Doom Fox (21 page)

He scowls, a pajamaed image of Kong. He growls, 'Reeb, daybreak is on the turn. What the F you doing down here with the phone?'

'Massa, Ise done made a call. And Ise grown, 'member Massa?' she bluffs with a hollow laugh. 'Ise couldn't sleep Massa, worrying 'bout Sarah Godmother. She's still hanging on, praise de good Lawd' Reba continues as she rises from Zenobia's horsehair couch.

'Girl, don't lay no more pickaninny rap on me' he says as he descends the stairway with catlike quickness to intercept her as she moves toward the kitchen. 'Reeb, you feel like you a slave with me?' he harshly whispers as he seizes her shoulders and spins her to face him.

'Shit no, Massa! ... 'cept when you turn gorilla on me, like now. Look, Massa, Ise gwine stick a knee in your balls if you don't unass your paws from my body. Massa Suh' she says as he lets her wrench herself free.

'Slick topsy, I'm gonna call Godmother and give her some more love since you just had to wake up the dear old soul. In the a.m.!'

Her mouth flaps open for a pounding instant as she pauses, watches him plop on the couch, dial the phone. As she retreats into the kitchen she hears him ask someone about Sarah, then exclaim with a sob, 'What!' Man, did you say Mother Sarah passed away at the dinner table early last night?'

A moment later Joe moves to stand statue still in the kitchen door. He glares at weeping Reba, seated at the kitchen table.

'Reeb, you heard. Too bad about Mother Sarah' Joe says softly as he goes to seat himself across from Reba at the table. He takes her doll hands in his, whispers shakily, 'Why'd you lie Reeb? Girl, I love ya! You can tell me the truth about anything and I'll be cool and mellow.'

She says, 'You're sure Joe?' as she dabs a napkin at her tear glistened eyes.

'Sure as Ike is humping Mamie in D.C.' he says as he flashes his jumbo perfect teeth in a cunning little smile. 'Try me, Reeb!'

She withdraws her hands from his. The consummate liar against the wall, she forces herself to make unblinking eye contact as she sensuously finger-strokes the backs of his hands. 'Baby, my call was to Reverend Felix, collect. I was so worried about him with nincompoop Ruta in Chicago. I felt guilty because I let you pressure me from making the trip. Ruta is just a girl and he's really just a boy, very insecure. I'm his right arm, maybe even his mama figure. And I swear Joe, that's where it's at between us. I lied about the call 'cause you know why, jealous baby. Believe me Sugar Joe?'

He lies, 'Uh huh' as he takes her hands, presses them against his cheek. 'Reeb, I got a deal for you that's gonna solve everything the mellow way. Okay?'

She nods.

'Awright, since you ain't sweet on the nigger, cut him and his church loose. If you ...'

To interrupt him she jerks her hands free, clasps them rigidly on the table top.

'Lemme finish the deal Reeb! If you cut him loose, I'm gonna promise, on sweet Mama's grave, to join a new church with you and the kids. Now try to be cool Reeb 'cause I'm gonna shock you silly. Reeb, I ain't guaranteeing, but I'll even try like a sonuvabitch to get converted if the Holy Ghost is for real and ain't just preacher con. We got a deal, Reeb?'

She snickers, 'You a church member, a convert?'

'If your rotten daddy could get religion, anybody can' he says with a smirk.

She says, 'Sounds great! But no deal Joe unless you join my church. I won't leave my church, my friends. I can't cut loose the kids from their Sunday School friends and teachers.'

She rises, goes to the sink to draw a glass of water, sips, stares out the open window overlooking the back yard and guest house. She sees bathrobed Baptiste and age enfeebled Susie. The terrier squats near Elder Joe's cherished bed of tulips, sensuous golden dancers in the blue footlights of summer moon.

To change the subject Reba says, 'The tulips are so lovely ...'

Joe comes to embrace her waist from behind. 'Reeb, we ain't got no deal 'cause you sweet on the nigger and been a long time. Ain't that right?'

She stiffens, 'I'm sweet on everybody Joe ... even on you. And believe me, that's tough to be when you don't trust me ... maybe we ought to call it quits ...'

He roughly spins her to face him, digs his fingernails into her shoulders. 'He's got you Mo Joe'd like Melvin! But ain't no quitting, Reeb, 'til the graveyard cuts us loose. Please don't make me waste that shit colored sissy!'

She fouls him, low. 'Now, now, be cool and mellow Massa. You're six feet nine with ten inches of ... uh ...' She lets him twist, gape jawed, for a moment in the wind of suspense before she fouls him lower. 'Of uncircumcised battering ram, to put it kindly. Massa Suh.' She continues, 'Hey, you 'fessing up you so scared of a sissy stealing your woman you ready to go to the joint?'

