“Hey, Mattine,” Raymond answered. “How you been?”
“Fine,” she said, looking me up and down. “Where you been?”
“Got me a job,” he answered.
“You?” Mattine guffawed.
“What you-all drinkin’?” she asked me.
“Just some soda,” I said.
“And I’ll take a beer, honey,” Mouse added.
Mattine sucked her tooth, smiled, and then went to fill our orders. Mouse ushered me over to a small round table with two chrome-and-vinyl chairs. A pair of men sitting a few tables away waved at us. The man behind the bar saluted.
“They know you here, huh?” I asked my friend.
“Used to come here wit’ Sweet William,” he said.
I didn’t ask him any more about it.
Every now and then someone would drop by and say a few words but Mouse wasn’t very friendly and not many knew me.
“That was drugs you was talkin’ ’bout in the car, right, Easy?” Mouse asked after his second beer.
“Yeah.”
He waited for a while and then said, “One time half’a that woulda been mines.”
“What you mean?”
“You know what I mean,” he told me. “I woulda said half’a what happens from now on is mines. And I woulda backed that up with my forty-four. No lie.”
I knew the chance I was taking bringing Mouse back into the street. That was his element.
“But you ain’t sayin’ that now, huh?”
“I’m th’ough wit’ it,” he said, disgusted. “Sick of it. All that street shit. I won’t touch it.”
“But you don’t wanna stop me?” I was curious.
“Stop you what?”
“Stop me from givin’ dope to a gangster.”
“Why I care about that?” he asked.
“Because it’s wrong.”
“But it ain’t my wrong, man. It ain’t mine. That’s yo’ wrong an’ yo’ problem.”
“But you still sittin’ here with me,” I said.
“But I ain’t you, Easy. I sit here and you sit over there. That’s all there is to it.”
He might have changed but Mouse would always be different.
“Hey, man,” a crackling voice commanded. He could have been talking to me, so I looked up.
“Yeah?”
“What the fuck you doin’ here, dude?” the lanky, long-armed man said. There was a large man standing behind him; a sweaty fat man who looked to be formed from a pile of wet mud.
“I’m looking for a woman named—”
The man grabbed my collar but just as fast Mouse’s hand was on the man’s wrist.
“We don’t want no problem now, brother,” Mouse said.
The lanky man turned to Mouse. When he focused on Raymond’s face his eyes actually fluttered. The man behind him garbled, “Mr. Alexander.”
“Hey, Puddin’,” Mouse said to the glob of a man. “Ask your friend here to let go on Easy.”
“We didn’t know it was you, Mr. Alexander,” the lanky man said. He pulled his hand from me quickly as if he had gotten a shock.
“You boys don’t have to push on people. No need to do that. What’s your name, man?” Mouse smiled.
“Tony,” the lanky man said in a voice quite a bit higher than the one he used on me.
“Sit down, boys,” Mouse said. “Sit’own an’ we talk out our problem.”
The men got chairs and sat. I gestured to Mattine and she brought the newcomers beer.
“Now what’s your problem wit’ Easy?” Mouse asked.
“We, uh, well,” Puddin’ said. “We heard he was after our friend.”
“What friend?” I asked.
“Hannah Torres,” Tony said.
