The Dying Ground (11 page)

Behind her the three wise men sat at a table near the stage. Potter, Tully, and Soup Can were well into their eighties and entrenched in their roles as elder statesmen. They held court in the dark space seven days a week, offering opinions on every subject under the sun, especially my wrongdoings.

“Quittin’ time.” Paulie handed me the key to the cash register.

“Wassup, man?”

“My feet, soon as I get home.” He reached for his hat stashed under the bar. “People been in here all day ’cause we got air-conditioning. It’s hot as hell out there, and the sun ain’t even up no more. I been pouring all day, trying to keep tempers down, but somebody’ll get they ass kicked ’fore too long.”

“Anything else?”

“Everybody paid up here at the bar. Sandy called in sick, but
Vicki and Pam covering the floor pretty good, band due to go on at nine, and Easter Lilly got both her drinks.” He shook his head. “And just like every other week she won’t touch neither one.”

“It’s her world, man.”

He ducked under the counter and headed for the door. “Oh, Maceo, sorry to hear about your boy. People been talking about it all day.”

“Thanks, Paulie.”

“See ya Monday.”

“See ya.”

Across the room Soup Can waved his empty glass in the air. I motioned for Vicki, a waitress in the bar for over twenty-five years. She was in her fifties but held her own in the short black skirt and white tuxedo vest. Her heels were always a good inch or two taller than any of the younger women’s.

I poured a glass of scotch and slid it across the bar. “This for Soup Can?” She scooped it onto her tray. “You gonna have to drive him tonight, Maceo. This is his sixth drink, and he didn’t eat none of the dinner your aunties sent over. How you anyway, baby?”

“I’m fine. Thanks for the warning.”

“We heard about Felicia.” Vicki had trained Felicia during her short stint as a cocktail waitress. “Any news?”

“Nothing yet.”

“Well, don’t give up.”

“Beertender!”

I responded to that call and the next until the band struck up and the crowd moved away to the dance floor.

The Nickel and Dime wasn’t a family place. The decor was haphazard—dark, worn in most places—but it had the feel of a good house party. The bar had served the neighborhood so long that most of the regulars referred to it as Daddy’s Place, the name his children used among themselves.

As soon as any of us became old enough to work, Daddy Al gave us a task. Everyone started off filling salt and pepper shakers, folding napkins, and wiping off tables and counters. It ended for Phine and Nelia in ownership of the adjacent restaurant and for me as a part-time bartender.

The band was into their second set when I saw Holly stroll in the back door. He looked around to note who was seated where and which exits were open. I motioned him over and placed a bottled water on the counter. Holly rarely touched alcohol. He wasn’t a fan of anything that dulled his senses or reflexes.

“Anybody been in yet?”

I knew he meant anybody that would translate to friend or foe. “Not yet.”

“Give it time. I just hope Smokey don’t end up wit’ too many big guns on his side.”

“You think he coulda did it?”

“Fo’ sure.” He cracked open the water bottle. “Daddy Al here yet?”

“Naw, he should be here by midnight just to check things over.”

“Otis out there damned near butt naked.”

“He got his shirt off again?”

“Shirt off, T-shirt off.” He shivered. “Flesh everywhere.”

“Wassup, Holly?” Holly turned to find Chantal at his elbow.

“Wassup, monster mouth?”

Chantal giggled, a sound I would never pair with her. Holly was the only one I knew who took the bark and bite out of her. Far as I knew he hadn’t dabbled in Chantal’s goodies, but she made it obvious they were there for the asking.

Behind her her sister stood with a scowl that encompassed the whole room and me in particular. “Chantal,” she said.

Holly reacted to the voice and the sight of Alixe by looking her boldly up and down. She had changed from the jogging suit I saw earlier into a pair of loose-fitting jeans that did nothing to disguise her figure and a white T-shirt that barely grazed the top of her waistband.

“What?” Chantal turned around to face her sister. “I’m trying to bond wit’ you and shit, but we just got here and you already got attitude.”

“I thought you meant a movie or something.”

“Relax. Maceo, you remember Alixe?”

“Yeah, wassup?”

She didn’t bother to respond.

Chantal shook her head. “No manners.”

“What can I get y’all?”

“On the house?” Chantal asked.

