Dirty South - v4 (29 page)

“Wait.”

“Come on, Nick,” JoJo said. “Let’s get this kid safe.”

Tavarius was rubbing his wrists. He refused to look me in the face.

“I’m sorry,” I said. “I know about Dio.”

He shook his head and walked away.

JoJo winked at me and followed.

I HEADED STRAIGHT for the Ninth Ward, driving along Claiborne under the interstate, past the old Victorians boarded up and left rotting, their third-story windows only feet from concrete and steel and speeding cars. I passed little community groceries that sold beer from iced trash cans and offered health care through a backroom doctor. Kids on bicycles circled me at street corners. Lazy-eyed crackheads tried to sell me fruit that had been cut and locked into Ziploc bags, and soft-faced women with protruding bellies wandered shoeless out on Elysian Fields. Under the nearby oaks, the ground had been worn as soft as talcum powder in the yards of the rotting antebellum homes.

I crossed over the channel on a short bridge. Cheap little billboards advertised discount cigarettes and beer, a free AIDS hot line. Barges hugged the edge of the docks and mammoth warehouses sat in rusting humps.

I took a turn onto Desire and wound through the little red, blue, and yellow shotguns. Ninth Ward Records sat behind its wrought-iron fence topped with decorative fleur-de-lis in a big squat concrete building of black and gold. Teddy had his electric-blue Bentley parked by the main glass door.

I walked inside and headed straight back to his office.

He was rearranging his CDs when I walked in. Must have been thousands of them in little piles all over the carpet. He had on a black suit with a red shirt and fedora. I noticed he hadn’t shaved in a while and his eyes looked rheumy.

“We need to talk.”

He nodded, moving like he was a hundred back to his big white sofa. He took off his jacket and stretched out his huge arms across its back.

I stood and crossed my arms over my shirt.

I looked down at my boots.

He was silent.

“ALIAS was conned,” I said. “And so were you.”

He moved forward, a big bear finding his place, and rubbed his hands together. “What happened?”

“Dio wasn’t real,” I said. “One of Trey’s buddies just acted it out. He’d stolen this guy’s rhymes when he was in Angola.”

“What the fuck?” Teddy asked, suddenly awake. “Man, what are you talking about, Dio wasn’t real?”

“The real Dio was a guy named Calvin Jacobs. He was killed in prison.”

Teddy shook his head. “I knew that boy. That boy made my company. I was with him when he got jacked by those men at the club.”

“You knew Christian Chase,” I said. “Trey Brill’s buddy? The real Dio’s sister is Dahlia, man. She got in with Brill ’cause she knew the truth. It was her idea to work the con on ALIAS. ALIAS wasn’t lying, man. She roped him in with Trey’s blessing.”

“Slow down,” Teddy said, standing now and pacing. “This don’t make no goddamn sense. Trey Brill set all this up. Did all this to me? Why? He don’t need money. Why he taken me out? And Malcolm. Jesus.”

Teddy started to cry and I made an awkward move for him, patting him a couple times on his back. “Trey got Malcolm killed,” he said, sobbing. “Didn’t he? Malcolm knew about Dio. Malcolm knew.”

“Only thing I can figure.”

“Lord, Lord. He killed my brother.” Teddy ran to his desk and I watched him. Manic and angry. Three hundred pounds of crying grief. Wringing his hands, face crunched tight in sorrow.

“You made this all happen, Nick,” Teddy said. “You got everybody to come to Jesus. Thank you, Nick. Thank you, Nick. Thank you, Nick. Malcolm knew you’d do right.”

He hugged me awkwardly again. “Brill is dead,” Teddy said.

“It’s okay,” I said. “The cops are looking for him. Dahlia turned on Trey and Christian.”

“She what?” Teddy asked.

“They messed up her mind,” I said. “Her soul is gone. They used her up, man.”

“Jesus. Jesus,” Teddy said. “Malcolm said you’d set it straight. I didn’t believe him. That day when we come to you, I told him he’s bein’ foolish. But that boy knew you’d set it straight. He always look up to you. Even when he was a kid.”

I smiled. I patted Teddy on the back. “Come on, let’s go.”

He fell to his knees. He dragged all the papers off his desk and toppled hundreds of CDs. He tried to stand, bounding like a trapped elephant, scattering plastic everywhere.

