Dirty South

67

You can’t sleep. It’s 4 A.M. and the old man snorin’ in Nick’s bed, his friend Bronco watching a black-and-white movie from the Old West. Bronco doesn’t care much for the man in the mask but he sure like that Indian that ride with him. Every time some shit goes down, Bronco give you a nudge in the ribs and say wake up and listen.

The warehouse seem like a big cave to you, some kind of place where you keep an airplane. Big fans work up the tin ceiling and the smooth wood on the floor feels soft on your bare feet. But you ain’t got no comfort. Neither does the dog. She knows something wrong. The way she just hang by the door, making some whimperin’ sounds.

The old man shootin’ up out of bed in his nightshirt, silver hair on his chest. “Nick?”

“It ain’t him,” you say. “He ain’t back.”

“What time is it?”

“Four.”

He sighs real tight. “Let’s go.”

“Where?” you ask. “I called Teddy fifty times.”

“Show me,” JoJo said, snaking his belt through his britches and buttonin’ up his shirt.

Bronco watches him, stands, cuts off the TV, and straps the shoulders onto his country-ass overalls. His eyes are real hard as he reaches for his cigarettes and some shotgun he bought that he call “Sweet Sixteen.”

“Smells,” JoJo said.

You nod. Things are wrong. Feel wrong in your head.

You stand and walk over to the sink, pourin’ cold water into your hands and watching the sink fill up while you wash your face. As you bend into the water, you watch the Superman symbol Dio touched sink into the clear water like an anchor.

“I know,” you say. You wipe your hands on a dry towel, feelin’ funny and dry in the mind ’cause of the time. Your mind awake; body want to sleep. “Let’s roll.”

Don’t take no time when you down at Ninth Ward. You remember the first time Teddy drove you here and you thinkin’ that the roof was really made out of gold. But it just look like painted tin tonight in the shine of them crime lights. Bugs gatherin’ all around them.

You bang on the window and one of Teddy’s cousins, this boy y’all call Poochie, come to the door. He smile and wave when he see you. Poochie ain’t but like two years older than you and he look like he playin’ dress-up with his cornrows and skinny head in that blue uniform.

“Nigga, you even got a gun,” you say, givin’ him the pound.

The old man whack you in the back of the head. “Where’s Teddy?” JoJo ask.

Ole Poochie shake his head and say he don’t know. But the way he won’t meet you in the eye mean he lyin’.

“Poochie, don’t pull my dick, you seen him down here with my boy Nick.”

Poochie nod.

“So where he at?”

“They left, man. Don’t go ridin’ me about this shit.”

“Somethin’ happen?”

JoJo shake his head. Bronco already headin’ down the hall.

“Hey,” Poochie yell. “Hey.”

But Bronco and JoJo already lookin’ inside of rooms and offices and wanderin’ round the studio where you supposed to cut a record tomorrow.

“JoJo!” Bronco yells. The old man go and you follow.

Poochie try to grab your arm but you already inside Teddy’s office and see Bronco down on one knee, just like that Indian scout in the movie, sniffin’ and trailin’ animals and shit. Only this time, don’t take much.

A big ole pool of red blood mixed in that high, white carpet.

“What up, man?” you yell at Poochie. You get in his face. “What up?”

“They gone, man,” he say. “That’s all.”

“Where?”

Poochie shake his head again. “I don’t know.”

“Where’s Teddy?”

Then you see the gold hook, the one laden down with keys to the two Bentleys and three Escalades, and that big Scarab sport boat. The big ole fish key chain ain’t on the hook.

“Where’s Nick?”

“I seen him come in,” Poochie say. “But only Teddy and some dude left.”

“Who?”

“I don’t know,” he said. “Some punk nigga.”

“Was he branded?” you ask.

“I don’t know.”

“What he look like?”

“He had eyes like him,” he said, pointing to Bronco.

JoJo look at you and y’all know.

“How long they been gone?”

“They was yellin’ in here and shit for a while and then they left ’bout an hour ago.”

“I know where they at,” you say. “But he gone.”

JoJo look at you.

“He got his boat out in the lake. Man, we ain’t ever gonna find him. That boat run.”

“We need a faster boat, kid,” he says. “What you got hidden with all your toys?”

“Na,” you say. You reach into your wallet and find a platinum card, raised lettering. “But I got someone who can hook us up.”

The C-phone already caught in your hand callin’ on Cash.