?Somethin' else, huh,? Lavant asked.
?You people ever get caught??
?Sometimes. Especially when we hit some rich neighborhood. But all we do is walk away. Maybe a night in jail for one or two but you know this is two hundred people here. Nobody owns Click's.? The tone of Lavant's voice changed and Socrates could tell that he was getting excited about his politics again. ?The police can't stop a good time and they know it. Look at it, man. Every color and creed. One day all of America will get here.?
?If nobody owns it how does it happen?? Socrates wanted to know. ?I mean who sets up where you meet? Where does the money go??
?There's a board like ?? just then Lavant gestured at a skinny white woman who was kissing a heavyset man.
?Hey, Alice!? Lavant cried. ?Save some'a that for me, baby.? He laughed and turned back to Socrates. ?We used t'be all political and had meetings about the world and how we was gonna change it. You know what it's like. Bunch'a men and women talkin' so hard that they sweat, thinkin' so hard that they get nosebleed.?
Socrates felt the Jack Daniel's then. His smile turned into a chuckle and the music entered his bones.
?That's right,? Lavant continued. ?All we did was talk and grunt. One day we was all gonna live together an' have a dozen kids between us. The children would be an army that we'd lead into war. Next mont' we was all gonna go to Cuba and work for the revolution amongst the Afro-Cubanos down there.?
Socrates had enough talk for right then. He wandered off for another whiskey and a few words with Venus. He didn't dance but stood near a mob of men and women shaking to the music.
Socrates nodded to people here and there but he didn't enter into any conversations. Lavant was talking to everybody and Venus was busy with her bottles and paper cups. So Socrates wandered the perimeter of the first floor, locating boarded-up windows and doors.
Once he ran into Shy, who was coming out of the shadows with a young white man. They were both smiling broadly.
?Hi, Socrates.? The yellow lips wrapped themselves around his name.
?Tell me sumpin',? Socrates requested.
?What??
?Do they like rent this place or what??
Her smile was anything but shy.
?We know a lotta construction workers and supply people and just plain old folks in the neighborhoods. So when one'a them sees that a place is empty we check it out and make our plans. Sometimes we up in a nice area and somebody let us use their home.?
?But this here is trespassin'?? Socrates asked.
?Only if we get caught.? Shy puckered up her bright lips and kissed the air between her and Socrates.
For all his experience the ex-convict knew little about women. He had lived among men for most of his adult years. He nodded and backed away from her like a barefoot traveler who had come upon a snake.
?I'll prove it,? someone said from behind a walled-off corner.
Socrates peered around the edge and saw a young black woman and a white man standing about three feet apart and staring hard into each other's eyes. She wore a black leather micromini with a tight-fitting elastic halter top. He held a large hunting knife in his left hand. Her eyes seemed to be pleading for this proof and so Socrates held back to see what would happen.
The white man, who was dark haired and half bald, raised his right hand and slashed the wrist. He dropped the knife holding the bleeding hand high. A look of deep satisfaction and grief worked its way into the young woman's features. She took a step forward and touched his bloody fingers. For long seconds she gazed into his unseen face.
Socrates was breathing hard. He'd never witnessed anything like this, not even in prison where suicide was commonplace.
The woman's mouth opened but no words came out. She pulled off the halter. If there wasn't so much blood being let Socrates might have been impressed by her nakedness. She used the halter as a bandage, wrapping it tightly around the wound. She gazed deeply into the white man's face with a need deeper than any love Socrates had known.