“Malcolm,” he screamed. “Malcolm. Lord God. Help me.”

He found his feet and gained his composure, wiping his face with the tail of his red silk shirt. He mopped his face, exposing his massive hairless stomach.

I watched him as he reached into the drawer of his desk and pulled out a handgun.

“Jesus, no,” I said. “The police will get his ass.”

“Trey couldn’t get enough. He had to bring in the kid.”

I looked at him and tilted my head.

Before I could speak, Teddy leveled the gun at me and fired off three quick rounds, dropping me onto his white carpet. I had to bite into my arm to stop the heat and pain.

“We wouldn’t never found out about Trey and Dahlia wasn’t for you,” Teddy said. “We appreciate that.”

Hard shoes kicked into me and rolled me on my back with the toe.

I stared up into the green eyes of Christian Chase.

YOU CAN’T SLEEP.
It’s 4
A.M
.
and the old man snorin’ in Nick’s bed, his friend Bronco watching a black-and-white movie from the Old West. Bronco doesn’t care much for the man in the mask but he sure like that Indian that ride with him. Every time some shit goes down, Bronco give you a nudge in the ribs and say wake up and listen.

The warehouse seem like a big cave to you, some kind of place where you keep an airplane. Big fans work up the tin ceiling and the smooth wood on the floor feels soft on your bare feet. But you ain’t got no comfort. Neither does the dog. She knows something wrong. The way she just hang by the door, making some whimperin’ sounds.

The old man shootin’ up out of bed in his nightshirt, silver hair on his chest. “Nick?”

“It ain’t him,” you say. “He ain’t back.”

“What time is it?”

“Four.”

He sighs real tight. “Let’s go.”

“Where?” you ask. “I called Teddy fifty times.”

“Show me,” JoJo said, snaking his belt through his britches and buttonin’ up his shirt.

Bronco watches him, stands, cuts off the TV, and straps the shoulders onto his country-ass overalls. His eyes are real hard as he reaches for his cigarettes and some shotgun he bought that he call “Sweet Sixteen.”

“Smells,” JoJo said.

You nod. Things are wrong. Feel wrong in your head.

You stand and walk over to the sink, pourin’ cold water into your hands and watching the sink fill up while you wash your face. As you bend into the water, you watch the Superman symbol Dio touched sink into the clear water like an anchor.

“I know,” you say. You wipe your hands on a dry towel, feelin’ funny and dry in the mind ’cause of the time. Your mind awake; body want to sleep. “Let’s roll.”

Don’t take no time when you down at Ninth Ward. You remember the first time Teddy drove you here and you thinkin’ that the roof was really made out of gold. But it just look like painted tin tonight in the shine of them crime lights. Bugs gatherin’ all around them.

You bang on the window and one of Teddy’s cousins, this boy y’all call Poochie, come to the door. He smile and wave when he see you. Poochie ain’t but like two years older than you and he look like he playin’ dress-up with his cornrows and skinny head in that blue uniform.

“Nigga, you even got a gun,” you say, givin’ him the pound.

The old man whack you in the back of the head. “Where’s Teddy?” JoJo ask.

Ole Poochie shake his head and say he don’t know. But the way he won’t meet you in the eye mean he lyin’.

“Poochie, don’t pull my dick, you seen him down here with my boy Nick.”

Poochie nod.

“So where he at?”

“They left, man. Don’t go ridin’ me about this shit.”

“Somethin’ happen?”

JoJo shake his head. Bronco already headin’ down the hall.

“Hey,” Poochie yell. “Hey.”

But Bronco and JoJo already lookin’ inside of rooms and offices and wanderin’ round the studio where you supposed to cut a record tomorrow.

“JoJo!” Bronco yells. The old man go and you follow.

Poochie try to grab your arm but you already inside Teddy’s office and see Bronco down on one knee, just like that Indian scout in the movie, sniffin’ and trailin’ animals and shit. Only this time, don’t take much.

A big ole pool of red blood mixed in that high, white carpet.

“What up, man?” you yell at Poochie. You get in his face. “What up?”

“They gone, man,” he say. “That’s all.”

“Where?”

Poochie shake his head again. “I don’t know.”

“Where’s Teddy?”

Then you see the gold hook, the one laden down with keys to the two Bentleys and three Escalades, and that big Scarab sport boat. The big ole fish key chain ain’t on the hook.

