by Carl Weber
Knock! Knock! Knock! “What you doing in there, boy?”
Donna might not have been paying attention to me, but she damn sure paid attention to the voice and the knock, stopping abruptly.
I wanted to scream, “No! No! Shit! Don’t stop! I was almost there!” at the top of my lungs, but instead I opened my eyes to deal with the reality of the situation. Through the windshield I saw the Trailways bus pulling out from the station about fifty yards away.
Knock! Knock! Knock!
Then I turned toward the knocking and was greeted by the pearly white smile of my brother Lou, laughing at a horrified Donna with my Johnson hanging out of her mouth.
“Oh my God, this is not happening,” Donna said, scrambling to sit up. I tucked my pecker back in my pants, glancing over at my mortified girlfriend.
“You okay?” I reached for her and she pulled away.
Knock! Knock! Knock! I turned to Lou then back to Donna.
“Open the door, LC,” he demanded.
There was no need for both of them to be mad at me, so I reached past Donna and flicked open the passenger-side lock. Donna buried her head into my shoulder to hide her shame from Lou, who strutted around to the passenger side of the truck like Super Fly. Despite the awkwardness of the situation, I couldn’t help but notice how clean my brother was in his bell bottom pants, red polyester shirt, and brand new patent leather shoes. I swear, no matter where we went, he was always sharp as a tack. Lou was the type who would spend his last dollar on his appearance because he always wanted to look good.
Lou tossed his huge blue Samsonite suitcase into the back of the truck but held on to the duffle bag he was carrying as he slipped into the passenger seat beside Donna, who continued to hide her face as she sobbed. I wrapped my arm around her, trying to comfort her, but it didn’t seem to be working.
“What’s wrong with her? It’s not like I ain’t ever seen somebody get they dick sucked before.” He let out a raucous laugh.
Donna squealed and tried to move her body as far away from him as possible in the confined space of the truck. I turned to my brother, giving him the stink eye.
“Lou, leave it alone, okay?”
“A’ight, a’ight. Shit, I didn’t know she was so sensitive. Any other time, you can’t get her high-siditty ass to shut the fuck up.”
“Lou!”
“A’ight, drop me off over on Oak Street. I got some business with Sam needs to be taken care of.” When Lou said business, he really meant trouble, ’cause trouble was the only thing he was going to find on Oak Street—but that was none of my business. All I wanted to do now was drop him off, calm Donna down so she could finish what she’d started, and get the tow truck back to my boss.
“Okay, so how was New York?” I pulled the truck out of the lot. Despite her embarrassment, I could feel Donna’s nosy self turn her ear to hear. Half the reason she’d wanted to come with me was to hear about Lou’s trip to New York. We’d been talking about going to New York for almost a year. “What’d you do?”
“Man, LC, NYC is baaaad. First thing I did was go down to Delancey Street and pick me up some threads. I got me some of those gabardine suits and polyester shirts and got you and the boys a couple of them authentic African dashikis you was asking about.”
I smiled. “Thanks, Lou.”
“So after Delancey I hit up Sylvia’s soul food restaurant in Harlem, and you not gonna believe this, but I ran into James Brown when he came up to the spot. He said I was the second baddest dresser in there. No fuckin’ joke. And you know me, LC. Your big brother was big-timing it.” Lou sparked up a Pall Mall cigarette. “Then I took in a movie in Times Square with a couple of sweet thangs who saw me hanging with the Godfather of Soul, and I bedded them both. I tell ya, man, there’s just so much opportunity up there in New York for black folk. Not like here. Got me ready to move up there.” He took a drag of his cigarette. “Man, I ain’t never had so much fun in my life. I even hooked up with this I-tal-yan cat who put me on to a quick five thousand–dollar job. Five big ones!”
“Italian ain’t nothing but another name for a white, Lou, and you know what Daddy told us about them white cats. You can’t trust ’em.”
