by Paul Griffin
‘Hell’d you just do there, Breon?’ Ray said.
‘I think yous know what I just did. Right there in my little brother Ray’s bag is a five-day trip to Disney World.’ Breon winked. ‘We’ve got ourselves about thirty seconds before pretty boy there figures out his laptop is gone. I’m tinkin we should probably leave. I’ll go out the side door, yous go out the front. Nice and easy now, loved ones. Meet yas at the car.’
‘Breon, take that damn laptop out of my bag and give it back to…’
Breon was already on his way out.
‘Dag,’ Ray said. ‘Should I give it back?’
‘Too late for that. The mark’s lookin all around now.’
‘He’s panicked, J-man. Look at him.’
‘Don’t look at him,’ José said. ‘Let’s go. Yawn and walk real slow and scratch your head with one hand and your butt with the other, like you got nowheres to rush to. Make like me.’
Outside they started over to Breon’s car, stopped when they saw a cop talking to Breon, pointing to Breon’s registration sticker. ‘Expired,’ the cop said.
Breon shook his head, grinned. ‘Bless me for a dullard, I forgot.’ He eyed the cop’s cruiser. ‘Say, you’re in the Two Four, are ya? Do you know Eamon Lafferty?’ ‘Not well enough for you to talk your way out of a two-hundred-dollar ticket. See some ID?’
‘Positively, Officer.’ Breon pretended he didn’t know the boys as they walked past the car to the uptown subway entrance.
José whispered, ‘Bet he talks himself out of the fine.’
‘My goddam knees are shakin. Gotta get this laptop out of my knapsack.’
In the safety of the stationhouse the boys stared at the stolen computer. José rubbed his nose. ‘I don’t see why folks spend six grand on a piece of plastic. Anyway, praise Jesus they do.’ José grabbed the laptop, headed for the door.
‘Hell you doin?’ Ray grabbed the laptop.
‘Hell you doin? Gimme that thing. Frankie the Fence gonna open his night hours in twenty minutes, I wanna be first at the window, save me from hangin in line with all them jonesin crackheads. Ray, you’re not seriously thinkin what I think you’re thinkin?’
‘Yup.’
‘You’re not givin it back.’
‘Yup. Gonna mail it.’
‘Kid, a man’s gotta eat.’
‘The guy’s life is on here. His social, address, letters to his gal, his ideas.’
‘Ray-Ray, I’m your bud. It’s my goddam duty to tell ya you’re bein a asshole. Now, here’s what’s gonna happen. I’m gonna swing that thing, we’re gonna split the bread with Breon.’
‘No you’re not. I promised Trini.’
‘That’s your problem. I didn’t promise her nothin. Woman loves me as I am.’
‘You know she wants you to go clean, though. You know she does.’
‘Ray, you see my face, right?’
‘Yup.’
‘You see I’m gettin serious mad, right?’
‘Yup.’
‘Can you say any goddam thing but yup?’
‘Nope.’
‘Ray, we can fence that thing for big money because the guy’s personal information is on it. Look, I’m gonna do it. Alone. Your word with Trini still be good, man. You didn’t steal it. You don’t gotta be involved.’
‘I’m involved.’
‘You’re holdin my Ninja in your hand there. You’re holdin two years’ supply of dog food, how’s that? Ray, gimme it!’
Ray jumped to the far side of the couch, José following, the boys circling.
‘Look, man, I seen it on TV that everybody’s gonna get their ID swiped at some point,’ José said.
‘Then let somebody else swipe it. We pitch that guy’s life away on a stupid motorcycle and that’s the beginnin of a forever badness. Leakin out that guy’s soul to the world, man?’
‘He’s some rich-ass, Starbucks-swillin inheritor punk. He can afford it. He’ll pay a lawyer to make things right. He’ll prob’ly even figure out a way to make money off losin his ID. They all do, them rich folks. We’re just evenin things out a little—’
‘No we’re not. Not today.’
‘Goddammit, Ray.’
‘I ain’t puttin somethin that oily into motion, that guy’s self gettin passed around and used in ten thousand online crimes. Only losers would do a forever lame thing. What you always told me? A good thief is hit and run, over and done.’
‘I did tell you that, I know. I like the way it rhymed good. Christ Jesus, where you goin with that thing now?’
‘The river.’
‘You are not pitchin that machine into the mud-fucked Hudson. You are not. Hey!’
