Wrong Ways Down (7 page)

Terrible hesitated. Ain’t wanted to make Amy cold, but … 

She tugged his arm, teetering a little on her big platform shoes as she tried to pull him down the sidewalk. “C’mon. You wanna get you upset some other dude tried lookin at me, take me home show me how much. Aye? Let’s us go on.”

The doorway were only ten feet or so behind. Wouldn’t take he a minute to get back in there.

But Amy were smiling at him, like she’d forgotten all about how she’d been unhappy earlier. He sure weren’t gonna fuck that up by explaining it weren’t about being jealous or some shit—he weren’t—just that by doing that to her Roley had been challenging him. Just like he saying on Chess, just like he saying he were gonna chatter with Bump. All Roley
trying
him.

Not to mention he ain’t liked men pulling that kinda shit with any dames. 

But dealing with Roley weren’t something he had to do that minute, neither. Weren’t like Roley wouldn’t be around the next day or the day after. No emergency or aught like that.

And he couldn’t deny that taking Amy home sounded good. Two ways he’d found to calm heself down: hitting were one, and the other was what she was clearly inviting him to do. 

So he pushed thoughts of Roley, Slick, the whores, and especially Chess outta he mind, and headed for the Chevelle. 

S
HARP-EYE
B
EN WEREN'T
answering he door, but Terrible knew he were inside; he’d been watching for over an hour, and he’d seen Ben go in not two minutes afore. Couldn’t wait longer than that, causen Ben probably scored while he were out, and iffen Terrible gave him long enough to shoot up he’d be too juiced to be any use at all.

He gave one more knock, banging the door hard. No answer. Right, then. Ben’s own fucking fault. He stepped back and kicked the door, hard, so it bulged and splintered at the frame. “Ben! Open the fuck up.”

No answer. He kicked the door again. This time a couple shards of wood broke off; the door cracked down the middle but ain’t split. “Last chance, Ben. I gotta break you door, I ain’t be happy, dig?”

After a second Ben’s voice came thin through the destroyed wood. “Aye, just a—just gimme one, aye, just a hold-on one minute.”

Was Ben tryna climb out a window, or get that spike in his arm before he had to talk? Fuck that. Terrible gave the door a final kick; it broke down and across, the parts with hinges falling open and the bottom falling to the floor. 

Ben shrieked. Tryna get the needle in, he were; already had heself tied off. Terrible crossed the floor in three steps, used his open right hand to smack Ben’s face while yanking the needle away with his left. He held it over his head. “Where the money?”

Ben held his cheek. Fucking drama queen; Terrible barely hit him. “Got it. I got it. Swearing I do. Got me some knowledge too, got it, asked like you said. Gimme my spike, aye? Just gimme it, I give you—”

“Lashers an knowledge,” Terrible said, shaking his head. “Then you get yon spike back. Dig? Not before. Give it over.”

He tried not to look at Ben’s arm, the ugly tracks up and down the inside of it. Made him sad, iffen he were honest. The needle … the needle were the last place, the place where they admitted they weren’t even trying no more. And as always when he saw those, on anybody, he thought of Chess, hoped she never got there. Wondered what he’d do iffen she did.

Nothing, probably, causen it weren’t his fucking business, and he oughta stop thinking like it were. She weren’t his woman. Just his friend, and he had no right telling her what she oughta do or not do. Hell, even were she his woman he wouldn’t have that right. Specially when it weren’t like he were perfect, and specially when he knew—he’d come to know—that she had some serious shit to forget, and who the fuck was he to say she took the wrong way on forgetting it? Some might say he were just as bad, beating on people to forget whatany bothered him. 

Some might say he were worse. They’d be right.

Ben’s head dipped. “Lemme get it, aye? Inna kitchen, see? Onna counter. See it?”

The money were on the counter, a fold of crisp new lashers layin there. Looked like all of Ben’s owes. Guess that new dame he said he had really were gone on him, iffen he ain’t been lying on where it came from.

Were Ben’s apartment too quiet? Like somebody waiting for him to turn he back? Or were he just jumpy, or maybe just itchy causen of the thoughts on Chess and needles, causen how fucking depressing Ben’s place were?