Holly reached in his pocket for a roll of bills. “I got it.”

“That’s not necessary.” Alixe looked pointedly at the money and then edged her way up to the counter. He stepped back, a retort already forming on his lips.

I shook my head to fend him off. “I can take care of it. Chantal, what do you want?”

“Give me a Rolling Rock,” she answered.

Alixe looked at me. “A beer for my sister and I’ll have a ginger ale.”

“You’re not drinking?”

“I’m on duty tomorrow.”

“Duty for what? You a cop?” Holly looked boldly in Alixe’s face.

“Does it matter?”

“Wouldn’ta asked if it didn’t.” For whatever reason, Holly and Alixe had taken an immediate dislike to each other.

“On duty at the hospital. I’m a nurse.”

“Is that right?” Holly laughed. “I definitely had you figured for a cop.”

She ignored him, grabbed her drink, and headed for a table across the room.

Holly grinned at Chantal once she left. “She ain’t got your charm.”

She smiled back. “That’s what I been saying.”

I moved away to fill a request, leaving Chantal and Holly to their own horrors. I kept my eye on Alixe and witnessed her swatting men away like flies. She caught my gaze once or twice without invite.

In the mirror above the bar I saw Holly move away from the light and direct Chantal to her table. I followed his gaze to the entrance where Clarence Mann stood, flanked on both sides by the two Samoans he never left home without. They were menacing from sheer size, Boo Yaa Tribe braids adding drama to their already imposing presence.

Holly casually sipped his water while his free hand rested behind his back. It was wrapped around the gun he kept in his waistband.

Clarence scanned the room until he spotted Holly. They locked eyes, each regarding the other, trying to gauge where their opponent fell in the pecking order. Clarence waited a moment and then lifted his chin. Holly returned the gesture, and we all relaxed.

Across the dance floor I saw Chantal join Alixe at her table. Both seemed fascinated by the undercurrent of violence rippling through the room.

Clarence, or rather the Samoans, cleared a space at the bar.

“What can I get ya?” I asked.

He nodded to Holly. “You drinkin’?”

Holly held up his water. “I’m cool.”

“Alright then. Let me get a shot of Hennessy.” He turned to
the Samoans. They looked at each other, then back at Clarence. “And two Manhattans. One dry. One sweet.”

How he knew all that skipped past me, but I mixed the drinks while Clarence made his intentions known.

“What’s the word, man? I got some news today”—he dropped his head and shook it over an empty glass left by another patron—“that fucked me up and could mean a war.”

“It already jumped off,” Holly answered.

“Who kicked it?”

“Smokey Baines. You know ’im?”

“Loud-mouth motherfucker, like to put his hands on women?”

Holly nodded.

“Think he did it?”

“He making a lot of noise if he didn’t.”

I slid the drinks across the bar.

“He accuse you?” Clarence asked.

“First thang.”

Clarence downed his drink. “Here we go then.” Behind him the Samoans smiled. Big smiles. “We ridin’ together, man?”

That time Holly smiled.

“Day or night, nigga. I’m riding.”

Within the hour the unholy alliance forged between Clarence and Holly grew to include Emmet Landry and Malcolm Rose, two players with equal clout. Each came with their own force and their own motives. Everyone else fell to Smokey, by default or otherwise.

Around midnight I walked outside for a little fresh air and to shake off the stiffness and dread that had settled into my joints.

I leaned back against the brick wall, then noticed a red ember glowing in a dark corner. I couldn’t see the person but I smelled the pungent odor of a recently struck match.

“Hey, now, you can’t smoke rock around here.”

My warning was greeted with a soft tingle of a laugh. Alixe stepped from the shadows and held her cigarette up to the light. “What about these? Cigarettes okay?”

“Oh, hey, Alixe, sorry about that. Sometimes—”

“Don’t worry about it.” She used the heel of her shoe to grind the spent match into the driveway. “Did you come out here to smoke too?”

“Me? No, I don’t smoke.”

“That’s right, you’re the athlete.”

I couldn’t help the pride that filled my chest. “You’ve been checking up on me?”

“I asked a few questions after you left this afternoon. I wanted to know who Scottie spends so much time with.”

“Really? I thought there might be a more interesting reason.”

