Hard Revolution

“We help you?” said the black man from behind the counter. “Gettin’ about ready to close up.”

“Just checking out these books,” said De

“What flavor?” said the white man, getting up off his stool and putting his hand up to a slotted display over the register that held the cigarettes.

“Kools,” said De

He noticed that the white man had them in his hand before the brand name had even come out of De

“You must have, what do you call that, intuition,” said De

“You hear that, John?” said the white man to the black man, and the black man’s eyes smiled. “I’m the Uri Geller of the grocery world.”

“You in the wrong business, Mr. Ludvig.”

“Here you go,” said De

This Mr. Ludvig reminded De

And the black man, John, wearing a button-down sweater even though it wasn’t all that cold, could’ve been De

“You okay?” said Mr. Ludvig.

“Fine,” said De

“Here you go, friend,” said Ludvig, handing him his change.

“All right, then,” said De

“You do the same, young man,” said John.

De

De

“Well?” said Jones.

“You go

“How so?”

“Place is mined, for one. They got snipers up in the trees, too.”

Jones put fire to his cigarette. He blew the match out on the exhale and turned his head to look at De

“No, there’s more. Let me lay it out for you, like you asked me to, so you know.”

Jones’s eyes were flat. “Go ahead.”

“You know where the register always at in these places? It’s in the same place here. Except they done went and dug a moat around it. Dropped some cobra snakes in the moat and put a few crocodiles in there to keep ’em company.”

“That a fact.”

“Uh-huh. And you were right on about the money. There’s tons of it, man. Matter of fact, they got a big old safe in that market, exactly like the one they got down in Fort Knox, just so they can hold it all. Odd Job be guardin’ it, too.”

“Smart nigger,” said Jones.

“I think of any details I forgot,” said De

Jones’s lip twitched. “This a game to you?”

“Told you from the start I wasn’t go

“You need to understand somethin’, then. I hear you been talkin’ about this to anybody, especially that po-lice brother of yours, I’m go

“You scarin’ me, brother,” said De

“You think I’m playin’,” said Jones, “you try me out.”

“We done?”

Jones breathed out slowly. “Drop this motherfucker off somewhere, Ke

“You need to go by your woman’s before you drop me anywhere,” said De

“Say what?” said Jones.

“You still owe me thirty. For the gage.”

Willis ignitioned the Mercury and pulled it off the curb. Full night had come to the streets.

THIRTEEN

YOU OKAY, LOVER?” “I’m fine,” said Frank Vaughn.

“Your eyes look kinda fu

“Yours did, too. A minute ago, it looked like they were go

“Stop it.”

“Don’t worry about me. I’m just a little dizzy. But it’s a good dizzy, babe.”

Frank Vaughn pulled out of the woman who was underneath him in her bed. Her name was Linda Allen. She caught her breath as he left her and rolled onto his back. He rested a beefy hand between the pillow and his head. The smell of Linda’s sex, the smell of their perspiration, and the smell of the liquor they had drunk and the cigarettes they’d smoked were strong in the room.

“I’m go

Vaughn checked his Hamilton wristwatch. Gray and brown hairs sprouted through the links of the stainless band. “I got time for a short one, I guess.”

Linda Allen got off the bed naked and proud, her posture straight. She shook her long hair off her shoulders as she moved. That was for him. Vaughn watched her with admiration. She was a tall, leggy brunette, now in her forties, a divorcée who had never had children and so had kept her shape. Her breasts were pink tipped, heavy, and stood up nice. Vaughn took in the cut of her muscular thighs, her ample round ass, and that warm box that always held him tight. God, this was a woman right here. Reminded him of Julie London in her prime. He had been with Linda for almost ten years.

He thought of this apartment, a one-bedroom in the Woodner, down by the lion bridge on 16th, as his oasis. He visited Linda on his night shifts, one or two times a week. Sometimes he came for what he’d come for tonight. Sometimes he came to rest.

He heard the toilet flush in the bathroom and then the sound of water flowing from the faucet. He reached over to the nightstand, shook an L amp;M from the deck, and lit it with his Zippo, which was customized with a hand-painted map of Okinawa. He took a deep drag, coughed a little, and lay his head back on the pillow.

His wife, Olga, was the same age as Linda, but the similarities ended there. Olga no longer had any shape to speak of. Her ass had flattened out, as had her breasts. Linda talked very little; Olga talked all the time. Vaughn’s ejaculations with Olga were typically no more sensational than urination. With Linda, he came like a stallion. The fu