South Street

by David Bradley

  “Heard about that,” said Willie T.

  “Yeah?” snarled Leroy. “Just what did you hear?”

  “Oh, ah, nothin’, you know, nothin’,” said Willie T.

  “Yeah, well,” said Leroy. “You get that smile off your face while you still got a face.”

  Willie T. stopped smiling.

  “An’ don’t believe everything you hear.”

  “Never do,” said Willie T.

  “Whooeee,” said Cotton. Willie T. and Leroy turned to see the six ball cut gently off the edge of the fifteen and send it into the corner pocket. Cotton smiled, looked at Willie T. “I’ma eight ball you ass,” he said.

  “Where the hell is he?” muttered Leslie.

  “He be along,” said Charlene. There were now seven beer bottles in echelon before her. “He be along. Leroy’s always ’long sooner or later.” She giggled tipsily.

  “How you know?” said Leslie quickly. Charlene ignored her. Leslie looked at her watch. “I gotta be gettin’ home.”

  “Why?” said Vanessa. “To go to bed with the janitor?”

  “Like I said before, where you gonna sleep tonight, big sister?”

  “At ma place, in ma bed, by ma self, an’ don’t let none a these simple niggers tell you different.”

  “Tut, tut, tut,” said Leslie. “Poor ’Nessa’s gotta sleep by herself one time. Can’t you find nobody to tuck you in, ’Nessa? Well, Leroy did say you was a lousy fuck.”

  “Leroy says lots a things. He thinks he’s the biggest dick on the street, an’ all he is is the fattest prick. Tell me somethin’, little sister, just what makes you think you’re such a hot piece, just ’cause you married some old janitor you had to learn how to fuck?”

  “Don’t you mess on ma Rayburn, now,” said Leslie. “He does what little he can.”

  “I don’t know what you don’t let that poor man alone,” said Charlene. “There ain’t no harm in him.”

  “An’ what the hell good is a man ain’t got no harm in him?” snapped Vanessa. “A real man’s always got some kinda harm in him.”

  “Listen to her,” said Leslie, “‘A real man.’ Shit! The only real man she ever had left her high and dry like an old whore on a bar stool.”

  “I know more ’bout men than you’ll ever know,” Vanessa said, taking a swallow from her glass.

  “You know more than I ever want to know,” Leslie said.

  Charlene looked around quickly. “No sign a Leroy, we better have another drink.”

  “She’s had enough,” said Leslie.

  “Don’t you try an’ take care a me,” said Vanessa. “I can take care a maself. I was hustlin’ in bars when you was still suckin’ titty.”

  Leslie sighed. “C’mon now, ’Nessa, everybody knows you ain’t but four years oldern me.”

  “All right,” said Vanessa. “You think you seen shit, an’ you ain’t seen no shit no way. You wasn’t there when he come home.”

  “Oh, Christ, ’Nessa, don’t be startin’ that again.”

  “Who?” said Charlene.

  “Don’t you Christ me. You wasn’t there, an’ he wasn’t neither. I was there—”

  “You’re drunk.”

  “Me an’ Lindalee.” Vanessa leaned forward, smiled drunkenly. “We was just settin’ there, talkin’ an’ laughin’. She was talkin’ ’bout some boy. I wasn’t nothin’ but ’leven, I didn’t know nothin’ ’bout no boys. I guess Lindalee didn’t neither. God, she was pretty. I guess them boys was busy tryin’ to find out all ’bout her. We was settin’ there, an’ then we heard him comin’ up the stairs, you know, slow an’ draggy, like he always done. He ain’t been back in five year, but we knowed it was him, ’cause he always walked just like that. He come right in the door an’ he looks at Lindalee an’ me, an’ he says, ‘Get me somethin’ t’eat’ After five years! I was too damn scared to do anything, but Lindalee, she looks him straight in the eye an’ tells him to get out. Said we wasn’t gonna be givin’ him nothin’. She stood right up to him. Only then he hauled off an’ hit her upside the head, knocked her right up against the wall, an’ she hit it with her face. Lord Jesus, I never had to look, I could hear things bustin’. She never even made a sound, just slid right down like she was made outa rubber, an’ there was blood all over the wall.”

