Half the Blood of Brooklyn

– I could have swore you told me never to threaten you again. I didn’t think actually shooting you would be such a big fucking deal.

Hurley shakes his head.

– Shut the fook up, Joe.

And his boot puts me out.

– This is getting a little old, isn’t it, Joe?

– Don’t know what you mean by that, Terry.

– Us sitting around the table. You with your back to the wall. Me and Lydia spelling out how things are. You finding a way to live with that and get a little of what you want from the situation. How many times we been through this?

– Put it that way, a few.

– More than a few, Joe. Many more than a few. And let me tell you, I am getting, man, I don’t know, weary of the dynamic.

Lydia stops staring at her hands resting on the tabletop and looks at him.

– Weary of the dynamic, Terry? Come on. Can we cut through the crap?

Terry rubs his forehead.

– Yeah, yeah. I’m just trying to create a little context for the discussion. I just want us all to understand that we’ve been this way before and maybe we won’t be able to sort things quite the same as we have in the past. Things change, you know, and it may be that there’s a sea change happening here that won’t allow us to deal with this situation in the same manner as we would have in the past.

– I said, Cut through the crap, Terry.

– I know what you said, Lydia.

– Well then?

He starts to raise a finger, drops it.

– OK. OK. The direct approach. That’s really your style anyway, isn’t it, Joe?

I’m on the floor in the corner of the kitchen, Hurley seated on a stool next to me. Not that he needs to keep an eye on me. Not that I’m gonna do anything. Not that I can do anything.

I touch the welt Hurley left on my forehead. I think I can feel the pattern of his boot tread impressed in torn skin.

– Sure. The direct approach.

I take my hand from my forehead.

– You sent me to Brooklyn and I got all fucked up and caught in the middle of some crazed holy war, and I killed a bunch of people and chopped a Rebbe into pieces so they’d know not to fuck with us. And if you didn’t want it to turn out that way you should have sent someone else.

Terry clears his throat.

– Well, yeah, man, that’s all, I don’t know, good as far as it goes. Lydia covered that part for me already. Except, you know, the chopping into pieces stuff. But I can see that. I can see how that will be effective. But, you know, having done all that, and having, and this was impressive, having saved Lydia, you, well, man, you shot her.

I look at her.

– She got in my way.

Terry folds his arms.

– Thing is, Joe, it’s not the first time you’ve shot a member of the Society council. And, sure there were extenuating circumstances the last time, but it’s not the kind of thing we can let roll by. And then there’s this other thing Lydia mentioned.

He looks at her.

She looks at me.

– Where is she, Joe?

I count heartbeats, get to twenty before Lydia gets tired of waiting.

– What did you do with your friend, Joe?

Terry has his elbows on the table, he leans his forehead into his hands.

– Did you infect her, man? Did you do that, Joe? Did you consciously and willfully go into the uninfected community and infect someone with the Vyrus?

I count fifteen this time.

Get tired of counting.

– I didn’t infect her.

Lydia and Terry look at each other.

Terry rotates the little gold hoop in his earlobe.

– Tell me you didn’t try, man. Just, please, man, tell me you didn’t try.

I count one heartbeat.

– I did try.

– Ah, fuck.

Lydia stands.

– You killed her. You. You tried to infect her and you screwed up and you fucking killed an innocent woman, you stupid little. Joe. You. Damnit. Damnit.

Terry takes off his glasses, rubs his eyes, slips them back on.

– Did you do it? Is that how it happened?

I don’t count anything this time. But I don’t say anything either.

Lydia comes around the table and makes for me.

– What are you? What are you? We’re trying to change things. We’re trying to change and you. You.

Hurley is in front of her.

She stops. Looks at the floor. Walks back to the table and sits.

Terry watches her. Waves Hurley to the side. He taps the tabletop.

– This is a big deal, man. So, you know, I need you to tell me, Joe, is that what happened?

I think about what happened. I think about the Count’s blood in Evie. Instead of mine. I try to think of a way of saying it out loud. But I don’t have to. Because what happened is so very simple.

– I tried to infect her. And it didn’t work.

He takes off his glasses again and covers his eyes.

– Ah, fuck.

Lydia walks to the door. Stops with her hand on the knob.

– The sun.

And walks out.

Terry takes his hands from his eyes and looks at Hurley.

– Hurley?

Hurley stretches his neck.

– Whativer you say i’tis, Terry, so i’tis.

– Not this time, man, you got to make the call for yourself.

Hurley looks at me, shrugs.

– Sun i’tis.

Terry nods.

– Yeah. The sun. Unanimous.

Hurley rises.

– Ya want I should lock him away till mornin’?

– No. That’s cool. Leave us alone for a bit. We’ve got stuff to kick around.

– Sure.

He gets up and tips his hat at me.

– Too bad ya fooked up like dat, son. Fer a woman an’ all. Still, nuttin’ personal.

And he’s out.