You gonna play that bone, Lydell? Socrates asked the carpenter.
Yeah, chimed Brad Godine. His face was like an African mask. The bones around his eyes were big and protruding, making the eyes seem like glass orbs in twin caves. His nose was broad and broken in at least three places. The triangle of his face was long and sharp. All in all Brad was the visage of a minor demon. Children loved him, which was lucky because, by his count, he was the father of fifteen by almost as many mothers.
Hold on, Lydell said. I'm lookin'.
But maybe a good wallet have some credit cards in it, Young T postulated. Smart man gots to have a credit card. That's the way of the future.
An' what you gonna do with another man's credit card? Socrates Fortlow, the deadliest man in sight, asked.
Sell it down at Blackbird's bar. You know since Craig Hatter took over they give you fifty bucks for a credit card down there, Willie Ryan said. He was a smallish man with rounded features. His hair was short cropped and dark except for his mustache, which had light red highlights. Women loved his perfectly sculpted lips.
What would you do wit' that fifty dollars, Willie? Socrates asked his park friend.
Quietly Lydell put down a three/four domino against one side of a three/three tile which had branched out along a tributary from the main stalk of the game.
Hah! Young T cried slapping down his bone. Twenty points!
The men went silent momentarily to check out the math on Tito's claim.
What you axed me, Socco? Willie Ryan asked.
What would you do with the fifty dollars you got from that credit card? Socrates gestured toward the bench where the phantom wallet had been lost.
Shit, man. I'd get me some'a that good whiskey an' then I'd be down at Linda Harris's place. You know she let up on some leg if you buy her dinner an' fill her glass.
So you gonna mess up some man's credit and put him all out with his business so that you could have a hangover and a dose of the clap? Socrates was smiling but Willie still cowered under his gaze.
You gonna play, Willie? Young T asked, still smug over his twenty-point coup.
Yeah, Lydell added. Maybe if you pointed out that the man dropped his billfold he might give you sumpin' for that. Maybe if you did the right thing everything'd be better.
Well, Young T said. Maybe if you went after him and picked his wallet up. If you did that an' handed it to'im. But if you just said, Hey, you dropped sumpin,' he'd just give you the nod an' be on his way. You got to touch a man you wanna get touched. Uh-huh.
Lydell frowned without responding. Willie played a three/two tile, making the board score twenty-two.
Brad Godine lost interest in the conversation for a moment as he studied the seven dominoes that he'd lined down the center of his large hand. Brad had big hands and black/brown skin except where his face bones protruded. Along these ridges Brad's skin was a lighter, almost reddish, brown.
Socrates was looking at Brad's hand. It was big and powerful but nothing compared to the
rock breakers
that Socrates had.
What would you do if you found out that somebody sold your wallet to Hatter? Socrates asked Willie.
If I'd find the motherfucker, Young T interrupted. I'd make him wish that he'da left it alone.
Man, how the fuck you gonna do that? Brad asked.
I got me somethin' right here in my pocket for big-assed ugly niggers think they can weight lift you to death, Young T replied. He slapped his windbreaker pocket and sneered.
Oh yeah? The dominoes folded into Brad's big fist.
Yeah.
'Cause you know I'm half ready to whip yo' ass an' then plug it up wit' whatever it is you think you got in that pocket.
Hey, man, Lydell said. Cool it. There ain't nuthin' t'fight about here.
Socrates wondered for a second, maybe even less, at the look on Lydell's face. He wasn't scared or even concerned, it was more like he was heartbroken. Heartbroken over two fools.
Kill each other if you want, Socrates said. But you mess up the bones and you will answer to me.
Whatever weapons Young T and Brad had, they weren't brave enough to use them against Socrates.
Brad carelessly played a two/six, bumping the table score up to twenty-eight.
Young T took a sealed half-pint of Jack Daniel's and a short stack of five plastic cups from the pocket that supposedly held a weapon. He poured everyone a shot and passed them around. Then he put the bottle back in his pocket just in case the police happened by.
Brad laughed when he got his shot. Young T nodded, agreeing that they were both fools.
But if you did have a gun, Socrates began. You'd shoot'im?
Damn straight, Young T said.
Brad and Willie agreed.
So then you think it's wrong to take a man's wallet if he drop it.
It's wrong if you get caught, Little Willie Ryan chirped.
Everyone, even Socrates and Lydell, laughed.
Shit, Little Willie continued. You an' me would be best friends, until you find out I been doin' it wit' yo' ole lady.
Socrates played a six/one, bringing the score back down to twenty-three. When you can't score the best thing to do is to limit the potential of the bones.
And when I find out about it you dead, Socrates said in a voice so clear that the men stopped and looked at each other like a room full of strangers who just heard a loud sound from outside.
Willie half rose from the table, looking quickly over his shoulder for a clear avenue of retreat.
Socrates stared at the little man. The look was in no way benign.
Lydell had forgotten it was his turn. His face was a study in grief.
Hey, Socco, Wille said through a nervous laugh. Hey, man, I was just talkin'. Talkin' you know.
But if I come in my house an' see you stickin' it to my woman then you dead. Shit. If Young T right here pull me to the side an' say that he heard it from Brad who got it straight from Lydell who was told by his wife's girlfriendjust if that I'd prob'ly cut yo' throat right here. Don't give a fuck what the police say.
A drop of sweat went down the right side of Willie's nose and into the cleft of his perfect lips.
Now tell me somethin', Willie.
What, Socco, what?
When I come in on you with my butcherin' knife an' I knock you to the floor. When I let my knee down your chest wit' my full weight an' you feel your breast bone crack open. When I put that knife to your throat an' you feel it tearin' through your flesh and the blood goin' all down your chest. What would you do then?
Say what, man? Willie managed to keep his shaking down to a fidget.
If you could go back an' fix it. If you could go back an' when that woman smiled at you you just smiled back an' walked away. What if you could go back before I ripped your flesh open like that? What would you do then? That's what I'm askin' you, Willie.
You cain't go back, man, Lydell said. That shit is over. Nuthin' you could do.
Brad Godine sat back and shook his head. We gonna play dominoes or what?
It ain't ovah till it's ovah, man, Socrates said. He was looking at Willie but talking to Lydell.
He knew what he was saying, he was sure of his words, more sure,maybe,than he had ever been. But still Socrates was confused. It was as if he had just come alive when Willie started joking about getting away with his little crimes against his best friends and brothers. He could feel his heart beating and his breath coming in and out. But he wasn't breathing hard. He felt the breeze over his bald head and an ache on the inner side of his right knee.