  “Jesus, ’Nessa—”

  “Shut up,” said Vanessa. “Shut up.” Her voice was dull, her body limp. “He said ‘Jesus’ just like you done. Only there wasn’t no Jesus there. Then he set down on the chair an’ looked at her lyin’ on the damn floor, bleedin’. An’ then that fat piece a shit started to cry! There was big, fat tears rollin’ down his cheeks an’ he was sobbin’ like a damn baby an’ he kept sayin’ over an’ over, ‘I didn’t mean no harm, I didn’t mean no harm.’ An’ all the sudden I wasn’t scared no more, an’ I got me the butcher knife an’ I put it up against his throat. I just laid it up against him an’ cut him, just a little. An’ then he stopped cryin’ an’ looked up at me. He had little beady eyes, just like a rat. I told him I was gonna cut his throat, an’ all he says was, ‘I didn’t mean no harm.’ I told him I was gonna let him bleed to death so slow it was gonna take forever. An’ he started beggin’ an’ blubberin’. Beggin’ a little girl wouldn’t she please let him live! I couldn’t cut him after that. I just told him to get outa there.” Vanessa stopped suddenly. Her eyes were closed.

  “You shoulda killed him,” Leslie said. “I woulda killed him.”

  “Let’s have another drink,” said Charlene, motioning for the bartender.

  “I don’t want no more,” said Vanessa. Her eyes were soft, misty. “I don’t want no more.” She rose unsteadily and picked up her handbag. Her body swayed gracefully. Without a word she turned and walked out.

  Charlene motioned for the bartender again. “She tellin’ the truth?”

  “I don’t know,” Leslie said, staring at her glass. “Mama had took me to prayer meetin’ or some fool thing. When we got back, ’Nessa was settin’ in the middle a the floor holdin’ a butcher knife, had Lindalee’s head in her lap. Lindalee was all messed up. Never did look right afterwards. Wasn’t right in the head, neither. They finally put her away.”

  Charlene looked at the door. “You sure she’s gonna be all right?”

  “Shit,” said Leslie. “Ain’t none of us never gonna be all right.”

  Jake shuffled along Eighteenth Street, his mismatched Salvation Army surplus brogans making scraping sounds on the pavement. He turned the corner and headed west toward Lightnin’ Ed’s. Just beyond Nineteenth he ran head-on into Elmo. “Hey there,” said Elmo.

  “Hey,” said Jake unenthusiastically, moving to go by.

  Elmo moved to block. “Where you headed in such a hurry?”

  “What say?” said Jake, trying to cut by on the inside.

  Elmo stuck out a scrawny arm and barred the way. “Don’t give me that deaf shit, you ain’t any deafer than you wants to be.”

  “I ain’t goin’ nowheres,” Jake said.

  “You goin’ nowheres in a mighty hurry. You got somethin’ goin’, you can’t fool me. You got some money?”

  “I works for ma money,” Jake snapped.

  “I don’t care how you gets it, shinin’ shoes or pissin’ in the air, either you got money to buy wine with, or you got the wine, an’ I wants some wine.”

  “I ain’t got no wine,” Jake said. He blew his breath at Elmo. Elmo made a face.

  “I know you’re holdin’ out on me.”

  “I said, I ain’t got no damn wine.”

  “I know what you said. An’ I know when I see some wino goin’ hell for leather and lickety-split, either his underwear’s on fire or he’s chasin’ somethin’, which in your case has got to be wine, ’cause you’re too damn old for women.”

  “I’m busy,” Jake said. “Lemme be.”

  “I’ll let you be, all right. I’m goin’ with you.”

  “I ain’t goin’ nowheres,” Jake said.

  “Fine,�
� said Elmo. “I wasn’t goin’ nowheres, neither. We can go nowheres together. Pretty soon you gonna figure out you can’t have no wine without me havin’ some too.”

  “I ain’t after no wine, I’m just doin’ a friendly favor for somebody.”

  “Friendly favor, ma black ass. Winos ain’t got no friends, ’cept a glass a wine. Or maybe a beer. That’s it, you black bastard, you got a line on some beer!”

  “Shit,” Jake sighed. “All right. C’mon.”

  The two of them started off down the street. Jake kept pulling ahead. “Take it easy,” panted Elmo.

  “I’m in a hurry,” said Jake.

  “How far we goin’?”

  “Lightnin’ Ed’s. There’s somethin’ I got to tell Leo.”

  “What?”

  “All ’bout layovers to catch meddlers,” Jake said.

  “Say,” said Elmo, stopping in his tracks, “did you ever find that dude you been lookin’ for?”

  “What dude?” said Jake.

