Rails Under My Back (72 page)

Yeah. No Face fingers his suit. Jesus hooked me up. He smiles at Jesus and she does too.

Hi, I’m Lady T, hand extended.

Jesus. Looking at the hand, barely touching it, avoiding her face.

Jesus—Freeze begins.

Oh, Jesus said, could I use your bathroom?

Without speaking, Freeze points with both hands like a runway signalman. Jesus rises from the couch and moves past Lady T. Their bodies casually touch.

Excuse me, he says.

She smiles a smile, polite or genuine he can’t tell which.

He pushes on to the bathroom, shuts the door behind him. Puts his ear to the closed door. Voices in the other room, the closed door muffling their meaning or the voices themselves deliberately low, secretive. The faucet rumbles, spills water into the clam-shaped basin. Dissolves the voices. He scrubs his hands with perfumed soap under warm water before a row of mirror that multiplies his red image. Leaves dirty residue. He pulls the stopper. The water drains quietly, dirty rings rotating, concentric fashion, circling, wheeling, whirling, pulling, drawing, force forcing him to feel their power …

He circles into the center of a conversation. Lady T is nowhere in sight.

No Face, what happened? Why you fuck up?

See—

Did you get hungry? Try to eat those rats?

See—

You musta tried to eat those rats. That’s why you fucked up the job.

The gat jammed.

What?

The gat jammed.

No it didn’t. You forgot to take off the safety.

No I didn’t.

Stupid bastard.

How you know?

Retard.

Keylo laughs and laughs. Jesus doesn’t think he will ever stop laughing. Mechanical hyena.

Jesus makes himself comfortable on the couch. Here now, here, and prepared for the clear mission.

So what you got good to tell me? Freeze says, white, Lula Mae’s color. Another day or two, Jesus says. At most. He clears his throat.

So what’s up then? Keylo says.

Broken words speed through Jesus’s mind.

You ain’t worried, are you? Homes, it’s easy. Keylo demonstrates. Like using a cigarette lighter.

Keylo, Freeze says. Go easy.

I coulda done it myself, Keylo says. Days ago.

Go easy. Jesus has his own way of doing things. Am I right? Freeze turns to Jesus. Puts the question in his face.

Yeah.

See, Keylo, like I said. He got his own way of doing things.

Keylo watches Jesus, bomber helmet straps in motion.

I’m here to help, Freeze says.

Thanks.

Don’t mention it … Anything I can do?

No.

You sure?

Yes.

Freeze studies Jesus in silence—Jesus does his best to look him in the eyes, not turn away, show the steel he has inside—bright light crawling like ants over his bald head. I got some information that I want to share with you.

Yeah, No Face says. Yeah. He laughs, slapping his body at the private joke.

Freeze shuts him up with one look. He returns to Jesus. Is that okay with you?

Yes.

Your family is back in town.

Jesus’s life flares backward.

Yeah, Keylo now. Saw them at the airport.

Freeze nods. No doubt.

The knowledge moves through Jesus’s body. There. Freeze had done it. Bound together the hour and the fleecy sky.

Your lucky day.

I jus wanted to tell you that.

Thanks.

Don’t be offended.

I’m not.

Look, I’m not tryin to push you or anything. I just want to speed up things, that’s all.

Thanks, Jesus says. Thanks.
So they decided to return. The bird thieves. Lucifer and John.

Let’s just try to get this matter taken care of quickly.

I will.

Because, you know—

I will.

I’m glad to hear that. I took the trouble of getting you a car.

Yeah, Keylo says. Any fool know you ain’t sposed to use your own.

I tried to tell him that, No Face cuts in before Jesus can reply and defend himself. He don’t know me from Adam.

Keylo will drop the car off.

Where?

No Face laughed. Jesus took the laughter for a knowing answer.

And the keys?

Don’t worry … Well, I think that’s about everything.

Do it, Keylo says. Gather up your own.

Don’t worry, Freeze says. He will. He will.

He will, No Face says. He got me. He got me.

And yo mamma’s nasty draws.

Yo mamma’s.

YOU TRYIN TO MAKE ME LOOK BAD BACK THERE?

Nawl, No Face says. I wouldn do that.

