Hannah came up with his drink. She gave me a hard look and then made to move away.
“Hannah,” I said before she could go.
“Yeah?”
“You know Lips, right?”
“I don’t know him,” she said, slightly shy. “But I like his music all right.”
“Thank ye,” my old friend said.
I touched Hannah’s elbow. “I’ll still see you later, right?”
She smiled, forgiving me for Grace.
When Hannah left I asked Lips, “You gettin’ too old for that?”
“Easy,” he said with a wisdom I hope never to attain, “I ain’t even int’rested in po’k chops. Food don’t even mean nuthin’ to me no more.”
After that he got up to play a long sad number called “Alabama Midnight.” He blew one sad song after another for the rest of a long set. I listened to as much as I could take and then wandered out to the torch.
I STOOD AT THE END of the field looking down over the dark trees and shrubs that gathered on the edges of L.A.
I used to live on the edge. I used to move in darkness.
I was excited about Hannah coming out and taking me to her late-night haunt. She liked my jokes and my promise of wealth. I wondered why I had ever left such a simple and honest life.
Behind me people were leaving the club. I heard them laughing and joking, kissing and slamming car doors. A young couple were making love in the backseat of an old Buick. Her sighs pierced the night like the cries of a dying bird.
I wondered if there was a place for me that could be like this and still allow me to hear children’s laughter in the morning.
The crunch of gravel seemed closer than other footsteps leading toward the lot.
Hannah, I thought, and then a heavy weight came down on the back of my head. The moon broke into several sections and my mind tried to go sideways, looking for a way to keep conscious.
CHAPTER 26
WAKE UP,” my mother said. It was Sunday morning and she wanted me to get ready for church. She shook my shoulder and I knew that she was smiling even though my eyes were closed. She had grits with redeye gravy on the table—I could smell it.
“Wake up!” She slapped me hard across the face and I cried out because she was so unfair to hit me in my sleep.
Rupert was standing there with Li’l Joe.
“He’s comin’ to, Mr. Beam,” Rupert said to someone behind him.
Out from between the two ugly wrestlers came a middle-sized white man. He had a large pitted nose and eyes that only laughed at pain.
“Who are you?” he asked me.
I felt a slight swoon and decided to go with it. I let my head fall forward and Rupert slapped me again. The blow jerked my head up. My eyes opened for a moment but then I played back into the swoon.
Rupert hit me again—this time a little harder.
“Don’t knock him out, Rupe,” Beam said. “I need him to talk. Hold him for me.”
Rupert tried to grab me by the hair but it was too short. So then he pushed his hands against my forehead. I let my eyes loll open but didn’t focus them.
“Who are you?” Beam asked. He was wearing a yellow suit. The brightness of the fabric hurt my eyes. “Who are you?”
“Arlen,” I said. “Arlen Coleman.” I let my head fall again. I almost slipped down to the floor but Rupert grabbed me and set me straight.
At least I knew that I wasn’t tied up. I was free. Free to die any way I pleased.
“Why were you asking about Roman and Holland Gasteau in my club, Mr. Coleman?”
I let my eyes settle on Beam for just one moment. I wasn’t looking at him though. I wanted to see where I was.
It was a toolshed. Hoes, shovels, and spades lay up against the walls. A bare bulb hung down on a cord from the ceiling. My nostrils opened up to take in the scents of earth and fertilizer.
There was a better than even chance that I’d die in that hut.
“Roman told me he had a job for me.”
“What kind of job?”
“He didn’t say. Just that it might get a li’l rough. But I told him I like it like that.”
“Rough how?” Beam asked.