  “Don’t give me that shit. I heard this mornin’ ’bout you runnin’ around offerin’ everybody free wine if they could tell you anything ’bout that dude that backed down Leroy. Looks like somebody wants to know that dude’s name. Now you runnin’ to see Leo like he was on his deathbed or somethin’. Now where is a wino gonna be gettin’ free wine? Why, from a bar. An’ who’s got a bar? Leo. So who wants to know the dude’s name? Leo.”

  “We already knows his name,” Jake said.

  “Yeah. It’s Jackson.”

  Jake snorted. “I ain’t fell for that kinda shit in forty years, Elmo. Quit tryin’ to pump me. Now come on, we got to get to Ed’s.”

  “Wait a minute,” said Elmo. “You don’t want me to go along with you. How come?”

  “You got bad breath,” Jake said.

  “Shit,” said Elmo. “I don’t much want to go up there neither.”

  “How come?” Jake said innocently. “You ’fraid maybe you might run into Rayburn?”

  “I ain’t scared a no Rayburn,” Elmo said. “I just don’t want to be walkin’ that far.” Jake smiled. “I’ll make you a deal,” Elmo said. “I won’t go with you if you tell me what the dude’s name was.”

  Jake considered the proposition. “Okay,” he said. “Name’s Brown.”

  “Shit,” said Elmo, “I coulda thought up a better one than that. Everybody’s name’s Brown.”

  “I done told you the dude’s name,” Jake said.

  “You ain’t told me nothin’.”

  Jake sighed. “C’mon then. Maybe we can get in an’ out ’fore Rayburn comes by. Be a shame if he was to find you when he was between you an’ the door.”

  “Dude’s name really Brown?”

  “I done said so.”

  “All right,” Elmo said.

  Jake turned and hurried on up the street, glancing back to make sure Elmo wasn’t following. He ducked through the door of Lightnin’ Ed’s, waved to a few people seated along the bar, and took a stool at the far end. Leo came trundling over like a white-aproned cement truck. “How you doin’, Jake? What’ll it be?”

  “Glass a wine,” Jake said. He fumbled in his pocket, found some change, pushed it across the bar. Leo poured him a glass of muscatel and took a nickel. “I ain’t been too good, Leo,” Jake said. “Stomach again. But listen, you remember that dude was in here Saturday?” Leo nodded. “Yeah, well, I found out he was around today, an’ he was lookin’ for a place.”

  “Jesus,” said Leo softly. “I hope Leroy don’t find out.”

  “That ain’t all. The place he was lookin’ at was right across from the Elysium. Same place as Rayburn.”

  “Jesus!” said Leo.

  Jake nodded agreement. “You think maybe him an’ Rayburn—”

  “Naw,” said Leo. “Rayburn don’t know nothin’ ’bout Leroy messin’ with his woman.”

  “That’s good,” Jake said.

  “Yeah, well,” said Leo, “let’s just hope it stays that way.” He reached down and pulled up the half-full bottle of muscatel. “Here,” he said. “You done earned it.”

  “Why, thank you,” Jake said solemnly.

  “I gotta be doin’ some work,” Leo said, glancing at the television screen which showed a batter in a Philadelphia uniform missing a pitch by several feet. “Gone an’ help yourself. An’ let me know if you hear anything else.”

  “Sure, Leo, sure,” said Jake. Leo trundled away. Jake sipped at the wine for a minute, then hungrily gulped the rest. He reached out a trembling hand and poured the glass full again. He gazed in awe at the immense quantity of wine remaining in the bottle and moved his lips silently as if in private prayer. Then he raised the glass with all the reverence due the Holy Grail, extended his lower lip, and poured the wine in in a slow, tantalizing dribble. He rolled it around in his mouth as if he were a French wine taster evaluating some rare and costly vintage, swallowed, and then, smiling contentedly, he poured the glass full again.

  “Who the hell is it?” roared Leroy. He put his hands on Leslie’s thin shoulders and pushed her head away from his body. She moaned and wriggled on top of him.

  “It’s me, Willie.”

  “I told you I didn’t want no interruptions!” shouted Leroy. “Cut that out,” he said to Leslie, who was nibbling at his left nipple. He pushed her head away again, but she wriggled her hips again, too.

  “Cotton says it’s important.”

  “What the hell does he know,” yelled Leroy. Leslie drew back and then let her body fall full upon him. “Jesus, stop that,” said Leroy. “Don’t be in such a hurry for everything. You’re always in such a goddamn hurry.”

