Half the Blood of Brooklyn

I point at him.

– Fuck, just shoot him.

She looks at me, and Hurley makes his move, and she jerks the trigger and rakes him with bullets and sidesteps and he hits the floor bleeding from a dozen holes.

– Fook, ah fook. Not again.

Sela grabs my hand and hauls me up and I wrap an arm around her and she gets me in a hip carry and we make for the door.

Hurley writhes.

– Gah, shite. Mither. Ah, mither, does it got ta hurt so?

I drag my feet.

– You should kill him.

Sela looks out the door into the hall, looks back at Hurley.

– He’ll die soon enough.

– No he won’t.

But we’re in the hall, passing the ripped-open bodies of three dead Society partisans, and Terry is stepping out of the room where we slaughtered the Docks Boss.

– Stop, Sela.

Sela doesn’t stop.

– Get out of the way, Terry.

I try to pull free of her.

– Shoot him.

He holds up one hand, the other is hidden by the edge of the doorway.

– Let’s just all, you know, cool it here before this goes too far.

Sela doesn’t stop.

– Back off.

I point.

– His hand, what’s he got in that hand? Shoot him!

He starts to bring the other hand out.

– It’s all cool.

Sela shakes her head.

– Don’t bring the hand out.

I wrap my fingers around her gun hand and squeeze and she mashes the trigger and bullets rip the hall to splinters as we fight over the gun and Terry dives back into the room and the door slams shut.

Sela pulls the gun away.

– Hell. Hell. Hell.

She drops me and ejects the empty clip and takes a full one from her pocket and snaps it home and opens up on the door and Terry comes through the wall next to the door in a cloud of plaster and lathe and Sela turns toward him, but it’s too late as he brings up the fire axe Hurley used on the Boss and I’m still on the floor so I shove one nail in his inner thigh and rip open the artery and I put the other one in his foot and the axe swings wide and hits the wall and Terry goes down with empty hands and Sela has me again and makes for the door as Terry pulls his foot free of the floor and tries to stop the jet of blood from his leg and she takes me out and down the steps and throws me in the waiting white-on-white ’78 Thunderbird, ignoring my screams.

– Killhimkillhimkillhimkillhim!

– Joseph, you look like you could use something to drink.

Amanda scoots across the huge rear bench seat.

– Of course, you also look like you could use a bath.

She opens the compartment built into the middle of the seat back and takes out a glass and pours bourbon into it from a full bottle of Wild Turkey and puts it into my hand and wraps my fingers around it.

I try to bring it to my lips and the glass slips from my fingers and spills over my lap.

Amanda picks it up.

– Lightweight.

She refills the glass and holds it to my mouth and I drink and the alcohol burns the cuts in my lips and tastes good.

Sela opens the driver’s door and climbs back into the car.

– No one coming after us.

– Good job, baby.

Amanda takes the empty glass from my lips.

– More?

But she’s already put the glass aside.

– Not what you really need, is it?

She eases closer, her thigh against mine.

– No, not what you need at all.

She reaches a hand into the front seat and Sela places a butterfly knife in her palm.

I shove myself into the corner of the seat.

Amanda puts a hand on my wounded knee.

– No, it’s OK, Joe. It’s really OK.

She flips the knife and twirls it and the blade and the handles flutter and she snaps the handles tight under her fingers and shows me the blade.

– Sela taught me that. Cool, huh?

She looks at Sela.

– Is there time?

– There’s time.

Amanda lifts a black denim-wrapped leg and swings it over my lap and settles there.

– That OK? Hurt anywhere?

I pull my face back, away from her and her smell.

She twirls the knife and stabs it into the white leather upholstery I’ve already smeared filth over. She grabs the bottom of her sweater and pulls it off and tosses it aside and draws the knife free of the seat back.

She adjusts the strap of her black tank top and looks down at the knife.

– It’s not that weird, Joe. It isn’t. You did something for me once. I just want to do something for you. I just want. Well. Just let me do this for you. Please.

She puts the blade to the palm of her hand and slices across it and the blood comes and she puts it in front of my face.

– Please, Joe. I’ll beg if you want. Please.

But she doesn’t have to beg, I’m already drinking.

And when I start to bite and try to widen the wound and she gets scared and pulls free and tumbles off my lap, it’s only because Sela is in the car that I don’t break her in half and drink the rest.

Amanda plays with the ivory cameo hanging from the black velvet choker around her neck, the bandage Sela applied wrapped tight over her hand.

– She must have a thing for you. Lydia must have a thing for you.

I look forward and catch Sela’s eyes in the rearview and she looks back out the windshield, starts the T-bird and pulls out of Shinbone onto Great Jones.

Amanda reaches out and squeezes Sela’s shoulder.

– Laugh if you want to, baby, but dyke or no dyke, she just must have a thing for Joe. I mean, come on, this is what, like the second time she’s bailed him out? And that’s not