Ray ran out of the house, José after him, the dogs after José. At the riverside the dogs tripped Ray to play with him. He got up, coiled himself like a discus thrower, got the laptop off just as José tackled him…
Plunk.
‘You fool! Man, Ray. Man!’
Huffing and puffing, the Fatty dog caught up with the pack, sat sideways next to José, looked at the J-man from the side of his eyes.
‘You now.’ José looked out to where Ray had pitched the laptop. ‘This friendship is gettin costly.’
They were drinking soup out of cans when the knock on the door came like a song, ‘Danny Boy.’
‘Uh-oh.’
‘Yup.’ José got the door. ‘You talked your way out of it, right?’
Breon showed José the ticket, no fine, just a warning. He gave José a six-pack of Bud. ‘Took me half an hour to cozy the cop, and then the traffic, New York, New York, it’s a helluva town, sorry I took so long.’
‘Now how in hell did you figure where we live?’ Ray said.
‘All those times I drop yas off, yas never invite me up for a cup o’ tay? Sure, I was a little hurt, a lot suspicious. Last time I dropped yas at the building there, I parked around the corner there, followed yas here. Is a man a man if he cares not where his brothers live?’ Breon surveyed the rundown stationhouse from the door. He chuckled at the gigantic TV amidst the street-found furniture, smiled sadly as he took in the rest of the shabby house. ‘Ah, poor kids. Now I see why yas didn’t want me to see where yas lived. Have you no parents?’
They shrugged. ‘Who needs ’em?’ José said.
Right about now, we need ’em, Ray almost said.
‘Boys, boys, brother Breon is gonna have you fellas out of here and livin the high life, don’t you worry about it.’ Breon winked. ‘So, let’s see our pretty little machine.’
‘Yeah, well, see, um, it’s gone,’ José said. ‘Genius Ray here’s gonna tell you all about it. Go ’head, genius Ray. All yours.’
Breon scrunched his face, but he was still smiling, forever smiling. ‘What’s this now?’
‘C’mon in, Breon.’ José held the door wide for Breon.
Breon stepped over the threshold, grabbed himself a tallboy from the six he’d given José, cracked it, leaned back on the wall, cocked his head. ‘So?’
‘I pitched it.’
Breon laughed. He had a great laugh, loud, real, like José’s. ‘No you didn’t.’
Ray pouted. ‘I had to.’
‘Had to? You had to pitch the machine I risked jail time for? That machine?’
The boys didn’t say anything.
Breon plopped down onto the couch, folded his hands behind his head, propped his feet up on the Fatty dog. Fatty looked out the side of his eyes to see the thing that had put its feet on him.
‘Please, man,’ Ray said. ‘Take your feet off the dog, man. He’s old. He’s half-blind, man. He gets nervous.’
‘I think you are scarin old Fatty a little there, Breon,’ José said. ‘I mean, I do it to the stupid summabitch all the time, but—’
‘Ray,’ Breon said, ‘if you really did toss it, then I suppose you owe me a machine now. That one happened to run about six tousand dollars.’ He winked and smiled that super-cool smile.
‘Breon,’ José said. ‘Look, he’s sorry.�
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‘No I ain’t,’ Ray said. ‘This ain’t right.’
‘This is a serious matter, Ray. This is grave. See, here’s the problem.’ Breon whipped out a butterfly knife and whittled the landscaping dirt out of his fingernails. ‘I kind of don’t believe you’re tat stupid to trow away a laptop. I tink you’re holdin out on me, after all those lunches I bought you, the cigs—’
‘You got us the lunch and cigs on your own,’ Ray said. His voice was louder than he expected.
‘Easy, Ray,’ José said. ‘We’re all pals here.’
‘We didn’t ask for none of that stuff.’
‘But you took it, didn’t you?’ Breon sipped his beer.
‘We didn’t ask you to steal no laptop either.’
‘Ray, chill,’ José said.
Breon shifted his feet on Fatty’s head. Fatty shivered under the weight of Breon’s steel-plate combat boots.
‘Get your goddam feet off my dog.’
Breon’s eyes flashed for a second, but his smile never left him. ‘That’s some unfriendly talk there, Ray.’ He whittled away at his thumbnail and whistled. ‘Ray, be a good boy and get me the laptop. I’m countin to ten—’
‘And I’m countin to five.’ Ray exploded, tears from nowhere. ‘Five, four—’
‘One, two—’
‘Three,’ both said.
