
And he’d have had to do it, too, kill Gav, causen Gav knew what he were doing. Had to know. Nobody were so fuckin dumb they thought five hundred were the right price for being a robbery lookout. Gav knew he were watching out for something hardcore; knew whoever paying he were taking a big fucking risk, so he probably knew Bump were involved with the victim. That kinda money told Terrible another thing, too. Whoever behind this all had it, lots of it.
