Half-Resurrection Blues_ A Bone Street Rumba Novel - Daniel Jose Older Page 0,4
collarbone, that makes me want to find her and tell her everything, everything. It’s just a silly snapshot. Her smile is genuine but grudging, like whoever took the picture insisted she do it. Her head’s cocked just a little to the side, and something in her eyes just says, I get it, Carlos. C’mere and talk to me and then let’s make love. Looks like she’s in a park, maybe even this one; a few trees are scattered in the scenery behind her.
“Sister,” Trevor gurgles, and I quickly wipe the hungry glow off my face. “She is . . . caught up in this too . . .” When he says this, his head jerks toward the shimmering emptiness beside us.
“This what, man? What is this?”
“Closing the gap,” Trevor whispers. “The living and the dead . . . don’t have to be so far apart. Like . . .” He takes a deep, death-rattle breath.
I manage to hide my impatience for about three seconds. “Like what?”
“. . . like us. You and me and . . .” Another excruciating pause. “Sasha.”
Sasha.
The hand holding the picture feels like it’s on fire. I raise it up to his face. “Sasha,” I say, failing to disguise the hope in my voice. “She’s like us? She’s in between?”
I almost break into a dance when Trevor nods his head. Suddenly, the park seems very luminous and beautiful at this hour. The night birds are singing, and somewhere, a few blocks away, Park Slope rocks to the New Year’s revelry of two thousand wealthy white kids.
“Please,” Trevor is saying when I return from my reverie. “Find Sasha. Keep her safe . . .” Done. No problem. How else can I help you today, sir? “From the Council.”
“Uh . . .” I say, trying to slow my thoughts. “City Council?” Did you know it’s possible to really irritate a dying person? Even an already mostly dead dying person. I don’t recommend it though. Trevor looks like he might use the last of his life force to make a grab for my cane-blade and cut some sense into me. “Right, right,” I say quickly. “The Council of the Dead.” He nods. “New York City chapter.” My bosses. Surely he must know this. But whatever Trevor does or doesn’t know quickly becomes a nonissue. He gurgles again, flinches, and then relaxes as death completes its finishing touches.
At least he won’t have far to travel.
* * *
After gently placing Trevor’s body into the entrada, I wander aimlessly around the park and work my way through the whole pack of Malagueñas and all of my rum. There’s too many thoughts in my head right now. If I venture out into the city, it’ll mean instant input overload. The living and the dead don’t have to be so far apart, Trevor had said. Why are folks always so cryptic right before they croak?
Like us.
There’s an us.
All I’ve ever known of the afterlife has been the rigid bureaucracy of the Council, and at first that had been relief from the cold disregard of the living. And then I just made friends with being the lone intermediary between the two, but now . . . When the Council’s icy fingers slide the photo of Sasha’s wry smile and sleepy eyes across the table, I will nod my head like I always do. Then I will find her. I will honor the dying wish of her brother, whom I murdered, and protect her from myself.
And then I will ask her out.
CHAPTER THREE
Downtown Brooklyn in the middle of the day. No room for ghosts, too many damn living people clogging up all the inroads and walkabouts. There’s rowdy teenagers, little old ladies, cops, businesspeople. At the feet of the skyscrapers, old men beg for spare change and young dudes in baggy pants pass out party flyers. Other cats are hocking their goods, everything from Bibles to porn to wooden giraffes to children’s books.
I stand perfectly still and let the whole teeming masterpiece spin around me. I’m not sure why I’m here. The Council sent me. Sometimes they fuck up, and I’m pretty sure this is one of those times. Go downtown. Fine. They set me up in an apartment; they keep me doing what I do. I’ll go downtown, then. And I’ll pick a spot and be the frozen center of a messy human galaxy for an hour or two. Maybe some dead folks will show up. I don’t care.