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“What you lookin’ at, boy?” said Jones. His eyes were golden, the same color as his shirt.
“Nothin’,” said De
“Oh, you lookin’, all right. Always lookin’. You into the details of everything, I can tell. Got this outfit at Cavalier, on Seventh, case you wonderin’.” Jones wiggled one foot. “I can see you diggin’ on my gators, too. Saw ’em in the window of Flagg Brothers. Wouldn’t buy my shoes anyplace else.”
Those aren’t real gators, thought De
“I’ll take you down to F Street with me next time; we can hook you up with a pair, too,” said Jones, going on despite the fact that De
“I don’t need you to pick out my shoes.”
Jones laughed. “Well, you damn sure look like you could use someone’s help.”
“Why we listenin’ to the news?” said Willis, who had gone to the stereo and was reaching for the tuner dial.
“Don’t touch that,” said Jones.
“I was go
“Uh-uh, man, leave it on OOK. That’s me right there.”
“They both the same.”
“K comes before L,” said Jones. “Don’t you know that?”
Willis looked at him, openmouthed, and stepped back from the unit. “Say, man, what you fixin’ to play tomorrow?”
“Well, I got a problem with that,” said Jones. “I was picking Frank Howard for the first number, but Howard plays left. Ain’t no base you can draw it from…”
“Seven,” said De
“Say what?”
“Left is the seventh position on the field. It’s what the stats man uses when he’s making a mark in his book.”
Jones winked. “Damn, boy, you smart. All them books you be readin’ must be sinkin’ in.”
“Just tryin’ to help.”
“Nah, you a smart one, I can tell.” Jones showed De
De
“You want your gage?” said De
“You bring it?”
De
“Lemme see.”
De
“It’s right,” said De
“How much?”
“Thirty.”
“For this here?”
“Didn’t grow in no alley.”
“Okay. But I’m a little light this evening. I don’t have the full amount on me, see?”
“You don’t have it on you, huh. You go
“What, you don’t trust a brother? You, who’s always goin’ on about unity, now you go
“I trust you,” said De
“Look here.” Jones made a show of glancing around, making sure Lula was not anywhere nearby. “This woman I know, she go
“When?”
“We’ll go over there right now. She’s go
“My man don’t take checks.”
“He go
“Check better be good.”
“This girl is square,” said Jones. “You can believe that.”
De
“Somethin’ you wanted to talk to De
“We go
Jones got up out of his chair and took a hat, a black sporty number with a bright gold band, off a coat tree by the door. He put the hat on his head and cocked it right.
“Thought you was stayin’ in with Lula tonight,” said Willis.
“I already fucked the bitch,” said Jones. “Ain’t no need to stay in now.”
TWELVE
SO WHICH ONE was the Bad?” “Van Cleef. The guy they called Angel Eyes.”
“See, I thought the little Mexican dude could have been the Bad, too. What was his name?”
“Tuco.” Strange smiled. “Otherwise known as the Rat.”
“Yeah,” said Darla Harris. “Him.”
“Tuco was the Ugly.”
“But he was bad, too.”
“Not exactly,” said Strange. “He was more like the dark side of Blondie. Someplace in between the Bad and the Good.”
“I like it better when you can tell who the good guy is and who the bad guy is.”
“Like, white hat, black hat, you mean. John Wayne and all that.”
“Well, yeah.”
“That’s over, baby. The movies finally be gettin’ around to how the world is. Complex.”
“I don’t get it.”
I know you don’t, thought Strange. Which is one reason why you and me are never go
They were headed east on Irving, coming from the Tivoli Theater on 14th and Park. Strange was under the wheel of his ’65 Impala, a blue clean-line V-8 he’d purchased used at Curtis Chevrolet. He liked the car, but it was no Cadillac. Like his father, he’d always wanted a Caddy. Like his father, he didn’t know if he’d ever have the means.
“We always go to the movies,” said the woman.
“Gives me peace. Sit in a dark theater, forget about what I see out here every day.”
“We always go to the movies and the movies are always westerns.”
“Tell you what,” said Strange. “You like that guy Coburn, right?”
“You mean Flint?”
“Him.”
“That’s a sexy man right there.”
“He’s in this new movie, playin’ at the Atlas, thought we’d check it out later this week.”
The woman raised an eyebrow, looked at Strange with skepticism. “What’s the name of it?”
“Waterhole #3.”
Darla, who was a dark, cute, Northeast girl, slapped Strange on the arm and laughed. “You are pushin’ it now.”
“C’mere,” said Strange, patting the bench seat. Darla slid over so that her thigh, exposed from her short skirt, was touching his. It was a nice thigh, tight and compact like the rest of her. Strange put his hand on the inside of it and gave it a little rub.
They had been together for a few months. Strange didn’t love her, but they were compatible and fit together in bed. He had never pledged fidelity to her, and she hadn’t asked him to. If she had, he would have run. Strange often had other women on his mind; there was one in particular who’d been haunting his thoughts for a long time. Anyway, he and Darla got along fine. She didn’t make him want to pick flowers for her or write a song in her name or anything like that. What they had was just all right.
“My mother’s out with her man,” said Darla.
“She go
“I expect.”
“I’ll drop you, then come back over later, if that’s all right.”
“You got plans right now?”
“You know I always have Sunday supper with my parents.”
“Okay.” She kissed him behind his ear. “You get some food in you, then come on by.”
“Go ahead and find something on the box,” said Strange, putting his right arm around Darla’s shoulder, settling into his seat.
She turned on the dash radio. At WWDC, she came upon a symphonic instrumental and recognized the theme.
“That’s from the movie.”
“The bullshit version,” said Strange.
Darla got off of 1260. At all-news WAVA the a