“Man, I ain’t never, never met a white boy like this cat Sal Dash before, and neither had Dad, ’cause this was the blackest cracker I’ve ever met. I mean, this was one cool motherfucker—and he got a brother paid.” He pulled out a knot of cash.
“You got that from working with him?” I was surprised, because all the white boys I’d met were either racist rednecks or straight-up white trash. Then again, except for going down to Jacksonville two or three times, I’d never left the state of Georgia.
“Sure did. That’s the coolest white boy I ever met, and he introduced me to some of the finest women I’ve ever seen. Oh, and check this out: this dude loves him some sisters, and he ain’t afraid to show them off in public.” I could feel Donna stirring. Like me, she was probably wondering if she’d heard Lou correctly.
“What’d you mean he loves him some sisters? He’s into black women?” I asked. The only white men around here who would admit that they liked black women were not the types you wanted your daughter around.
Lou chuckled. “Is he? That white boy loves big asses and nappy-headed pussy more than me. He got a black girlfriend in every borough of New York City, including this place they call Long Island. And he treats ’em like queens.”
That made Donna lift her head. She stared at Lou until she realized what she was doing and buried her face back in my shoulder.
“Get the heck outta here.”
“Little brother, I’m telling you, you got to come up north with me next time.” He glanced over at Donna. “It’ll make you see this backwards place for what it really is and what it really has to offer in a totally different light.”
“Just let me know so I can get off work. I always wanted to see New York,” I replied.
“Not without me, you’re not.” Donna chimed in without lifting her head. She was not about to let me go to New York or anywhere else outside of Ware County without her if she had anything to do with it, especially if it had to do with my catting brother. “I’m not letting you go to New York without me. Not with this man.”
“We’ll talk about this later,” I said, wishing like hell she wasn’t in the truck at that moment.
“You can talk until you’re blue in the face, but you’re not going anywhere without me.”
Lou let loose a bellowing laugh. “Man, this skirt got you henpecked like a motherfucker. Maybe you should switch seats so you can suck her dick.”
His words hurt my pride so much that I shouted, “Fuck you, Lou!” I gave him the finger as I turned down Oak Street. Lou just laughed at me.
I pulled in front of Big Sam’s, which was situated right in the middle of a two-block strip of stores. Most people considered this area the seediest part of my hometown of Waycross, Georgia. I was sure Donna’s father would have killed me if he knew I ever brought his daughter to this part of town, let alone to the doorstep of Big Sam’s.
“Can we go in and have a drink, LC? Please?” Donna asked with pleading eyes. “I always wanted to see the inside of this place.”
I glanced over at Lou, who shook his head. “No, this ain’t no place for you,” I said.
“Why? Lou goes in there and so do you. Why can’t I go in there?”
Big Sam’s wasn’t your ordinary bar or club. Sure, they served liquor, mostly watered down if you asked me, but it was the other vices, like the gambling room in the back and the readily available supply of drugs and whores, that made Big Sam’s special.
“Because the only women in there are whores, and despite all the fucked up things you might be, you ain’t no whore,” Lou spat as he stepped out of the truck, leaving Donna dumbfounded.
I got out and walked around to say good-bye to my brother. He left the Samsonite behind, but he was holding the duffle bag. I could only imagine what was in it.
> “Thanks, big bro,” I said.
“I didn’t do it for you. I did it because I didn’t want her daddy finding out and having his politician friends shut Sam’s place down. That’s where I make my money.”
“Well, thanks anyway.”
He grinned, slapping me five before he handed me a set of keys. “Bring my deuce and a quarter over here when you get off work and we’ll talk about New York.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out the knot of cash he’d shown me earlier. Peeling off two twenties, he handed them to me. “Here. Take that little uppity broad of yours out to eat. Some shrimps and fries should help her forget I saw your dick in her mouth.” He chuckled. “Oh, and when you come back, bring Levi with you.”
I raised an eyebrow. “You sure about that?”
“Yeah, I’m sure. I’m home now. Can’t keep him locked up forever. Know what I mean? Besides, Larry’s supposed to meet us over here around ten. Time to remind folks who the fuck we are.”