He violently flings her away. The back of her head bangs against a dish towel rack on the wall. She snatches a steel potato masher from a wall rack, hurls it. It thuds against his chest. She backs away from his maniacal face as he moves forward with black bludgeon fists clenched and quivering at his sides.

'I'm gonna chastise your chippie ass for that crack!' he roars as he pursues her to the center of the kitchen.

Baptiste peers through the open kitchen window, darts away.

'C'mon, punch me out gorilla, and blow me and the kids out of your life forever. Do me that favor! Please!' she screams as she halts flight.

Her connoisseur curves twang defiance through the orchid gauze of her nightgown. His number thirteens brake. He stares at her slack-jawed in the thunderous silence. She moves in, assaults him with a barrage of tiny fists.

He seizes her wrists, 'Reeb, you got the best hand. You win girl, like usual' he croaks as he releases her.

She tiptoes her face into his. 'I'm gonna cut you loose if you ever again accuse me of Felix or even just threaten to harm me. Understand, gorilla!?'

He nods, thinks to himself, Awright high powered Mama slick, I ain't saying nothing, ain't doing nothing to you and your sweetie 'til I catch you dead bang wrong. He turns away with garage door shoulders slumped in shamed defeat to face Junior, cringed in the doorway with a startled face. He scoops him up into his arms. Violent knocking on the back door whirls him.

He and Reba stare at each other, hear Baptiste shout, 'Open the door!'

Joe carries Junior to the door, unlocks it, glares at Baptiste wielding a shotgun.

'You all right daughter dear?' Baptiste asks as he looks around Joe at Reba.

'Everything is cool, Baptiste' she says with an annoyed face. Baptiste's ubiquitous Bible peeps from his robe pocket.

Joe lets Junior down to the linoleum. 'No it ain't, Grey Ass. I'm hot!' Joe explodes as he grabs the shotgun, smashes it into two useless pieces against the door frame. 'Dingbat, what you doing at my door with your shotgun?' Joe says as he seizes the lapels of Baptiste's robe, yanks him close. 'Nigger, your Bible is drove you crazy.'

'I ... uh ... heard Daughter scream ... uh, thought a prowler had broken in' Baptiste gasps.

Joe shoves him away, says 'I oughta beat your ass for lying. You know ain't no Nigger in the ghetto with the balls to break into Joe Allen's pad.'

He slams the door in Baptiste's frightened face and bolts it.

'Massa, I'm gonna quit your black funky ass if you don't straighten up. Soon!' Reba warns as Joe takes Junior's hand, leads him from the kitchen to the doorway of his bedroom.

Joe squats, looks into the half scale mint image of his own face for a long moment as he embraces Junior's waist. Joe sees raw ambivalence flicker in Junior's narrowed eyes, detects tension in his strong lanky body. Remorse twinges Joe as he realizes that Junior must have witnessed most of his fracas with Reba. Joe glances at a light punching bag suspended from the ceiling in a corner of the room.

'C'mon Junie' Joe says as he straightens from his squatting position and goes to hit the bag with rhythmic violence.

Junior comes to his side, watches with a solemn face.

'G'wan, take your turn Junie, so's I can check out your timing' Joe says as he steps back from the bouncing bag and picks off a pair of lightweight training gloves hanging from the top of the dresser mirror.

Junior hesitantly slips out of his pajama coat, extends his hands for Joe to lace on the gloves. Joe sits on the arm of a red leather chair and watches Junior bang the bag briefly with half-hearted fists. Junior steps back from the bag, extends his fists toward Joe to be ungloved.

'How was I, Papa?' Junior inquires in a bored voice, with a lackadaisical slump in his body.

'Rotten, Junie!' Joe needles. 'Maybe you'll do better with me as your target. G'wan, try to K.O. me with a good combination.'

Joe raises his palms defensively, smiles as he sees Junior's body twang enthusiasm, sees his eyes glow with odd excitement. 'You really mean it, Papa, and you won't get salty if I nail you good?' Junior chortles and grins as he dances and feints joyfully before Joe, perched on the arm of the red leather chair.

'Sure ain't gonna, Tiger. I ain't shucking you. Lay your best shot on me' Joe tells him as he tucks his chin behind the cover of an elevated shoulder ridge.

