fuckin’ thief. She’s not a whore selling her ass on the corner with one of my tools shoved up her pussy, and she’s not a gotdamn nigger, either. She’s my woman and you’re lucky, just like your friend’s bar name, that you’re still standin’ here without help from the paramedics. The old me would have killed you.”
“You… you fucked up!” The guy shook his bloodied finger at him. “I know people!”
“Bring ’em! I know people, too, shithead. I’m a member of the Georgia Vulcan Riders Association. You don’t want to fuck with us, but the best of my crew is me, myself and I, and the three of us are 100% guaranteed to fuck you and anyone else who has the brass balls to come up here talkin’ shit, all the way up! Get the fuck outta here, man. Get your stupid ass off my property!” Aries turned and stormed away.
“You nigger lovin’ fucker! Fuck you!” the guy roared.
Aries ignored him and noticed Lauren standing outside when he reached for the door handle to get back in the reception area. Her once beautiful smile had faded like the ink in old letters. Her face said it all. She’d heard the whole damn thing. He made his way past her and back around the counter. Grabbing his sandwich, he unwrapped it and took a huge bite, then chased it with a large gulp of iced tea. He heard the motorcycle pulling away, his adrenaline still higher than a kite. Lauren cleared her throat, readjusted her purse along her shoulder and stood there.
“I’m sorry you had to hear that, baby.” He took another swallow of his drink.
“I was about to call the police. And if he tried something, I was also about to shoot him in his damn face in case he got the better of you.” She dug around in her feminine pink and green damask print purse and pulled out a Smith & Wesson 38 revolver. That tickled him.
“You told me you weren’t a hunter. I see that wasn’t true. You hunt people.” He took another big bite of his sandwich, and swallowed a grin, too.
“I’m not a hunter. I just refuse to be prey. A Black woman shootin’ a White man is cause for concern in Georgia, regardless of how justified it is, but one must do what one must do. Now, isn’t that right?” She admired the weapon in her hand.
“You don’t have to worry about me, baby. I can handle myself, but I ’preciate you all the same. I got this. I got us.” He tossed the sandwich down and lit a cigarette.
“I went to a gun range to learn to shoot when I got married.” She kept her beautiful eyes on that gun, regarding it now as if it were a dear old friend. “I didn’t want to, but my daddy and Nehemiah said I should. I’d never shot nothing in my whole life, Aries. Not even bottles lined up in a backyard. My husband kept a gun in the house. Once he passed away, I got my own gun, one to my liking. Sometimes it’s just not safe in the world.” She slowly turned and looked at him, anger and bitter, simmering pain showing in her eyes. “Especially for a Black person just trying to make a living, just walking down the street or driving home from work.
“Sometimes, she runs into trouble doing nothin’ but minding her own damn business. Sometimes, she’s just trying to take her boyfriend some lunch on an ordinary afternoon. It’s not just your shop. It’s you – that’s the ‘Ring of Fire.’ Black people can’t always show our ring of fire, though. They call that resisting arrest, acting uppity or being disrespectful. So, we have to show our disapproval in other ways. I don’t live my life afraid anymore, Aries, but to say I don’t feel the burn from another person’s blaze would be a lie. But like I say deep down in my soul, ‘You don’t go high when they go low. When they go low, you turn into Jericho…’”
“So it’s out of order? I guess we shouldn’t go then.” Cool air escaped the man’s lips as he leaned forward to look down at the rushing waters from the bridge, his cigarette dangling between his long, tattooed fingers and his lustrous black hair blowing in the wind.
If I were a photographer, I’d take a picture of him right now. Classic black and white. I’d call it, ‘Love Spell.’
“I’ll have