30.

They were all there in the garage. Twelve Horn Street Boys, plus Esteban Carty. Amber sat on the floor in the corner with her arms wrapped around her knees. Listening while Esteban spoke.

“Okay,” he said to the Boys, “we got a contract.”

The boys seemed pleased.

“Guy gonna give us ten grand to off a broad in Paradise.”

The boys responded.

“Ten grand?”

“A broad?”

“Muthafuck, man, how easy is that?”

“Easy,” Esteban said.

One of the boys said something in Spanish.

“Knock it off,” Esteban said. “We speak English.”

Amber wondered randomly if that was some sort of self-improvement rule, or was it because Esteban didn’t speak much Spanish. She shrugged mentally. The Horn Street Boys had a lot of rules.

“And here’s a gas,” Esteban said. “Guy paying us is Alice’s father.”

Everyone looked at Amber. She giggled. It was nice that Esteban told them.

“Who’s the broad?” one of the boys said.

“Are you ready for this?” Esteban said.

Amber could see he was excited. She felt excited, too. He pointed at her like a referee calling a foul.

“Alice’s momma,” he said.

Everyone looked at her again. Amber giggled again. One of the boys started clapping, and the others joined in. Amber giggled some more, and hid her face.

“Bye-bye, Momma,” Esteban said.

And the boys took up the chant.

“Bye-bye, Momma! Bye-bye, Momma! Bye-bye, Momma.”

They clapped in rhythm to it and Amber, sitting on the floor, with her face in her hands and her knees up, began to rock back and forth to the chant. After a while she joined in.

“Bye-bye, Momma! Bye-bye, Momma! Bye-bye, Momma!”


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