Junior steps in to unleash a ferocious two fisted attack to Joe's bobbing head with amazing force and speed for a fledgling gladiator. For several minutes the leather splats viciously against Joe's palms as he picks off the bombs, slips others with deft evasions of his head. Then Joe deliberately lets Junior score hard hooks and crosses to his head and face before he lets himself topple off the chair arm into its seat with his nose dripping claret, his bottom lip ballooning from a whistling right cross.

Joe flops lifelessly in the chair, legs sprawled out awkwardly, feigning a K.O. as he peeps through apparently closed eyes at Junior still dancing excitedly before him. Then Joe sees concern replace the savage joy on Junior's face as he leans in, desperately teethes loose a glove lace, yanks off the glove beneath his arm pit. He removes the other glove with his free hand, dashes into the bathroom across the hall. Joe hears the flood of tap water. He sees Junior sprint back to his side with a dripping towel. Joe closes his eyes tightly, feels Junior press the cold towel against his forehead.

'Papa! Papa!' Junior exclaims in alarm when Joe doesn't respond.

Then Joe feebly stirs with a groan, spastically blinks open his eyes, stares up blankly into Junior's distressed face.

'Damn, Sugar Ray Junie! That was one helluva sweet combination you took me out with' Joe mumbles as he pulls himself to his feet, gingerly strokes and moves his jaw hinge.

Junior embraces Joe's waist to steady him on his faked rubberized legs. 'Papa, you awright and sure you ain't salty?' he says softly as he slips into his pajama coat.

'Naw baby, I told you to lay it on me' Joe gasps. 'Say man, I got to go to bed. Would you do Papa a light favor?' Joe whispers.

'Yeah Papa' Junior says as he tiptoes to put his arms around Joe's neck.

'Mellow, Junie. Then go to bed and get some solid doss. Okay? Now, gimme some goodnight sugar.' Joe half squats with pursed lips.

Junior nods, kisses Joe's lips then gnaws his own bottom lip. 'Papa, you wouldn't for real beat up Mama, would you?' Junior asks with desolate maroon eyes locked on Joe's.

'Naw man. I was just shucking and jiving to keep Mama from beating my butt.'

They laugh, kiss again, disengage. Joe palm smacks Junior's pajama seat.

As he turns away for his bed Junior turns back as Joe straightens up. 'Papa, would you do me a light favor?' he asks with piteous eyes.

'Sure baby man, anything.'

'Well please, Papa, don't shuck and jive like you gonna beat up Mama no more. It scares me! Promise?'

'I promise, Junie. You ain't never gonna hear me do that number again with Mama. Son, I love Mama too much to harm her, even if she beats the pee outta me. I mean it!'

Joe solemnly finger crosses his heart.

Junior's face is thoughtful for a moment before he chortles, 'Gee Papa, I'd feel so good if I could punch out mean Grandpa Baptiste. Can I?'

Joe grins. 'No, Junie! Your mama would have a stroke. 'Sides, he's gonna be cool 'cause I told him, last week, I was gonna set his old butt on fire with his own razor strap next time he hit you with it.'

They laugh. 'I love you Junie' Joe says as they slap palms.

Junior says, 'Me you too, Papa' before he turns and leaps into bed.

Joe says, 'Goodnight Son' as he closes the bedroom door. He goes down the hall into his bedroom holding the cold towel against his leaky nose. He gets into bed. He lies listening to radio music. He hears Reba go into the twins' room down the hall for the rest of the night, as usual after a spat. Shortly, the music soothes him into ragged sleep.

At daybreak he awakens to go to the toilet. He starts to slide from bed when the voice of a newsbreak announcer demands his attention. He listens to a report of the grisly 'Blue Pit' story.

13

In Beverly Hills, Melvin emerges from the whirlpooling of water in his black marble bathtub after soaking his bruised body and napping there since his arrival from his spree of murder. He towels off, goes to lie nude on his emperor sized bed with a chaotic mind, but in merciful amnesia for all of his actions after he left the gas station with the can of gasoline. He flips on a table radio, bolts upright in bed, listens with rising panic to a detailed news broadcast of the Central Avenue horror. He bites his fingernails to the quicks as he connects himself in total.

'Oh my God! My watch! With my initials on it!' he screeches aloud as he rolls his pain wracked blubber out of bed.

He shakes uncontrollably as he slips into a gold brocaded robe and house slippers. He snatches his wallet and Tessie's Dodge key off the dresser top as he hastens from the room. He stumbles, nearly crashes down the stairway on his way to the car. His shaking hand fumbles to insert the ignition key for a full minute before he finally manages to speed away for the black ghetto gas station.

'Gas chamber Patek Phillippe! Gas chamber Patek Phillippe!' the engine's roaring whisper seems to taunt inside Melvin's head.