The Wall

86

Moses waited. And thought about the blonde woman. She’d seen everything, too. The white man had… Moses was shaking.

The white man had shot him, Moses. That had been his intention.

He had to know what had happened. He slowly lifted his head. Used his arms. Peered over the short wall.

The other man was lying there. Moses looked at him and began to tremble even more. That was him lying there.

Maybe he was still alive. Moses shifted his gaze. The woman was gone. Maybe she was calling the police.

No, the police were already here. She didn’t need to call anyone. The white man was also gone.

The great shootout finally stopped again.

Moses stood up. Looked around one more time. He sprinted the few steps over to the man. Leaned down. Turned him over. Damp crotch. He was dead.

Turned him back over. Caught sight of the hole in the back of his head. The bullet had lodged itself there.

Moses began to cry. Who was this guy? Someone… some man… wrong place, wrong time… some black man, he thought, too. Some black man. He now caught sight of his shoes. Converse knockoffs, years of wear, tattered. The hole at the shoulder of his shirt. The rip in the seat of his jeans.

Some poor black man. Moses straightened up. He would avenge him.