Young Tito Young, a man in his fifties, wrote down Socrates' score on his yellow legal pad, three vertical lines to start a new batch of twenty-five points. The five men were sitting at a picnic table in South Park playing dominoes for a penny a point. Lydell Samuels was searching his tiles for a good play.
?Man,? Little Willie complained. ?It's a wallet. Don't matter if it cost a lotta money. What matters is if they's any money in it.?
?Yeah,? Young T Young said. ?A man got a good wallet might be too smart to be carryin' a lotta money in it. It's a fool an' his cheap wallet more likely to have a fifty-dollar bill up in there.?
?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
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.?
