“We know you took the money. All Tyrell gonna want to know now is where it’s at. You tell us, you got a good chance to walk away. You don’t, well, you think you’re hurtin’ now, you got a whole world of hurtin’ comin’ to your ass. Things you can’t imagine, hear?”
“Y-y-yes.”
“Don’t be stutterin’ like that, either. My partner, Short, he pick up on that, he gonna run it right into the ground.”
“It hurts.”
“I bet it do. Short had no call to do you like that. But he did, so there’s nothin’ we can do about it now.” Rogers reached into a cup set between the buckets where Monroe had dropped the last of his codeine pills. “Here you go, eat these. Make you feel better, man.”
Rogers put the pills, one at a time, in Eddie Golden’s open mouth. Eddie chewed them up and swallowed the bits.
“What’s your name?” said Eddie.
“Never mind that.”
“Wanted to thank you, that’s all.”
“Never you mind. Remember what I said. Tell it straight. Be a lot easier on you if you do.”
Rogers got out of the car, reached behind the seat, pulled up on Eddie’s bicep.
“Uh,” said Eddie.
“Yeah,” said Rogers, “I know.”
He got Eddie out of the car, guided him toward the house. He felt him shake beneath his hand.
Eddie heard bass coming from the house. He saw the silhouettes of two figures behind the curtained front window. For a moment he thought he would break away and run. There were dark woods around the house and tiny lights back beyond the woods. It was quiet, except for the rain. The moment passed. He let the tall kid with the gentle eyes lead him to the front door of the house. They went inside.
A light-skinned black man with very green eyes and sharp, angular features sat in a cushioned chair, looking up at Eddie. The scary one with the fucked-up nose was at a round table, dipping his finger into a mound of cocaine and rubbing the coke on his gums. In another open room, a huge black guy and a tiny yellow black sat on a couch, laughing at something on the television. A thin black leaned against the wall, staring at Eddie with flat, dull eyes.
Eddie saw several guns, shotguns and pistols, scattered around the room.
The light-skinned black uncoiled himself and stood from his chair. He was taller than Eddie by a foot. His ears were long and pointed, like those of a goat.
Eddie’s knees weakened. He felt a quiver in his sphincter. He tightened himself and swallowed hard.
“This the one?” said Tyrell incredulously.
“Yeah,” said Monroe.
“Don’t look like much,” said Antony Ray, pushing away from the wall and unfolding his arms. “Hard to believe he took you off, Tyrell.”
“Heard that, cuz,” said Tyrell.
“Name’s Ed Golden,” said Rogers.
“Golden,” said Tyrell. “What kind of name is that?”
“Jewboy,” said Antony Ray. “Ain’t that right?”
Eddie lowered his head. Rogers pulled a chair away from the round table and set it by the fireplace. He looked at Eddie and said, “Sit down.”
Eddie took a seat. He leaned forward, rested his broken wrist on his lap, and winced. He didn’t look anyone in the eye. They were talking, but he couldn’t make out much of what they were saying. The music, someone shouting angrily over a bass line and what sounded like a whistle of rockets, was playing too loud.
Eddie saw the one named Tyrell go to the other room and tell the others to come back with him. They turned off the TV and lowered the music and returned. The six of them stood around him then. He kept his head down. The fire shadows played at their feet.
“Eddie,” said Tyrell. “You don’t mind I call you Eddie, right?”
“No,” said Eddie.
“He don’t mind,” said someone, and a couple of them laughed.
“Look up when we’re talkin’ to you, boy.”
Eddie made himself look at them.
“Good.”
“Damn, Short,” said Linney, “who fucked up your nose?”
“Shut up, Jumbo.”
“For real, man, who fucked up your shit like that?”
“You oughtta go ahead and tell it, Short Man,” said Tyrell. “I’d like to know.”
“Man by the name of — what’s that nigga’s name, Alan?”
“Marcus Clay,” said Rogers. “Owns this record store called Real Right, down on U.”
“You know him, Alan?” said Tyrell.
“My boy Alan,” said Monroe, “he knows his name ’cause he’s datin’ this little girl Neecie Tate. Her father works there.”
“That so?” said Tyrell.
“Just this girl I know, Ty—”
“And this one here,” said Tyrell, gesturing to Eddie. “Didn’t he take me off right in front of that shop?”
“That’s right,” said Monroe.
“Just tryin’ to put all this together. Go ahead, Short.”
“I was talkin’ to this kid hangs out around the way, boy named Anthony Taylor. Had to get kind of rough with him till he told me what I wanted. All the sudden, this Vietnam mothafucker, Clay, comes runnin’ at me, surprises me on the blind side.”
“Look like Vietnam did more than surprise you, man,” said Linney.
“Nigga did a Billy Jack on your ass,” said Bennet.
“Schooled you,” said Linney.
Linney and Bennet laughed and touched hands. Antony Ray smiled.
Monroe quieted Linney and Bennet with a look. “I got your information for you, Tyrell. Taylor talked before I got blindsided. It’s how I got on to this one right here.”
“You did good.”
“Yeah, I know I did. Far as that Clay goes, I ain’t done with him yet. Just gettin’ started.”
“Maybe you ought to leave things alone. We’re runnin’ a quiet business. Don’t need a lot of drama down there.”
“Was Clay who made the noise,” said Monroe. “Shoutin’ out for everyone to hear ’bout how he didn’t want to see our kind in the neighborhood no more. Even had these old niggas livin’ down there joinin’ in. Next thing you know, you gonna have one of those orange-hat squads walkin’ around at night.”
Tyrell touched the hairs on his chin. “That’s not good.”
“Damn right it ain’t no good, Ty,” said Monroe. “Thought Tutt and Murphy was supposed to keep that kind of shit under control.”
“So did I.” He looked down at Eddie. “You enjoying this conversation?”
“No,” said Eddie. “I’m not listening.”
“You haven’t heard a thing we’ve said.”
“I can’t concentrate. My arm is broken. It hurts. I need a doctor—”
“I can see that. But first we need to talk.”
“I’m... I’m sorry.”
“Oh, I know you’re sorry now. Kind of late to be apologizin’ and all that. But you did take my money, right?”
“I didn’t know it was yours.”
“You knew it belonged to somebody, right?”
“I wasn’t thinking. I went to help that boy in the car. I saw the money and—”
“You stole it.”
“Yes, but—”
“But,” said Tyrell.
“Chicken butt,” said Linney. “Watch it strut.”
Bennet laughed. “Damn, Jumbo, you always be talkin’ that grade school shit.”
“Y’all are some dumb-ass bitches,” said Ray, picking a .38 Bulldog up off the table and locking back the hammer. “Y’all gonna talk shit all night? ’Cause I’ll find out where Golden Boy here got the money stashed right quick.”
Ray pointed the gun at Eddie. Eddie made a choking sound.
“Wait up,” said Alan Rogers, raising his hand. “Tyrell, you ain’t even asked him nothin’ yet, for real.”