So why you was talkin all that shit then?

What I say?

Jesus speaks in a mocking voice. I tried to tell him this. He got me. I ain’t gon let him fuck up.

I ain’t say that.

You did.

Man, you don’t know me from Adam.

Jesus says nothing. Feels red Jaguar motion.

We gon do this thing, No Face says.

No.
I’m
gon do it.

I’m with you. You know that.

Jesus says nothing.

You ready to do this?

Jesus lets the words pass in and out. Tell me about Lady T.

Lady T? You tryin to step to Freeze’s bitch? You want them big draws, huh? Man, don’t you know—

Jus tell me bout her.

No Face says nothing for a while. Breathes. That bitch had a rep. Word. Befo she start kickin it wit Freeze, she ain’t give no nigga no play. Straight up. She go to a club, see a nigga she like then take a jimmy hat out of her purse like this. No Face pulls a condom from his blazer pocket. She be like, You think you can handle it? Then she slam the jimmy down pow! No Face slams the condom down hard on the dashboard.

The steering wheel jumps directionless under Jesus’s hand. Damn! Is you crazy?

Sorry.

I ought to beat you down for that.

Sorry, I was—

You one stupid motherfucker. Know that.

Sorry.

Jesus shakes his head. Lets motion take the anger from his body.

She got pregnant.

Freeze got her pregnant?

Nawl. One of them ‘Rabs.

An A-rab?

Yeah. She be fuckin em.

Jesus considers the likelihood of this. Can’t picture it. He rides the silence. Hears No Face’s whistling lungs. What happened to the baby?

What you think?

I don’t know. That’s why I’m asking you.

No Face laughs. Man, you don’t know me from Adam … Stay away from her. Word. She an intersexual.

How you know?

I know.

YOU WANT TO GET DIPPED?

All the time.

Jesus opens a full bottle of his best and pours No Face glass after glass. It doesn’t take long.

I’m higher than a motherfucka, No Face says.

I can see that. His skin is actually glowing with moonshine.

Jesus puts him to bed the moment he dozes off. His snoring mouth roars ocean, screams wind. Jesus removes his suit and shoes, covers him, and tucks him in.

HIS CITY REFLEXES, cunning, direct (tell, instruct) him to park his red Jaguar on a shady side street five blocks from Hundred Gates. He heads for the building, afternoon sun staggering along behind him. A truck’s motor snarls somewhere and he wobbles. Calms himself. Continues. He feels Hundred Gates before he sees it. The building rises to him—it looks much larger than before, larger than it should—across yards of trees. High above the sharp roof corners birds wheel in a sky yellow and even. The old red ambulance is no longer parked out front. A good sign.

He melts ghost-fashion into fine glass and brick, vanishing. He isn’t two steps inside when he pulls a deck of bills from his wallet and offers them to the uniformed doorman with a knowing smile. He rides up in the elevator confident that he has taken all the proper precautions, covered his tracks. The quiet hall fills him with quiet inside. He loses it all the moment Lady T opens the door.

Oh, is Freeze … is Freeze here? It comes out less than calmly.

Nawl.

Ah, um, when will he be back?

Lady T studies him—her eyes forcing nervous motion on his body—for a long time, as long as she pleases, a stone configuration. I don’t know. You can wait. She pulls the door wide enough for him to enter.

Thanks. He enters the apartment with a tight turn and stands with back against the wall, stiff rods holding him in place.

Have a seat.

Thanks.

He sits down on the couch and unbuttons his blazer so he can move. You got a nice place here.

Everybody say that.

He tries to force his tense face to smile.

Can I get you something?

No, thanks. I’m straight.

You sure?

Yeah.

You thirsty?

A little.

Lady T gives him a glass of water made from honey. Thanks. He holds the drained glass out to her.

You welcome. Jus sit it on the table. Here. She positions a coaster near him on the marble coffee table. He places the empty glass squarely down on the coaster. Legs crossed on the love seat, she watches him from the other side of the table. Her eyes pry him away from a lifetime of certainty.

That’s a nice suit, she says.

Thanks.

Nice color. (His usual red.)

Thanks.

Different.

Thanks.

She watches him. You bald as a stone.

