Blue Belle

I felt Belle behind me. 'Wait outside,' I told her. I didn't know what was coming, but it wasn't for her to hear. 

'It's all right, Prof,' I said to my brother, squeezing his arm.

His voice went sad. Shamed. 'No, it ain't all right. I lost control, Burke. I put Max's name out. I told this freak the Silent One was my brother. I ran the whole rap. Told him the widow-making wind would tear down his house if he messed with me. I figured if he knew I was hooked up with Max . . .'

'It's the truth. And he's not the only one.'

The Prof's face was deep-down sad. 'You know what he did? He smiled, man. He said he wanted Max. In a match. Said he made me walk, he could make Max talk. The freak said he had word out for months that he wanted to meet Max - that Max was dog-yellow.

'I went dumb. It wasn't no act. It was the devil talking to me, standing right there. He said he's been looking for Max's dojo. When he finds it, he's going to take it for himself.

'And then he asked me where it was. Smiling at me. Saying since Max was my brother and all, I had to know.

'I told him I didn't. I know when a man is lying, he says. Looks at me. Right through me.

'The Spanish guy says something. Mortay flicks his wrist at the Spanish guy's face like he's brushing away a fly. Blood jumps out on the Spanish guy's face.

'Then the freak says to me he sees I don't know where Max's dojo is. So he wants me to give him a message.

'I say okay - tell me the message. He takes this fucking machete from someplace. Hands it to me. Test the blade, he says. Big smile on his face. I touch the edge - it goes right into my hand, draws blood.

'Sharp enough? he asks me. For what? I say.

'I'm going to fix your legs, he says.

'I try and stall him. Put the blade down, take off my coat. Like I'm getting ready to duel with him. I pick up the blade, swing it in both hands. Like I'm testing it? I check the door where they brought me in. Spanish guy standing there, holding the gun. No place to go.

'I was scared, Burke. But shamed too. I knew I put Max's name out. Broke the rules. I'm a man. I never cried when they broke me up in the joint. I have a name too.'

'Your name is gold, Prof.'

The little man wasn't listening; tears on his face.

'I pulled it together. I called his name: Come on, pussy! He came at me. I hit the floor, flipped onto my back, flashing the blade up at him with both hands-hard. Going to cut his balls off.'

The Prof's arm trembled in my hand.

'He floated right over me. Musta been six feet off the ground. He comes again. I step to him, blade going side to side, razor-circle. No way in for him. He comes inside the blade, chops me on the wrist. The blade goes flying.

'Fun's over, nigger,' he says.

The Prof's eyes closed.

'I grab for his eyes. White mist comes. I hear a crack - I know it's my leg. I go down.'

His eyes opened.

'When I come around, I'm in the back of the station wagon. Mortay - he's sitting like Max sits. Against the back door, facing me. Taking you to the hospital, he said. Put you in a nice private room - everything's on me. Tell Max I did this. Says his name real slow. Two pieces. Like More-Tay. Get it right, he said. Give him my message.'

The Prof bit into his lip, reaching inside for what he needed. 'You're the only one I called,' he said.

'I know.'

'I fucked up. Fucked up bad.'

'You did the job, brother. This Mortay . . . he's got to be locked into the van somehow.'

'But Max . . . ?'

'He knew about Max before he ever grabbed you, Prof. That's his own scene. You gave him nothing he didn't already have.'

'Burke . . . I never saw nothing move so fast in all my life.'

I patted his arm, feeling the little man's fear vibrate through to me.

'I need you on this one, brother,' I told him.

'I won't be running no races for a while,' he said, looking at his legs.

'It's your brain I need. Knife-fighters are a dime a dozen.'

The ghost of the Prof's old smile showed. 'If you got a plan, I'm your man.'

'They still have the death-matches in the basement under Sin City?'

'They move them around, what I heard.'

'Who'll know?'

The Prof thought a minute. 'Got to be Lupe, brother. That dude's a battle-freak. Cockfighting, pit bulls, rope- dancing . . . it's a good bet he'll be on the set.'

'Where's he hang?'

A bigger smile this time. 'Your favorite place, Ace. Every weeknight, he's at the end grandstand at Yonkers.'

'Which end?'

'Way past the finish line . . . where it looks like bleachers?'

'Yeah, I know it.'

'Every night. He sets up matches. Takes a piece. The little man's eyes moved into stronger focus. Working again. 'Light me a smoke.'

I fired one for him, held it to his lips. He took a deep drag.

'Lupe's about fifty. Greasy 'do, wears it in an old-style D.A. Pachuco cross on his hand. Short, fat dude. Bad teeth. Got him?'

'Yeah.'

The Prof looked up at me, eyes clear. 'All the faggot broke was my legs, Burke.'

'I know.'

'No rhyme this time. This is the true word: he'll be sorry.'

'For breaking your legs?'

'For not killing me when he had the chance,' the little man promised. Back to himself.

I heard loud voices in the corridor. Pushed open the door a crack. A big black nurse was trying to push her way past Belle and not having any luck.

'It's okay,' I told Belle, holding open the door.

The nurse came in, pushing a cart with a metal tray on it. 'Time for your medicine,' she told the Prof, a West Indian tang to her voice.

The little man winked at her.

'You better hope that ain't no dope,' he said, pointing his chin at the hypo on her tray.

'And why is that?' she said, a smile creeping onto her broad face.

'Dope makes me sexy, Mama. I couldn't trust myself around a fine cup of Jamaican coffee like you.'

'Never mind with a smart mouth, mahn,' she snapped, still smiling, loading the syringe.

The Prof looked at me and Belle. 'Look here, fools, can't you see me and this lady want to be alone?'

I waved goodbye. Belle bent over and kissed him.

He was already deep into his rap with the nurse by the time we got the door closed.

56

Belle rested her hand lightly on my arm as we waited for the elevator, not saying a word. She stayed quiet until we got in the car.

'What happened to him?'