Larry
2
I sat in my ’73 Plymouth Duster, peering over my sunglasses as Quincy Wilson slopped his fat ass in the back door of the Oak Plaza Lounge, a half-ass bar in the sharecropping town of Blackshear, Georgia, about five miles outside of Waycross. The Oak Plaza Lounge didn’t have much going for it, except on Friday night when a few local high rollers crowded around a table in the back room to talk shit and play Tonk. Wasn’t nobody going to get rich playin’ in the game, but there was usually five or six hundred dollars on the table, which might as well have been a million to these poor folks. Good old Quincy was a regular in the game, but like most degenerate gamblers, he usually came out a loser.
I waited for a few hours, and then I saw Quincy coming out of the lounge whistling and singing as he counted his money like it had been his lucky day. Just goes to show you how wrong a stupid motherfucker can be. He was so busy feeling good about winning that his dumb ass didn’t bother to look up until I was almost on him.
“Remember me?”
“Oh, shit. Larry!” Quincy’s eyes got big.
“That’s right. Larry. Where you been hiding, Quincy?” I hit him square in the nose with the butt of my sawed-off shotgun, and blood squirted everywhere as he crumbled to the ground. I kicked him in the side for good measure then quickly stripped him of the .38 he was carrying. It took him a moment to get his bearings, but when he did, he looked like he was going to shit himself.
“Man, Larry, I been looking all over for you.”
“You lying”—swift kick to the ribs—“piece of’”—another kick to the ribs—“shit!” Hard stomp to the face. “Everyone in Waycross knows where to find me.” He wasn’t moving, so I had to stop for a second to make sure he was still breathing. “Wake up, you son of a bitch.”
He finally moved, looking up at me with pure terror in his eyes. “Larry, I’m sorry, man.”
“You really fucked up, Quincy. Lou don’t like people borrowing money and not paying it back, and neither do I. Makes us look like punks. Do I look like a punk to you?” I pointed the shotgun at his bloody face.
He started shaking his head rapidly. “Tell Lou I just need a little more time. It’s not like I ain’t good for it. I’ve always paid you back. I was just going through a little dry spell is all, but I’m out of it now. Look.” He reached for his pocket and I almost blew him away.
“What the hell are you doing?”
“Don’t shoot me, man. I’m just giving you my winnings.” I allowed him to reach in his pocket. He pulled out a small wad of money and handed it to me. “It’s almost three hundred dollars.”
I reached down, grabbing him by the throat and slamming his head against his car. “Three hundred ain’t gonna do it, Quincy. You owe us two grand.”
“I know, I know, but this should buy me some more time, right?”
I laughed, shaking my head at how funny he sounded. This dude was acting like his ass had only borrowed some sugar.
“C’mon, Larry, you know I’m good for it. One month, that’s all I’m asking for. Please, please, Larry, killing me ain’t gonna get your money back.” He was pleading, but it was too little too late for that now. It was time to send a message to all the deadbeats out there: the Duncan brothers weren’t anyone to play with.
“You know, Quincy, if you had come to me like a man and asked for some more time, I would have given it to you. But you been running from me and Lou for over two months. I bet your bitch ass won’t run no more.” I raised the shotgun and pulled the trigger. BOOM! The sound of the shot was followed by a blood-curdling scream.
“You shot me! You son of a bitch, you shot me!”
“I shot your foot. Next time I’ll aim at your fucking head. Now remember that shit! You got one week to get my money, and instead of two thousand, now it’s twenty-five hundred. I suggest you sell that fancy car of yours. And don’t even think about making me come look for you again,” I threatened, although it wasn’t like he could run anywhere, at least not with half of his toes blown off.
By the time I pulled the car into Big Sam’s, I had calmed down and was ready to get to drinking. Sitting behind the wheel in the parking lot, I pulled the money out of my pocket and counted it. I couldn’t put it past a guy like Quincy to short me, even on this little bit of money.