He jerked his head, took a step back so he were angled to keep a better eye on the broken door and the entrance to the hallway. Just in case. “Go get it, then.”

Ben did, brought it back. Terrible relaxed a little. He flipped through the bills with he thumb, making sure it weren’t bills wrapped around paper or aught like that; when it weren’t he nodded and put the fold in his pocket. “What knowledge, then?”

Ben’s reddish eyes kept jumping from Terrible’s face to the needle, from the needle to Terrible’s face. He licked his lips. “I tell you, you gimme back my spike?”

“Just said so, aye?”

“An maybe I gets me a credit? You tell Bump I’m all paid up on, an I gave you some knowledge helped, aye?”

“Getting fuckin bored here.”

Needle, face, needle, face. Terrible ain’t could figure on how Ben weren’t dizzy yet. “Aye, right. Right. Know a dude knows a dude, plays the duff up Northside. Dig?”

Terrible nodded. Somebody passing fake jewelry, maybe running cons with it. Northside were the place for that kinda shit, aye, where them had money. Nobody were cheap like rich people.

“Dude livin heself inna squat here, roundabout Forty-eighth an Grant.” Ben’s gaze skittered to the needle again; he licked his chapped lips again. “Say he gots a partner there got kicked some lashers for to be a lookout for a robbery. On the other night, dig? Thinking you got knowing what I’m meaning.”

Aye, he knew. Somebody got paid to be a lookout while somebody attacked Sue. Meant it weren’t an accident, somebody pulling it just on the moment. Meant somebody planned it, got ready.

Made it a fuck of a lot more likely whoever done it also killed Slick.

But iffen they’d killed Slick, why they ain’t needed a lookout for that? Or maybe them just figured be easy finding somebody willing to be a lookout for robbery but not so easy finding somebody willing to help with murder. Especially not murdering one of Bump’s men.

“Terrible?” Ben rubbed his hands together. He whole body were jerky, actually, like he wanted to get up and grab the needle but knew there weren’t a point to trying. Which there weren’t.

Terrible looked down at him, slow. Letting Ben see he had all day. “Any else?”

“Nay, nay, ‘sall.”

“You certain? Ain’t be too happy you call me up next time you got owes an say you forgetting to tell me aught today, dig? Better you get it all out on the now. I finding out you holding back, ain’t good for you.”

Ben twitched again. “Be all. Swearing it to you, be all. C’n I getting my spike now? Please, gave you all of it, all what knowledge I’m getting.”

“Got a name?”

“Aye.” Ben bobbed he head, too fast for a nod. Looked like some kinda spasm. “Aye, got me a name. Forgetting there, on the second. Got me a name. Gav, be what I hear. Gav be he name.”

For fuck’s sake. “Which one be Gav? The lookout or the dude knowing the lookout?”

“The lookout. Be Gav. Lives inna squat, he do, living there, you find he there. Gav, you look for he.”

Gav. Gav inna squat at Forty-eighth and Grant. Terrible thought he knew the place; year or so past a couple fuckheads decided to start cutting and selling their own Dream a few doors down, and he’d gone there to find em. They’d promised to stop and hadn’t, so nobody ever found em again after that, cepting them at the burnhouse.

He checked his watch. Just past four. No point hunting around there now; anybody working cons like that woulda just gone up Northside, probably stay there til their marks finished drinking in whatany shitty overpriced bars they avoided going home in. Better targets when they was drunk.

So not much point looking for Gav til late, and Terrible ain’t wanted to give him any tip-off by checking the place out ahead of time. Iffen he knew what he’d been look-out for he’d be extra scared of seeing Terrible around.

Ben had started sweating and wringing his hands. Terrible lowered the needle a couple inches. “You certain that all you got?”

Ben nodded.

Terrible brought the needle down more, then lifted it back up. He ain’t liked teasing Ben like that, but he had to keep his attention, let him know he were serious. “You tell any on this? You tell any I’m looking, or what you gave me?”

