?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 girlfriend?just 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
