Hard Revolution

He’d made mistakes. Done some jail time for small things, strong-arm robberies and the like. No prison time, though. And he hadn’t been caught for any of the homicides he’d done, grudge-type, passion-type, murder-for-hire shit, which could set you up for half a year. A couple of times he’d killed ’cause his blood had got up.

He thought about that last one. How he’d followed some cat out of a bar who’d said something smart to a woman Jones was with. How he’d taken a blade to this cat’s cheek in the alley behind a low-rise apartment building, one of those reurbanization projects, the fancy name the government gave to ghettos. Jones had cut him, and the man was bleeding through his fingers and had begun to beg: I ain’t mean nothin’, brother, and Please not today, Lord, all that. But Jones had already begun to feel that tick tick tick coursing through his veins, that thing that told him to kill. Jones stuck him right in his chest and twisted the blade before he withdrew it. Must have been the heart he hit, ’cause the blood was bright red and pumping out fast. There was a witness, a young dude, but Jones had fish-eyed the motherfucker as he walked away from the scene. He knew this dude would not come forward. Few in that neighborhood, especially if they were young, would talk to the police. Jones didn’t lose any sleep over it either way. He was thinking, Man shouldn’t have talked to my woman the way he did.

And then he started thinking, Where is that bitch with my drink?

Lula Bacon came into the living-room area with a glass in her hand, like God had answered his question. He took the glass from her and drank bourbon deep.

“Where you been?” said Jones, wiping the back of his hand across his mouth.

“Puttin’ him to sleep.”

She stood over him in a sleeveless shift, tapping her foot. She was wearing a pair of pumps with a little cloth bow on top of each one. He guessed he was supposed to notice her shoes.

“New kicks?” he said, giving her a little something, thanking her, in his way, for bringing him a drink.

“For Easter. But I wouldn’t mind wearing them out tonight.”

“Who’s go

“My mother would.”

“Well, I ain’t goin’ no goddamn where but this chair. My cousin and his boy are comin’ over with some smoke, and I am going to get my head up right here.”

“We could go to Ed Murphy’s.”

“What, I hit the number and no one told me?”

“You just cheap.”

Jones liked Ed Murphy’s Supper Club, over on Georgia. The kitchen made a mean shrimp creole, and the bartenders poured with a heavy hand. He went there once in a while when he was looking for something fresh. But what was the use of taking a woman out and spending good money on her when he already had her ass for free, right here, twenty feet from the bedroom?

“You ain’t never want to go out,” said Lula.

“What, you still ru

“Lazy motherfucker.”

“Shut up, girl.”

“Look -”

“I am warning you, either you shut that mouth of yours or, or…”

Lula put her hand on her hip. “Or what?”

“You keep talkin’, I’m go

“Ten and a half?” she said, her eyes gone playful. “Now, you know you a ten. Why you men always tellin’ lies behind your shoe size?”

“If I’m lyin’, I’m lyin’ on the low side. You know that.”

Lula smiled.

Jones looked her over in that shift, cut up way above her knees. Nice legs, and they went up to an ass so good, made your friends jealous you’d gotten your hands around it first. Young girl, just past twenty. She hadn’t lost a goddamn bit of shape birthing that kid, either. Big brown eyes, too. Girl looked like Diana Ross, with titties.

Jones put his drink on the floor and opened his arms. “C’mere, girl.”

“You’re go

“You the one be makin’ all that noise.”

She chuckled, and he knew he was there.

“ Alvin?”

“What?”

“Can we go out?”

“We go

“I got somethin’ you can see right here.”

“When?”

Lula lifted her shift up to her waist. She sauntered toward him. The front of her panties was dark where her sex had dampened. The sight of her black mound behind those white panties made him grow. He was a small man, so there was room for them both on the chair. She straddled him there and unzipped his slacks.

“Can we go out?” she said.

“Okay,” said Jones.

Jones thinking, After I get my nut, I’ll just tell her I had a change of mind.

KENNETH WILLIS HAD bought his Mercury, a green Monterey, because of its flat rear window. With this feature, the Monterey was like no other model on the street. Women, he believed, would like to sit beside a man who drove a car like that.

Lately, though, Willis was having a little trouble making the payments. He had a custodial position over at this elementary school off Kansas Avenue, but it was a low-pay job. Also, he and Alvin had not pulled off any side thing for a while. He needed money. He was counting on having some soon.

Ke

Willis was under the wheel, filling out the window frame with his big body, nodding along to the brand-new Percy Sledge, “Take Time to Know Her,” coming thin and crackly from the speaker mounted under the dash shelf.

“Percy be singin’ good right here,” said Willis. He had big shoulders and lean, muscular arms. He would have been handsome if not for his buckteeth.

“Any motherfucker sound good when you’re high,” said De

De

The street was crowded and alive. Families were out alongside hustlers and children playing ball. Women were gliding on the sidewalks, still in their Sunday dresses.

“Damn, baby,” said Willis, slowing the car and leaning his head out the window to talk to a girl who was making her way down the strip. “Why you go

“Don’t blame me if you can’t drive.” She was smiling some but kept up her pace and would not look his way.

“Wa

“Uh-uh.”

“What’s wrong, you got a George?”

“Ain’t none of your concern if I do.”

“Why you wa

“Go ahead, slick,” she said, before turning down the cross street.

“One of them jaspers,” said Willis.

“If they don’t like you, they must be lesbians, huh?”

“Some bitches just don’t like men,” said Willis, shrugging.

“You go

“Somethin’ wrong with that?”

It wouldn’t help any for De