Gholam extends his mind ahead. In ten, twenty years, what will he remember? What will she? Will it be a story of him as a savior, a betrayer, or both? Whose story will stick longer? Will it depend on what happens when the calendar turns and the prophecy fails... or proves true? Or are the myths that survive built much deeper?
He needs at least one certainty. In the wreckage he’s created, he doubts he can get on a plane. Unless, of course, he obtains forgiveness. Only tomorrow will tell if he has a chance.
“Inshallah,” he whispers.
Black and Borax
by Tom McElravey
Haddon Hill
Sean swallowed the hard fact that being the doorman at the Nitecap wasn’t the most lucrative position he could get in Oakland. So he supplemented his income as a small-time dealer of low-grade narcotics — never inside the bar, but the gray area outside left him overlooked although not invisible.
Thoughts of bottom-shelf tequila shots soothed the endless supply of his cutthroat bump-and-grind, although this gave him access to the local clientele, most of whom ended up drunk and interested in increasing their high. He was the man.
The jazz clarinetist inside improvised Davis’s “So What,” as Sean swayed in his seat and watched the stage lights blinking above his head. Funk Town Arts Street.
“Everything you’ve got, motherfucker! You did that, baby...” Danny’s laughter beat the musicians back into their two-dimensional heaven while Sean picked himself off the sidewalk.
“Piece of shit! What’d you do that for?”
“Cuz you an easy target.”
“I didn’t hear you walk up.”
“You lucky I didn’t run up. What were you doin’? Dreamin’ of that girl you don’t have or somethin’?”
“More like... remembering yours from last night.” They gave each other that TV dinner grin — half plastic and no meat.
Sean changed the subject: “So, supwitchu?”
“What you think, man? Same shit, same ol’ shit.” Danny dragged his vowels like he dragged his spliffs. He paused a moment, lighter in hand, and cupped the end of the stoge. He had just finished rolling another one and it bounced between his lips. He handed Sean the last of his spliff. “Lemme know when you ready to get your ass whooped. I’ll be back,” Danny said, stepping inside.
Sean inhaled, shifting his attention toward the mural across the road, back into his daydream. The spiff burned his fingers with the second drag, and he tossed it toward the gutter.
The music slipped through the doorway like greasy fingers with painted nails, red and chipped from the wrestling match between tunes. A chill went down Sean’s back as applause drowned his daydream with the first lines of “St. Thomas.” He rocked the barstool, shoulders supporting his lean body against the stone wall, head cocked against the window.
The clink-clank-bling of bangles snapped Sean back to attention. He sat up and gave a quick half-smile to Hershe. She was neighborhood royalty, commanding an impressive air of confidence as her footsteps popped sharply on the cement. Her Diana Ross do bounced lightly, contrasting with the heavy jewelry hanging from her wrist and neck. The studs on her leather jacket glistened as she passed in and out of the shadows.
“Honey! It’s been too long!”
It hadn’t been that long, maybe a week, but Sean reveled in Hershe’s affection. He stood to greet her, blushing. She swayed her heavy bag with practiced instability in her matching Gucci heels, leaning down to receive his kiss.
“It has been too long! I used to see you twice a week at least! Where’ve you been? You’ll never believe what happened around here the other day. Tommy, you know Tommy, came in blind drunk—”
“That’s wild, honey!” Hershe interrupted. “As to where I’ve been, I’ve been through it. Good thing I can always count on a kiss from my favorite doorman.”
“Well, I’m always here.”
“I wouldn’t want it any other way. I’ma go talk to our favorite proprietor, don’t go far now.”
Another kiss, and she disappeared into the dark bar.
He listened to the eruption of friendly greetings as she walked toward Ms. Shirley, who took her arm as they disappeared to the back office. The Thursday shift was usually slow and full of regulars and tonight was no different. Sean looked forward to shooting a couple games of pool with Danny and talking business.
Sean stayed within his means — he never sold larger than dime bags, half-grams, and Norcos. It was his principle to keep his head down and he’d yet to have trouble with the local hoods. Danny was his connect, one and only. They never passed goods close to the area, but they did talk inventory over a game of pool and friendly gambling.
“Fuck it, I’m off tonight.”
“Man, you ain’ never on when I’m around. Bring it back.”
The colorful balls rumbled down the chamber, and a resentful crack sounded as Sean forced the eight into the center of the triangle. Danny cocked his cue for the break.
“Hershe lookin’ fly as fuck.”
“You think you’re real clever, huh? Rerack that shit.”
“Just thinking out loud. I’ma make you play it though, ball touched a rail.”
“You hustlin’ ass cracker. Fine, I’ll play and I’ll still win. Double or nothing.”
Hershe and Ms. Shirley emerged from the office. Both had the looks of actresses, insincere and pleased with themselves. Ms. Shirley took her seat where the bar bent. Hershe catwalked to the pool table.
“Gentleman playing fair?”
“You know Sean can’t shoot, ’specially when you around. Poor kid’s distractable.”
“He’s got taste is all. How’re you faring, honey?”
“’Bout to come up twenty bucks.” Danny let out an overzealous “Ha!” earning a scowl from Sean.
“Just another night.”
“Another night when you buyin’ my drinks! Where you been, girl? I h’ain’t seen you in a minute.”
“I been layin’ low, you know, focusing on myself. It’s not just beauty here, a girl’s got to stay sharp to get ahead in this world. Can’t be spendin’ all my time in bars like you men.”
A sleek black ’87 Cadillac pulled up to the front door and honked twice.
“That’s my ride, gentlemen, see you two later. You don’t go takin’ all the baby’s money. Be safe now.”
Sean stared at her ass while she strutted to the car, her strong thighs shifting with hip-shaking grace.
“That woman really is something. What does she do, anyhow?” Sean asked. “I known her for years and never got a straight answer.”
“Man, would you ask me what I did? Mind your own damn business,” Danny replied with a knowing smile. “A beer says I run you out.”
He did as he said. Sean swore as his opponent sunk the eight ball for the third time. Now twenty in the hole, Sean reluctantly returned to his position at the front door.
Danny beamed. “I’ll take that beer anytime.”
Back outside, Sean took a pinch of tobacco from his pouch and stuffed it into a rolling paper, shaping the cigarette into a small cone. The smoke floated into his eyes, blinding him. As he blinked through the tears, the pain began to recede. Sean held his eyes closed to expedite the process.
“You sleeping on the job?” came a stern, melodious voice from his right. “What I pay you for anyhow?”
Ms. Shirley had an interesting sense of humor, though her employees were rarely subjected to or included in the comedy. Sean was caught off-guard and froze, looking like he had a pocket full of wallets. He smiled, attempting to interpret whether this was one of those rare occasions. She smiled back, confirming his doubts and setting him at ease.