I opened the door to get out, and before my foot even hit the pavement, a bunch of whores came at me, sniffing around and acting all horny like they smelled my money.
“Hey, Larry. Wanna come upstairs with me?” A whore with short hair and a gap in her teeth tried to flirt with me and even had the nerve to grab onto my arm, like I wanted some used pussy when I could get better than what she had for free.
“Haven’t you figured it out yet?” I snapped. “I don’t pay for nobody to suck on my dick. You bitches need to pay me for the privilege.” I pushed past them without bothering to listen to nothing they were saying.
I went inside the bar and announced, “Gimme some Jack,” as I slapped my hand down on the bar.
“Larry, Lou’s upstairs.” The nosy-ass bartender smiled at me like we were old buddies—which we weren’t.
“Did I say I was looking for my brother? Shit, he’s a grown man, and if he wants to spend his time fucking cheap-ass tramps then that’s up to him. I came in here for a drink.”
He turned and took the bottle of Jack off the shelf, set it on the counter, then picked up a glass and filled it with ice. Every move he made seemed to be in slow motion, which just riled me up even more. This guy always took so long to do something so easy.
“Here’s your drink,” he said, setting a finger of bourbon, probably watered down, and a whole lot of ice in front of me. I reached in my pocket and tossed a bunch of bills next to the pitiful excuse for a drink.
“Nah,” I snorted. “Bring me the whole goddamn bottle over here.” I slammed my fist down on the bar and dared him to disobey me.
Chippy
3
Six of us girls, led by Big Shirley, had sneaked out to the side of the building to smoke some reefer. After patiently waiting my turn, I finally got the joint from Little Momma just as an old, beat-up tow truck pulled up in front. Despite the fact that it looked and sounded like it was on its last leg, all five girls started grinning like they had hit the number when this tall, brown-skinned brother stepped out of the passenger side. He wasn’t all that, if you ask me, but they were swooning like he was Fred Williamson or something.
“He’s back, Big Shirley. Oh my God, Lou’s back,” one of the star struck women mumbled, clutching her hands like a school girl who’d just been asked to the prom.
“Mm-hmm, I can see that.” Shirley grinned. “And he’s handsome as ever.”
Shirley headed toward the man with a purpose, her oversized ass swaying like two huge watermelons under her skimpy dress. She was followed giddily by three of the other girls. Only Little Momma’s pothead ass remained with me, but her eyes never left the man. She reached for the joint and took a long pull.
“Wh
o’s that?” I asked.
“Who, him?” she replied in her heavy country accent. “Girl, that right there is Sweet Lou Duncan. He’s what we call a ho’s best friend.” She was grinning like something real good had slipped down her skirt.
“A ho’s best friend?” I laughed, rolling my eyes skeptically. “And here I am thinking it was money.”
“Not when Lou’s around,” Little Momma replied. “Lou’s special. He’s the type of man that could take a girl away from a place like this.”
I glanced over at Lou, watching the girls openly fawn over him. “He’s dressed nice, I’ll give him that, but he must be one hell of a trick to have Big Shirley acting like that.”
Little Momma passed me the joint then bent down to wipe the dirt from her shoe. She was so short that she didn’t have far to go to reach it. Funny thing is, she wasn’t actually called Little Momma because of her four foot seven stature, but because she’d had six kids by the time she was twenty. “He ain’t just some trick, baby girl. Don’t you ever get that mixed up, you hear me? He and his brothers are about as tough as they come in these parts. He is nobody to be fucked with. Shit, truth be told, they’re the only ones Sam has any respect for in this town.”
“Oh, I see, so he’s a pimp like Big Sam? No wonder he’s dressed so fancy.”
“No, he ain’t no pimp. Lou’s just sweet, a real gentleman, unless you piss him off. Oh, and he’s got the biggest dick on the planet and knows how to use it.” She headed toward Lou and the other girls, waving her hand. “Come on. I’ll introduce you.”
