us, guarded the entrance like it was a pirate’s cave.
“Be cool,” I reminded John.
“Like ice.”
Sherm held his hands out to the two guys and grinned.
“What up, Markus? Yo, Kelvin, how they hanging?”
They shrugged.
“What up, Sherm? Who your friends? They five-oh?”
Sherm laughed. “No dog, this is Tommy and John, my boys from out in Hanover. They’re cool. They got some business with the man and shit. He knows we’re coming. I hit him on the cell earlier.”
“Yeah,” Kelvin nodded. “He said you was coming by. Didn’t think you’d have company though. You usually flying solo.”
“Not tonight. These guys are the ones buying. I’m just making the introductions and shit.”
“Hi.” John offered his hand, and was answered with noncommittal stares. Sherm lit up a cigarette. “So— is Wallace around?”
“He in the house watching TV with his baby girl,” Markus responded. “I’ll let him know you’re here.”
He sidled off and into the house. Kelvin motioned for us to follow him into the alley. It was dark between the buildings, and it took a moment for my eyes to adjust. I lit up a cigarette and the darkness seemed to surround the flame, engulfing it, trying to extinguish the glow. The alley smelled like stale piss and rotten garbage, and there was something sticky beneath my feet, clutching at my sneakers like glue. I didn’t want to imagine what it was, and I tried not to look down. As we walked, John tried to make small talk with Kelvin, but Kelvin just ignored him. A door slammed and then the light at the end of the alley was blocked as two more figures entered: Markus, and a guy that I assumed must be Wallace. He was huge; at least six-three and probably two hundred and fifty pounds, all of it hard, chiseled muscle. His shaved head gleamed in the darkness and a gold hoop earring hung from each ear. He carried a cardboard box under one bulging arm. Silently, he appraised us.
“You check them?” he asked Kelvin, pointing to John and me.
“Not yet.”
“Well what the fuck are you doing, nigga? Don’t just stand there! Pat them down!”
“It’s cool, Wallace. They with Sherm. He vouched for them and shit. Sherm wouldn’t flip on us.”
“I don’t give a damn if they with the Pope. Check their shit now!”
Rough hands patted us down.
“Hey—” John started to protest but a warning glance from Sherm shut him up. Markus stepped back. “They’re clean.”
“You five-oh?” Wallace asked me, inches from my face.
“No, I’m not a cop. I— I work in the foundry, out in Hanover. I make molds. Well, I did anyway.”
He grinned, then chuckled, and began to laugh, loud and hearty. After a moment, Markus and Kelvin laughed along with him, joined finally by Sherm, then John, who decided to go with the flow. Personally, I didn’t get the joke.
Wallace wiped his eyes. “The foundry, huh? Man, that shit will kill a nigga. I couldn’t work a job like that. Know what I’m saying?”
“I wouldn’t either,” I said, “but I gotta feed my wife and kid.”
His hard face softened.
“Word. I know what you mean, dog. I’m in the same exact situation. You got to take care of your kids. They all that’s important. What’s your name, man?”
“Tommy.”
“A’ight, Tommy. You cool, I can tell. Irish, like your boy Sherm here, right?”
I nodded.
He turned to Markus and Kelvin. “Irish is the white niggaz. They were slaves too. The white man called them indentured servants, but it was the same shit. If you’d have stayed in school, you’d know that. Ya’ll want to talk about a revolution? The motherfucking Irish was off the hook. Still are, with that Republican Army and shit.”
I said nothing. Wallace relaxed.
“Sherm says you’re looking to buy some handguns.”
I shuffled my feet, hesitating. Now that it came down to it, I didn’t want to say it out loud. It seemed like another act of finality.
“Yeah, I need two. They’re for—”
“No”— he held up a hand—“don’t tell me what they’re for, dog! The less I know, the better. That way I can’t flip on you, and it don’t come back to me.”
I nodded.
“Those are nice shoes,” John said to Markus. “I need a pair like that. Where’d you get them?”
“Ganked them from a white boy down at the mall,” Markus replied. “He looked a lot like you. Hell, coulda’ been your brother.”
“Oh . . . I don’t have a brother.”
“Shut up, John . . .” Sherm warned.
Wallace opened the shoe box. Two pistols lay inside.
“These here are Smith & Wesson .357s. You can load a .38 special or .357 magnum round in them. Depending on what you’re using them for, I’d go with the magnum round. Shoot a guy in the back of the head with that, and the motherfucker’s spine will come out his nose and shit. Ain’t no safety on these; they’re revolvers, so don’t shoot your dick off if you’re sagging. They’ve got an exposed hammer, so you can thumb it back for a real easy shot. Two hundred. Cash up front. No checks or credit cards accepted.”
“What about ammunition?” I asked.
He grinned. “I look like Walmart to you, dog? Any store like that will have ammo. Ain’t you got hunting stores out there in Hanover— all them crazy redneck motherfuckers running around shooting at deer and rabbits and shit?”
“Squeal like a pig, boy,” Kelvin drawled.
“Yeah, we do. We’ve got all kinds of places to buy ammo. I’m just a little low on cash right now, is all.”
“Come on, Wallace,” Sherm urged, “hook us up, man. All the business I’ve given you, why you want to do us like that? Shit, I’ve practically paid for your last year’s rent!”
He grinned, considered it, then shrugged. “A’ight, but only because you’re a good customer, Sherm, and because I like your boy Tommy here. Those are six-shooters. They’re fully loaded. You all can keep what’s in ’em. You need more than that, though, it’ll cost you extra.”
“No, twelve rounds should be all right,” I said. “Hopefully, we won’t have to fire them at all.”
“These are just insurance,” Sherm explained.
“Whatever, dog. Like I said, I don’t want to know. Less I know the better. Just make damn sure you understand the drill. You didn’t get them from me and I never heard of any of you. The serial numbers have been filed down, and I wiped the prints off before I put them in the box. They all yours now.”
I handed him the money and he handed me the box. For one crazy instant, I wanted to reach out and snatch the money back from him, tell him that I’d changed my mind and it was all just a terrible mistake. But I didn’t. Instead, I accepted the box. It was heavier than I’d thought it would be.
Wallace counted the money, folded it, and stuffed the wad into his pocket.
“Pleasure doing business with you.”
“A’ight, Wallace, we out.” Sherm rapped fists with him and turned to leave. “I’ll catch you next week, yo.”
“Later, Holmes.”
He turned to me, presented his fist, and I rapped it.
“You’re okay, Tommy. For real. It was cool doing business with you. Come on back again sometime and we’ll chill. Maybe play some chess and shit. You play chess?”
“Yeah— a little. Learned it when I spent a weekend in County for unpaid speeding tickets.”
“There ya go. Jailhouse chess— the same thing I play. We cool then. Later, dog.”
“Thanks.”
I trailed along behind Sherm. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw John stop. Saw him turn to the three of