Before she could answer I heard the creak of the swinging doors behind me. Then footsteps headed in our direction, right into the attraction I saw building between Alixe and myself.

“I was wondering where you went off to. I thought you might have left me.” Chantal took a seat on the hood of a car parked in front of her sister.

“I just came out here for some fresh air.” Chantal’s presence drained the humor and light from Alixe.

Chantal looked at me. “Can you believe that, Maceo? Miss Medical School smokes like a chimney.”

“Well, you know”—I tried to keep Alixe on my side—“ sometimes habits are hard to break.”

“Whatever.” Chantal waved her hand in the air and swung
her braids around. “I’ll be glad when this heat goes. This is ridiculous. Earthquake weather.”

I knew what she meant. Californians distrusted weird weather patterns. Whether it was true or not, we all believed that heat waves, thunderstorms, and hail all meant an earthquake was coming.

“So, what brought y’all here tonight?” I directed the question to Alixe, who’d grown quiet.

She shrugged. “Your guess is as good as mine. I thought my sister wanted to hang out but maybe she just needed a ride.”

“Now, why you say that?” Chantal actually managed to sound hurt by the accusation.

Alixe lit a second cigarette and shrugged when she saw me eye the pack. “What do you mean, why? We haven’t exchanged two words since we got here.”

“We’re at a club!”

“So?”

“So? Sister-girl, it’s obvious you ain’t had a girlfriend in your life.”

The words fell like bricks in the open air. In the silence I knew that even Chantal realized she’d exposed a wound. She tried to cover but the arrow had been shot. “I mean, ’cause girlfriends show up together, then, you know, spread their wings for the fellas.”

Alixe remained silent, the quick drags she took from her cigarette a direct indication of her anger.

“We show up together and everything, but if there are cute dudes around why we need to talk to each other? We can talk at home or in the car.”

“Is that how it goes?”

Chantal’s anger peaked.

“That’s how it goes here.”

“Thanks for letting me know”—she paused for a minute—“sis.”

Chantal stood up. “See, that right there. That’s exactly why me and you ain’t never gonna be family! We too different, and you want to make me remember it every minute.”

She walked off before Alixe could respond. I drank my water and waited for an explanation. I’d known Chantal for over a year and she had never mentioned a sister, and Scottie hadn’t ever mentioned an aunt. It seemed that both women were new to the boundaries of family.

“You sure you don’t want a cigarette?” Alixe held the pack out to me. “Misery loves company and everything.”

“Don’t need a new habit.”

“Well, I can’t seem to break mine, but I make really good promises to myself to quit.”

I laughed. “And you mean it when you say it, don’t you?”

“Oh, I’m so sincere.”

“And it gets easier every time you lie, doesn’t it?”

“Every time.”

We shared a smile. “So, what happened right there?” I motioned toward the doors Chantal had slammed through.

“A little difficulty bonding.”

“That’s all?”

“That’s the sum of it. We’ve only known each other three months, and …”

“And it’s not what you expected.”

She let out a sigh. “On so many levels. Can you believe I actually invited her to travel in Europe with me last summer?” She responded to my questioning look. “This was before we met. When it was just phone conversations.”

“She didn’t go?”

“Do you think either one of us would still be alive? No, she didn’t go. She had the sense to say no. But she invited me to come live out here after I got back, and
I
didn’t have the sense to say no.”

“You picked up, just like that, and moved here from Japan.”

“I left Japan a long time ago.” I waited for her to elaborate but she didn’t.

“You like Europe?”

“Loved it.”

“What’d you love?”

“The anonymity.”

“I meant which country, but that’ll work.”

We laughed together easily, our voices mixing with the passing traffic and the sounds of the music from the bar.

“Holland.” She lifted her shirt. “I got a belly-button ring in Amsterdam.”

I tried to hide my surprise at seeing a jeweled hoop in the center of her stomach.

“Shit, did that hurt?”

“What is it guys tell you when you lose your virginity? Only for a minute, baby.”

“I didn’t hear that.”

“But did you say it?”

I held up my hands. “I plead the Fifth.”

“I bet.” She laughed. “You ever been to Europe?”

“Naw.”

“You should go.”

I shook my head. “I’m not too big on being the only Black person in a crowd.”