Thanks. Saying it but unsure in the saying.

Is that all you know how to say,
thanks
?

What you want me to say?

You don’t know how to talk to a woman? Beneath the T-shirt, her breasts move deep and full.

What makes you think that?

Lady T says nothing, visibly annoyed. The white baby powder has disappeared (evaporated? blew away?) from her neck and shoulders since he last saw her an hour or so ago.

What time do you expect him? Jesus studies the slim curve of her waist. I ain’t.

Well, Jesus says. Well …

You ain’t got to leave. Chill for a while.

Thanks.

She sighs. Ugh.
Thanks.

Sorry … So, how did you meet him?

The same way most people meet.

What is it that you like about him?

I don’t know. Why do
you
like me?

The words rub hot against Jesus’s skin. You seem like a nice person.

I am.

I mean it.

I do too.

Jesus doesn’t know what to say.

You know why?

Why?

Cause I’m from the old school.

What school is that?

I stay home and protects mine. Back in the day, you
had
to stay home and keep it together while the man be out there kickin up dust. Now we be out there too. That’s why things be the way they be. Fucked up.

Jesus thinks about it. It’s like this, he says, what you do one day parlays into the next.

Lady T watches him: understanding, agreeing, admiring, confused, annoyed—he can’t tell.

You have your own way of saying things.

I do. Factual, not boastful, but pleased that she finds him pleasing.

I heard about you.

Me?

You.
You famous.

Jesus grins. Pokes out his chest. I maintain.

Lady T smiles.

I heard about you too.

Oh yeah. What did you hear?

Without a thought, Jesus tells all No Face had told him.

You believe that?

That’s what he said.

If she sees something else in his face she ignores it. No Face is stupid.

Yeah, I know.

Stupid.

You from here?

No. Red Hook.

Oh. Jesus doesn’t know what else to say.

You ever been there? I’ll take you, she says before he can answer.

Take him, as if to Paris, Rome, some faraway place.

She taps his arm, a single detonation of touch. Let’s go.

He rises and follows. Where?

To Red Hook. I gotta show you something.

Now?

Yes.

Oh, okay, he says, catching the drift.
Show me something.
So they would do it there, get mad busy. His safe sense shouts inside, tries to lock his feet.
What about the car? She expect you to drive it to the jets? You can’t drive no car like that to no jets.
But why not
show him
at a quick and safe hotel? He wants to ask her. Can’t.

Don’t worry about yo car. I know a good garage.

TWO DOGS MEET, and a third. Lips curled, white fangs watering. They bark off after gray squirrel motion. The air is coming awake. The afternoon is drawing on. Human shapes flash in the streets. Lady T’s eyes move about without real interest on faces, faces nearly invisible in the hot haze. Twelve red buildings rise like missiles against the red summer horizon. Ash images of burned-out buildings and houses here and there. Red Hook. The world is made of stone: paper, water, wind, and flame can do nothing against it. Like Red Hook itself. Inevitable. Indestructible.

Jesus moves heavy with omen. Unsure if he is safer with Lady T, a Red Hook homegirl, or more vulnerable. He doesn’t want to be here but can’t pull back. She speaks to no one. Heads straight for Building Six. He thinks he hears someone calling him through the cutting bitterness of the wind. Lady T’s sandaled feet kick garbage out of their path. Beer cans crushed into the shapes of women. Diapers like padded boxers’ helmets. Condoms like old, worn socks. He follows her inside the building, around one corner then another, down one hall and up a flight of stairs, through one door and out another. They edge through a rusted opening. Footsteps ring down metal stairs. Echo after them. They descend into darkness. (Her white blouse like a torch before him.) Travel down a long hall. He has to walk in a crouch, keep his head low. Smells bore through him: old storms and garbage, mildew and rot, sewage and fuel. This is the basement, he thinks. They are beneath Red Hook, all that life above. Trust leaves him. They could bury him down here, the world none the wiser.

Do we have to do this? he says.

Come on. It’s not far.

They clamber up and over a ledge. Jibe left, right. Ascend level by level, story by story. The climb nearly chokes the breath out of him.

Is this necessary? he says.

Lady T laughs across the darkness.