‘Chill, Ray,’ José said. ‘Yo, Breon. It’s gone. For real. We trashed it.’
‘We now, is it?’
Fatty whimpered.
‘Breon,’ Ray said. ‘You’re hurtin him.’
‘We’ll get you another laptop, B,’ José said. ‘Serious. We have it to you by tomorrow, word is bond. Me and my moron brother here. Lemme show you my Grand Theft skills, man. We play getaway partners, make Ray the cop, kick his ass.’
‘You’re a cutie, José, but here’s another lesson for ya: Ya can’t charm a charmer. Get. Me. My. Laptop.’
The Fatty dog yelped.
Ray pulled at Breon’s leg.
Breon was up fast, the knife twinkling as it whirled in his hand. He whipped his arm so fast Ray didn’t see the knife sweep his chest, but he felt it.
Ray looked down at his T-shirt, cut in the baggy part under the chest, at the ribs. He parted the rip. His skin was clean.
‘Ray, I’m fond of ya. I am. But next time, I have to nick you, see? Get my computer, or I’ll stab your dog, your José, and then you.’ He winked.
‘Breon.’
Breon and Ray turned to José.
José reached into the toaster oven, pulled out a gun. ‘Y’all best mosey now.’
Breon shut one eye and squinted the other at the gun. ‘I bet it’s a toy.’
‘Bet all you want.’ José cocked the trigger, winked.
Breon nodded, smiled as he headed for the door. ‘Fellas, enjoy the beer.’ He halted at the door. ‘And I really do hope you didn’t kill that laptop. Not for me, but for you. There was money in that thing, boys. Real money that could have taken you places.’ He left, halted at José’s voice.
‘Just in case y’all think of dropping in on us again—’
‘Like while yas are sleepin, for instance, my razor drawn? Yas can’t stay awake forever.’
José smiled. He nodded to Ray. ‘Let’s us introduce Breon to our roommates.’
Ray yelled out the open window, ‘Yo dawgs!’
Every last mangy, ragged pit bull ran uphill into the house, settled at Ray’s feet, the giant Dobie between Ray’s legs.
‘Say hullo to our lil’ friends,’ José said in his best Scarface voice.
Breon kept his cool, his eyes just a bit wider. He smiled, backed out of the house until he got far enough uphill, turned around and disappeared in the weed trees, his smile gone.
‘You wet your pants a little, Ray.’
Ray checked. José was right, a flower at the crotch. ‘Think he’ll be back with his posse? You know them Irish.’
José squinted. ‘I figure Breon for the loner type. He don’t run with nobody. He’s too cool to run with other folks. In case he do come back, you think you could train just one of them dogs for use more than kissin visitors to death?’
‘How long you reckon before we can relax?’
‘Till we die or he kills us.’ José smiled.
‘I’m gonna miss old Breon a little.’
‘He woulda stabbed us. He was a killer.’
‘Don’t mean I can’t miss ’im,’ Ray said.
‘I’m gonna miss Mr. O,’ said José.
‘Whaddaya mean?’
‘First thing I’m gonna do if I’m Breon? I’m gonna lay a bad rap on us, tell Mr. O we was the ones casin the joints.’
‘Didn’t think of that,’ Ray said.
‘You didn’t think of much, chuckin a motherfuckin six-thousand-dollar laptop into a river.’
‘We got to tell Mr. O about Breon.’
‘By the time we get to Mr. O face-to-face, Breon’ll have soured him on us.’
‘I’ll write him a letter then, no return address. I can’t believe we’ll never see Mr. O again. He was cool.’
‘He was,’ José said. ‘He was a father figurine to me. Ya orphaned me again, Ray. Congratulations. You saved some rich asshole’s social security number, and all it cost you was our father, our big brother and our jobs.’ José chuckled, studied the fake gun in his hand. ‘You are one lame-ass sonuvabitch.’
20
Yolie smoothed things out with old Romeo, and J again was pedaling pie for The Slice Is Right. He and Trini were at it hotter and heavier than ever. Yolie got Ray Mr. Fix-It work around the neighborhood, hired Ray to renovate her attic. ‘For my niece Vanessa. She coming soon. For a guest room.’