“Where’s Nick?”

“I seen him come in,” Poochie say. “But only Teddy and some dude left.”

“Who?”

“I don’t know,” he said. “Some punk nigga.”

“Was he branded?” you ask.

“I don’t know.”

“What he look like?”

“He had eyes like him,” he said, pointing to Bronco.

JoJo look at you and y’all know.

“How long they been gone?”

“They was yellin’ in here and shit for a while and then they left ’bout an hour ago.”

“I know where they at,” you say. “But he gone.”

JoJo look at you.

“He got his boat out in the lake. Man, we ain’t ever gonna find him. That boat run.”

“We need a faster boat, kid,” he says. “What you got hidden with all your toys?”

“Na,” you say. You reach into your wallet and find a platinum card, raised lettering. “But I got someone who can hook us up.”

The C-phone already caught in your hand callin’ on Cash.

I PRESSED MY PALM to the wet bloody mess below my rib cage. My fingers trembled and my breath slowed. All I could smell was new car in the trunk of Teddy’s Bentley and something ripe and sour. My head bounced against a tire iron every time he slowed, my feet crinkling on some shopping bags where they’d placed me. I don’t know if they thought I was dead, or cared. I’d passed out right until I’d been carried out. Everything seemed dulled. My head throbbed from where I fell and hit the edge of Teddy’s desk. I was in shock. My mind unclear.

I kept my palm to the wound, trying to stop the blood. Apply pressure, that’s what you did. Right? I tried to breathe. I wanted to kick at the side of the car. I wanted to try and rip out of the trunk. But I was shut inside, didn’t have the energy, and knew any sound would just draw them to shoot me again.

I breathed. And swallowed.

I felt as if someone had carved into my flesh with a hot knife and kept twisting the blade inside me.
Jesus. Jesus.

I closed my eyes and prayed.

Teddy.
My mind wasn’t right. Teddy.

We hit a bump and a solid, fleshy mass lolled against me. In the dim glow of the taillights, flickering on and off in a red strobe, I turned my head and saw Trey Brill staring at me with glassy blue eyes. His face gray and covered in dried blood.

“Goddamn,” I yelled. I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t move in the trunk. I felt as if my body had been wired together and shut inside a coffin.

I kicked hard, denting in the side of the car. I gritted my teeth.

The car slowed.

I heard muffled voices.

I closed my eyes, slowed my breathing even more. I turned my head away from Trey and the smell of his body releasing all of its fluids.

Outside, hands beat on the trunk.

“Calm down,” Christian said.

“It’ll be okay,” Teddy said.

“Cool.”

“Okay, Malcolm,” Teddy said.

“Man, chill.”

“Malcolm?”

“I’m not fuckin’ Malcolm,” Christian yelled. “Now open the goddamn trunk and let’s get this shit done.”

I kept my eyes shut, felt Teddy’s meaty hands lift under me like a spatula and cradle me into his huge arms. I let all my muscles go slack. No breathing. I held my breath.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. Lord God Jesus. Jesus my savior.”

“Teddy, shut the fuck up,” Christian said.

Their feet crunched on gravel.

Feet shifted upon wooden planks and I heard the slap of water against pilings. I opened my eyelids just a crack. Still dark. The glow of security lights over dozens of boats parked in narrow little slips.

His feet stopped and he dropped me onto the deck right on my hurt side. I bit so hard into my lip that I could taste blood, an electric current of pain lighting up my body. But I didn’t scream.

In my mind, I saw clear blue water leaking from my eyes and a black shroud covering my face in a tight mask. I took in air slow.

With a thud, Trey’s body dropped onto the deck beside me like a freshly caught fish onto ice. I smelled his odor and heard a ticking sound. When I opened my eyes, I saw nothing but his large Rolex’s second hand sweeping across the black face. His wrists turning purple and light gray.

Teddy cried, almost as if he’d become a child again. Sniffling, wailing.

An engine started and puttered.

Christian used my back as a springboard to pop back up to the slip and untie the lines. Seconds later, we moved out.

In the dim blue-black light of the false dawn, I prayed some more.

I thought of my body resting as I bled. I thought about my energy storing up. I’d just lie still for a while. Try and keep conscious. I bit my hurt lip to feel more pain. Keep alert.