'It's a terrible feeling when you can't stand the sound of your own kids. The little things. Coughs in the middle of the night. Little sniffles, throw up, sick business? That's a mother's job to take care of shit like that. The stink they make, diapers, I ain't got time for that domestic shit. That's bitches' work. I ain't got time for that.' As if repeating it would demonstrate the truthfulness of the situation. Touched by his innocence, he owed him the truth. 'So you decide to wait till he got a little older. Show him some shit. My world. Let him see what I do and how I do it. Teach him how to be a man. Then you realize you don't know what to show him. Better off not being around. Put word on the street to take care of you. Keep you safe. We look after our own best we can.'
Night searched Percy's eyes, hungry for any sort of understanding.
'So you wait a little longer. You get to the point where he was about grown. Don't really need you to show him nothin'. Can barely face him knowing you had no hand in who he became. Can only hope he do a'ight. Maybe better than you.
'Where I come from, we have a code. We carry it like that.' Night leaned back and gave Percy some space. He peeled off a handful of twenties, the only thing he knew how to do.
The neighborhood preyed on itself, an ouroboros of poverty. The irony of taking from people with so little eluded Miss Jane to a nearly painful degree. An anguish Percy experienced as he pushed open the window. The first-floor apartments of the Phoenix were better off without windows. To stare at the outside world through bars. They were an 'open for business' sign for the local crackheads opting for an easy score. Most tenants occupied the first level only until they could move to a higher floor. But not too high as the stairwells offered their own dangers.
Miss Jane convinced him to break in. Rumors of the household hoarding money and jewelry, eccentric ghetto millionaires. Such tales bubbled up from time to time, excusing would-be treasure hunters their Robin Hood ethos, though the poor who were targeted by their charitable impulse were usually themselves.
Two windows in the apartment, one with an airconditioning unit in it, though it too was stolen from a first- floor apartment down the street. The bedroom window slid open easily enough. A young girl stirred, disturbed by the rush of traffic sounds from the outside. Percy closed the window behind him. Pausing, he bent over the frame in case the girl fully woke and he needed to make a hasty retreat. He sensed her in the dark, could hear her breathing. Fumbling along her dresser, his large, nimble hands found no jewelry. He ran them along a chalice; inside was a lone ring. He picked up the ring, holding the metal goblet in case it clattered against it. He peered over his shoulder. The sleeping figure didn't move.
Percy leaned over her. Rhianna. The warmth of her brushed against his cheek. He took in a deep breath. Flowers and powder, a gentle scent. Peaceful. The ring grew hot in his hand. He lost the heart to continue going through her things. It was a violation. He ran his finger along her face. Gripped by the panic that always seized him when around her, that sense that he might break her, he scuttled out the window.
'Anything?' Miss Jane demanded.
'No, Momma.' The ring burned in his pocket. A memento.
Miss Jane read his face. The boy was flushed to the point of blushing and refused to meet her eyes. He was lying about something. His pants bulged in front. She smiled.
'Come on. Nothing going on out here. Let me see if I can get you taken care of.'
Burger Chef to Hardees to Burger King to Big Belly; the restaurants which occupied this spot changed with the neighborhood. Ghetto to projects to hood. The evolution of poverty. The names changed but the problems remained the same. Miss Jane leaned heavily against a car.
'What are we waiting for, Momma?'
'Between your father and mine…' She broke off her initial sentence, re-thinking the tack she wished to take with him. 'Pussy makes you stupid. Remember that, boy. You can't be in it for love. There's no love in pussy. Only want.'
The bad words made Percy turn his head.
'You like Superman.'
'I am?'
'Yeah, you know. He all super strong an' all, but he has to go through life all cautious. He can't just relax. He fuck around and break a ho. That's you. Everything you do is so… tentative.'
'Tentative.' He rolled the word around in his mind. 'I like that.'
'Here's my girl now.'
A woman sauntered toward them in an exaggerated gait. Her burnt almond complexion and high cheekbones framed a generous mouth, with lips filled to an exaggerated fullness. Her blonde extensions twisted into braids. Wearing low-cut blue jean shorts and a green halter top, her full breasts too easily visible, Percy was embarrassed for her.
'Girl, how you been?'
'Still in the game,' Miss Jane said.
'You a soldier to the end. Who do we have here?'
'This is my oldest. Percy.'
'He turning out to be quite the man.'
Percy wondered if he ought to open his mouth and let her check his teeth, the way horses did when being appraised.
'Sometimes a momma has to look out for her boy. Teach him to be a man.' Directly in front of him, Miss Jane unbuttoned his shirt and lifted it over her head. She beamed with pride at her baby boy. His premature 'out of shape with middle age spread' of a body not all that different from the baby she bathed in the kitchen sink so long ago. She tugged at his belt, slipping it free from the pant loops. His pants fell to the ground, but his gaze remained fixed on hers. 'He's always been a shy boy.'
'I don't mind the shy ones.' Her friend ran her hand up along the inside of his leg. He was suddenly aware of two things: one, just how close he had been standing to her, and two, that he had a raging hard-on that threatened to poke her eye out if she leaned in any closer. 'I wanted to confirm how deep you were.'
'Momma?'
'Hush, baby. Momma knows what she's doing. You'll be all right.'
She stripped him to his boxers and thermal kneehigh tube socks — it was cold out and he always made a point of dressing properly. Folding his clothes, she set them in a pile next to her. He didn't want to lose his virginity, especially this way. Percy began to cry.
'Look at this motherfucker here.'
'He always had a problem dealing with people,' Miss Jane said.
'He's obviously not ready to handle all of this.' She passed her hand down her body to show off her voluptuous figure. 'Tell you what, though. I'll suck him off real good.'
Her hands encircled the outline of his penis. His eyes fixed on her mouth. Brown lipstick smoldered on lips traced with black liner. A mole dotted her chin on the left. She might as well have drawn a bull'seye on her face. She took him into her mouth and seemed to hold him there for eternity.
CHAPTER SIX
Lott Carey woke from strange dreams every hour. That was when fatigue got to him so much as to allow him to drift off into the fitful thing he called sleep. He dreamt of blood and battles, of swords and death, of love and pain. It was his calling, his destiny, and his gift. He knew he'd never know peace. So he flipped through the motel cable channels as if on this third time through there might be something on worth watching. Better the perils of late-night television than the visions that tormented him whenever he closed his eyes lately. A baleful glare over a reptilian spread of teeth, no more than a glimpse, but the familiar sensation sent terror spreading through his soul like embalming fluid poured into a corpse.
On the outskirts of Speedway, the Speedway Lodge, formerly a Howard Johnson's, cost just over a hundred a week to stay. Just off the Crawfordsville Road thoroughfare that led to the Indianapolis Motor Speedway, the stretch was tourist-friendly year-round; but if there wasn't a race going on, the motel was largely deserted. And worse, it offered few amenities to alleviate boredom. Lott couldn't even distract himself with his cell phone as it had
