A Visible Darkness - By Jonathon King Page 0,75
my arms. Her hair was wet and cold against my cheek and I could feel her shivering against me.
She kept her head down against my chest and I lost track of time and when she finally moved it was not toward the hammock, but instead she laced her fingers into mine and led me back into the house.
Eddie was crouched in the bushes, obscured by the oak tree where the man in the blue pickup had been, watching the Brown Man do his business.
The rhythm was here. The same runners. The same hangers on. The girl with the tears and the ratty-ass mouth was hanging at the end of the block. But this time Eddie was scared. He had seen three police cars on his way here. One, parked in an alley that Eddie often used, had surprised him as he swung the corner. He had jolted to a stop only twenty feet away. But they still had not seen him, or cared if they did, he thought. Still, he had ditched his cart after that, putting it behind a dumpster, and then moved mostly through yards and along fence lines.
Now it was late. The Brown Man would not stay out much longer and Eddie would be stuck without his bundle. The cramps were getting worse. He couldn’t keep his eyes from watering or the inside of his mouth from going dry. He reached deep into his pocket and felt the hundred-dollar bill there and when the traffic stopped, he stepped out to cross the street.
The Brown Man saw him coming, raised his head when Eddie was halfway across the street and started shaking it back and forth. Eddie came on.
The dealer hissed at him when Eddie stepped into his swale. His runners had not recognized the junk man at first without his cart, but when they did, they stayed away, having been told not to mess with him.
“Get the fuck outta here, man.”
The Brown Man spit out the words and the runners turned their heads at the sound of both the agitation and the strange hint of fear in the dealer’s voice.
“You nothin’ but trouble, junk man. Take your raggedy ass someplace else to get your shit.”
Eddie stopped, confused. He cut his eyes to either side, saw no one who looked like they might be the police and then stared back at the Brown Man. The dealer could not hold his eyes.
Eddie reached into his pocket and held out the hundred-dollar bill, but the action just seemed to agitate the Brown Man more.
“Goddammit, nigger. Put that shit away. I ain’t need your money no more. Find some other chump to do your bidness with. I’m serious now,” he said, and the runners watched as the dealer slid off his stool and stood up.
Eddie saw the man’s hand go to his waistband and watched the gun come out. The Brown Man held it close to his stomach so only he could see it. Eddie had seen lots of guns and had never been scared of them. The hundred-dollar bill was still in his outstretched hand. He had come for what he needed. And Eddie always got what he needed.
“A bundle,” he said, stepping forward and looking into the Brown Man’s face.
“You fuckin’ crazy?” the dealer yelled, this time the fear in his voice scaring his own runners. “You some kinda retard?”
The gun was pointed at Eddie this time, but then the big man’s other hand snapped out and swallowed the weapon and pulled the dealer into his chest.
The two men were locked into a tight, hissing dance, and the runners started to jump to the aid of their boss but froze when they heard the gun’s muffled explosion. When a second shot sounded, the dealer squealed and fell away, holding his curled hand to his hip.
Eddie looked down at him and then at the gun in his own hand and then turned and tossed the piece clattering across the concrete.
The runners did not move. Not a single light came on along the street. Eddie looked up into the faces of the Brown Man’s boys until they backed down and then he turned and limped away, a bloodstain growing at his side.
The feel of her leg moving off mine started me awake. She sat up, and the shift of weight on the mattress was something I had not felt in years. When I opened my eyes I could see the outline of her hip and the curve of her shoulder in