Ben shook his head so fast it almost made Terrible seasick seeing it. “Nay! Ain’t said to any, I ain’t. I won’t, neither. Won’t never say, I swearing it. Swearing it. C’mon, I ain’t lie on this, you got the knowledge I ain’t a liar, aye?”

What knowledge Terrible had was Ben would lie as soon as look at him, iffen he thought it’d get him what he wanted or get him outta trouble, but he ain’t bothered to say. Ben knew it anyway. “I hear you saying on this to any else, you find youself tryin shoot up through a cast, dig? Ain’t fuckin playing here. You keep you fuckin mouth shut.”

“Not a speak. Swearing, not a speak, not any, not to any.”

Ben’s word weren’t worth much, but it was about all Terrible were gonna get. He couldn’t lock Ben up or whatany till he’d caught the motherfuckers pulled this. He only choice were to threaten hard and hope it stuck.

So he handed the needle over. The sigh Ben made turned his stomach. “Better not be lying, Ben. I ain’t wanting come back here.”

Just as he pushed himself through the pieces of the door, he stopped and turned back around. “I find the dude, an turns out him involved like you say? You get you credit back. Aye? But only when I finding him, an finding out you got true knowledge. Othersides that, you get shit.”

He had to wait on the couch; sucked, causen he had shit he needed to chatter on. But Bump were still in bed, with a couple of his women. Terrible ain’t bothered learning their names anymore. Or, he ain’t bothered til they’d been around a while. Dames moved through Bump’s life—through he bed—like it were some sort of machine that created em; new ones popping out regular and then disappearing out the door. Terrible would disappear out the door heself at that moment, seeing as Bump were either sleeping or busy, but Bump had summoned him so would expect to see him when he came out the room.

He’d wonder how it happened Bump were able to get all them dames iffen he ain’t knew from his own experience. Were easy to find a dame willing to fuck him if he ain’t cared who they were or why they wanted him. He had money, he was with Bump, everybody in Downside knew who he were. For some dames that were enough, and all they wanted was a couple orgasms, a chance to say they’d been with him, and maybe to be bought shit.

Coursen, the fact that he made certain they got those orgasms were a help. He’d learned real early that a dude looked like he did had to offer something iffen he wanted to get laid, and dames talked to each other. 

When he were younger he’d taken advantage of it, too, and he ain’t looked quite as bad then as he did now—still ain’t ever been much, with he big jaw and brow and mean eyes, but not so many scars and shit—so it’d been even easier. And he guessed he still took advantage of it, iffen he were honest. He ain’t had too much trouble, leastaways, finding dames who’d let him in their beds for the night.

Only seemed like lately it were … not so much fun as it used to be. Or, still fun—coursen it were fun, what the fuck could be not fun about it?—but it were different. What he wanted were different.

He ain’t knew for certain how old he was; he figured somewhere roundabout twenty-seven, or more likely twenty-eight, but for all he knew he could be as old as thirty. Seeing as how he could only guess from remembering Haunted Week and a couple vague things before, like the red-suited men waving bells in the snow, he had no way of being certain. But he were at least twenty-seven, and he’d stopped being a virgin for real about sixteen years past and he’d had himself a lot of women in between. He guessed that meant he were old enough and been around enough to start thinking on being with just one woman. On having one he could call his, for good.

Bump thought he were crazy. But Bump had he a wife somewhere he ain’t seen in twenty years, and Bump had he some fucked-up thoughts on dames heself.

Voices from Bump’s room, now; they was either waking up or finishing up. He ain’t wanted to know which, so he tuned it out, sat there smoking, planning what he needed to say and writing it down in his notebook. Bump’d ask a lot of questions, and Terrible oughta have answers fast. That meant thinking ahead on what he’d say, causen it seemed like he got the answers in he head but they ain’t seemed to make it out right. Like he had some disconnect there, between he mind and he mouth. Guessed iffen he were smarter he wouldn’t, but since he weren’t smart he had to think of how to say everything ahead so he ain’t would get stuck.

The bedroom door opened, and Bump came out, knotting the belt of his purple silk robe. Under it he wore silk pajama bottoms the same color. His hair stood up in tufts off he head. “When you fuckin getting here?”