by C.G. Banks
*
Juice was bad drunk. I knowed that soon’s I crawled inta the car. Smelled like Hennessy strong, like that nigga’d been pourin’ it down fat. Even by the dash lights I seed how red ‘is eyes was, but that weren’t what concerned me. Is eyes always been red, fucked up or not. No, what really got me was the .45 in ‘is lap. Fuckin thing pointed my way. First thing he say was, “We always been friends, right, SE?”
I tole ‘im show enough.
“Well ‘at’s all right but ya ain’t gonna like what I gots ta show ya,” he said. Hell, I shrugged. Since high school ain’t neva been much he eva showed me I wanted ta see.
Took ‘bout five minutes ta get ta his place an when we did it was pitch black. Not a light inside or out. He din’t say nothin, just got out the car an headed for the front door, carryin his piece down at his knee, swingin it loose like he was ready ta go. I walked slow b’hind, tryin ta figure if there’as anything I done lately I was fixin ta pay for. I din’t wanta catch a bullet at a quata ta three in the mo’nin ova sompin I din’t remember.
But I followed ‘im in.
Found ‘im bent ova a table, strikin a match for a candle. Lit the first one an went on ta the next. An jus thin I realized what that smell was. Gasoline. Lucky enough I uz close enough ta the door to leave it open a lil bit, jus ta get a lil draft rollin through.
They’d been a fight, furniture an shit all broke up all ova the place, glass on the flow. Juice lightin candles while I stood there starin at them damn gas cans, knowin they was full to the brim.
I din’t see the back wall till he pointed at it. An when I looked I heard ‘im plop down hard in the only chair that was still in one piece.
I tried not ta, but I did. Not real loud, but I yelled. Lakeshia was nailed to the wall with big railroad spikes, her arms stretched out at the sides like one a them pictures a Jesus they gots in church. Musta pounded them damn things skraight inta the wall studs cause they wasn’t havin any trouble holdin ‘er up. Blood all ova the floor, naked, head hangin down skraight on her chest. I din’t do nothing. Din’t breathe even.
“You see that,” I heard ‘im say. “I always tole the bitch,” and he stopped. Then, “I always tole that bitch,” as I turned away from the wall.
“You done killed Lakeshia,” I said cause I couldn’t think a nothin’ else.
“Yeah, that’s right,” he said, an laughed. “My savior.”
I thought again about all those gas cans, about the candles goin full tilt.
“I jus wanted you ta see, SE,” he said. He lit a cigarette an smiled again. “I jus wanted you ta see.”
I wiped a hand across m’mouth. “Well I done seed,” I said. “Now what?”
He smiled again, terrible. “Nothin,” he said. “Ain’t nothin no mo.”
“OK Juice,” I tole ‘im. “OK,” an I turned back ta the door, not lookin back, prayin that big ole .45 wasn’t borin a hole in m’back. He din’t say nothin. Din’t get up or move cause I’d’a heard the chair creak. An man, I wuz listenin for everthing.
Walked across the poach, steppin as light as I could down them steps to the sidewalk, ever minute expectin ta see m’insides blow out the front from that gotdamn cannon he had inside. Ten foot further on an I wuz runnin like a spotted-ass ape.
Din’t stop till I got back here…
Din’t stop five minutes b’fore, eitha, when all that gas went up b’hind me. I jus kept on runnin, clearing that path to the end zone.
*
Now the sun’s ‘bout up an it’s been hours since I heard the fire trucks. Musta been dozens of ‘em from the sound. But I keep thinkin ‘bout that room, ‘bout all them candles an all that gasoline. Lakeshia nailed to the wall. But mostly I think about what he said: “My savior,” flat, like there weren’t nothin left.
An I wonder too what kinda Hell it was come ta take him…
Three
The Fuck-Nut’s Crime