Ray knew the guests Yolie wanted. Well, he figured, if I can’t live over Yolanda’s Braid Palace, I can work here and be near Trini. ‘Thank you, ma’am. I appreciate the work.’
One rainy six o’clock as Ray was leaving The Palace Yolie said, ‘All that water, chico. You boys should spend the night.’
‘Nah, thanks, ma’am. I got new tin up on the roof now, we’re good.’
‘You sure? I got a brand-new beautiful guest room upstairs.’
Ray had just finished the attic renovation that afternoon. He smiled, appreciative of her compliment. ‘Thanks, Mom—I mean ma’am, sorry about that.’
Yolie pinched his cheek. ‘Stay for dinner, amor. Let Yolie feed you.’
He stayed, chowed home-cooked medianoches Cubanos, hot pressed sandwiches of jamón, roast beef, queso blanco, sweet pickle slathered with a stick of butter cut longwise, folded into a chewy white roll, fried and flattened with a giant clothing iron. Yolie did up the tamale rice and beans twice refried, pan flashed shredded lettuce, green chili sauce top. ‘Too bad José’s workin,’ Ray said, mouth full. ‘Maybe I could bring some home for ’im?’
‘Ob’course.’ Yolie watched Ray eat. ‘Nice to cook for a man again. Please, amor, have more, have more.’
‘José’s not workin tonight,’ Trini said. ‘Said he had to meet a friend.’
‘First I heard,’ Ray said. What trouble you getting us into now, partner?
Dishes done, Ray and Trini tried to figure out how to send pictures from her new mobile phone to her computer. ‘Vanny called last night. She says she can’t wait to meet you.’
Ray smiled. Lately he was working hard to convince himself this thing with Trini’s cousin was going to work out.
Trini nudged him. ‘You two are gonna—’
‘Trinita amor,’ Yolie called from downstairs. ‘Help Yolie brush el Gordito. I hold him, you brush. Bring me my leather gloves.’
Trini down with Yolie and the screaming cat, Ray went through the pictures on Trini’s phone, found one of José and Trini, their arms around each other, cheek to cheek, big smiles. They were perfect together, sickeningly perfect.
Ray made a gangster face, took a picture of himself, figured out how to e-mail that one and the rest of the pix to Trini’s computer.
&nbs
p; Trini came back, stalled behind Ray as he fiddled with her computer, massaged his shoulders, rested her hand on his neck. ‘How’s it goin?’
At her touch he almost reached up and took her hand. He didn’t. He clicked her laptop’s desktop. The screen’s wallpaper was the cute picture of Trini and the J-man.
‘Cool!’ Trini said. She slapped Ray’s shoulder. ‘Tt, doesn’t have a phone, doesn’t have a computer, he figures it out. How?’
Ray shrugged. ‘He can read directions.’
VROOM-VROOM! ‘Yo Trini!’ came from the street. VROOM-VROOOOOM!
They looked out the window.
Down in the late-day street, the rain long gone, José saddled a big old junker of a Kawasaki motorcycle. His collar flipped up, he wore a beat-to-hell leather jacket, the coolest Ray had ever seen.
‘Oh my God,’ Trini said. ‘He did it.’
‘Come on, y’all. Check it out!’
They ran down to the street. Yolie was already out there, lecturing José to be careful. ‘Where’s your helmet?’
He grabbed it from the back of the bike seat, slipped it over Trini’s head.
‘You did not steal this bike, please tell me,’ Trini said.
‘Bought and paid for, every dollar from pedalin Slice Is Right.’
‘Then I’ll ride it.’
‘You sure will.’ He grabbed her around the waist, swung her onto the seat behind him. ‘Hang on, baby. She don’t look like much, but she can fly.’ He pulled back on the throttle, let out the brake, and they did fly, Trini wrapped around him, clinging to break bones, both screaming laughter.
‘Ten cuidado!’ Yolie called after them. ‘They gonna kill themselves. Madre de Dios, he is movie star gorgeous on that bike, though.’
Ray nodded, smiled, died a little more.
Next round was Yolie’s, Yolie so scared she kept her eyes closed, her face hidden in the J-man’s back. ‘Slow down! Oh my God! Coño, hombre, slow down!’ she laughed.
José slow-rolled her and still she screamed. He let her off in front of the shop, gunned up the street alone, gunned back, popped and rode a wheelie the length of the block, no helmet, long ’rows flying, his smile brighter than the sun splash on the street windows.