  “You comin’, Leroy?” yelled Willie T.

  “He’s comin’,” giggled Leslie, “he’s comin’ all right.”

  “Oh Jesus, boss,” said Willie T., “I didn’t know you was still …”

  Leroy rolled over on top of Leslie and proceeded to do an imitation of a runaway pile driver.

  “Ahhh,” said Leslie.

  “Oh, Jesus,” muttered Willie T. He stepped away from the door, then he stepped back and put his ear right up against it. “Maybe it wasn’t all that important, boss,” he yelled. “I’ll tell Cotton to handle it hisself.” He listened carefully but no sound came through the door except a couple of moans, assorted gasps, and the creakings of the bed.

  “Ahhhh,” Leslie said again, biting at the fist she held to her mouth.

  “Thank God,” muttered Leroy. “Christ, you like to kill a man. You’re worse than the goddamn Internal Revenue.”

  “Ummm,” said Leslie, biting at him.

  Leroy pulled away and climbed out of bed.

  “Maybe it ain’t all that important,” yelled Willie T.

  Leroy pulled on his pants and headed for the door with his purple-and-turquoise shirt dangling over his arm. He opened the door and charged out, running full tilt into the side of Willie T.’s head. “Oww!” said Leroy, clutching at his groin. “What the hell was you doin’ down there?”

  “I was just tryin’—”

  “Yeah, well you keep on tryin’ an’ I’ma roast your ass for Thanksgivin’. Now what’s all this shit about?”

  “I dunno,” said Willie T., trailing Leroy down the hall. “Cotton just said to come get you, somethin’ was poppin’.”

  Leroy grunted. On the way down the stairs he slipped his arms into the sleeves of his shirt, and he entered the barroom of the Elysium with his belly showing like a wide brown necktie. He stopped at the bar and slapped sharply on the wood. The bartender left the customer he had been waiting on and hurried over. “The usual,” said Leroy. While he waited, Leroy looked at Willie T. “That gal is like to kill a man.”

  “Yeah,” said Willie T. “Either that, or get him kilt.”

  “Shit,” said Leroy. He accepted his drink from the bartender and marched off into the office.

  Cotton was standing by the pool table, his hands folded, Buddha-like, across his belly. “Sorry to drag you away,” Cotton said,
“but to tell you the truth I was thinkin’ maybe you’d be dyin’ for a break.”

  “You tryin’ to say I might be tired?”

  Cotton smiled. “Well,” he said tactfully, “let’s just say ain’t nobody can fill up the ’Lantic Ocean spittin’. ’Sides, this here might be important. I was settin’ up to the bar when in comes this dude an’ asts for you.”

  “Whad he look like?” Leroy snapped.

  “He was just a wino, I seen him around a million times. Don’t get so damn jumpy.”

  “I ain’t jumpy, nigger,” shouted Leroy.

  “No,” Cotton said. “You ain’t jumpy. You just in a hurry to get back upstairs an’ see if you really can fuck yourself to death.”

  “C’mon,” said Leroy, “’fore I bashes your face in.”

  Cotton smiled enigmatically. “Anyways, this here wino, he says he’s got some information for you.”

  “What kinda information.”

  “He said it was a name.”

  “A name? Shit, I already got a name. Where is this fool?”

  “Willie T.,” said Cotton. “Go get that wino I left out there with Charlene.” Willie T. went out. “I left him with Charlene,” Cotton explained, “’cause he looked like he might run.”

  “That was on account a Charlene,” Leroy said. “That bitch litters every time some fool winks at her.”

  In a minute Willie T. returned with Elmo in tow. “Hi there, Mr. Briggs,” said Elmo.

  “What’s this shit about a name?”

  “It’s a name,” Elmo said. “Ain’t no shit. Everybody’s got a name.”

  Leroy looked at Cotton. “You hauled me outa bed so’s I could play games with some simple wino?”

  “Even fellas in bars that makes other fellas in bars eat shit got names,” Elmo said.

  “What?” said Leroy, spinning around.

  “I said—”

  “I know what you said,” said Leroy

  “An’ you better not say it again,” said Willie T.

  “Or you ain’t gonna have no face to say it with,” finished Cotton.

  “I didn’t mean no harm.”

  “Yeah, well,” said Willie T.

  “Never mind,” said Leroy. “I think I know what you’re talkin’ about, an’ I think I know who you’re talkin’ about, so cut the shit an’ start talkin’ about ’em.”