Riding the Rap

“You suppose to hold it in two hands,” Louis said, “like the dicks in the movies do. Like Mel Gibson and them dudes, Bruce Willis…”

“Fuck them,” Bobby said. “I got it down, how I’m go

“Can’t hardly tell. You practicing, huh?”

Bobby said, “Here,” turning to the patio table. He had the two Browning .380’s lying there. “Take one. Let’s see how you do.”

“You want me to play with you?”

“I want to know I can beat you.” Bobby handed Louis one of the pistols, then drew his Sig Sauer, laid it on the table, and stuck the other Browning into his waist. “I want to try my piece and this one,” Bobby said. “See which one I get out faster.”

Louis said, “Yeah? Then what? You go

“I don’t have to look for him. He’s go

“Go

“Get it done. He don’t bother us no more.”

“What if he beats you to the draw?”

“Then I’m dead,” Bobby said. “That’s how it works, man. You ready? Stick it in your pants, on the side, where he has his.”

Man was crazy.

“The cowboy’s is in a holster.”

Bobby said, “I don’t give a shit. Stick it in your pants, let’s go.” His gaze moved.

Louis turned to see Chip at the French doors.

“Your friend’s on the phone.”

Chip followed Louis into the study, wanting to listen without being obvious about it. He stood by the desk, glanced at the TV screen, at Bobby with a gun in each hand, and swung around to Louis.

“Jesus, what’s he doing?”

Louis looked up from the sofa. He said to Chip, “Hey, I’m on the phone,” raised his eyes to the screen with no expression, watched Bobby for a moment and then said, into the phone, “Mr. Walker, my man… No, this is my pleasure. Man, I was worried about you.”

Bobby was seated now at the patio table, fooling with his gun. Chip looked down at the desk, at Louis’s partly eaten plate of di

Louis hung up the phone still smiling a little and looked at Chip.

“Mr. Cedric Walker was in the gun business. Got out right before the man he was dealing with went down.”

“You offered him fifty thousand,” Chip said.

“Yeah, and that’s cheap.”

“We don’t have fifty thousand.”

“We get paid, he gets paid.”

“That wasn’t what you told him.”

“Yeah, well, I will when he gets here.”

“What if he won’t take us?”

“Man, you got to stop worrying so much.”

Chip looked at the screen and then at Louis again, Louis lounged on the sofa.

“You said… at one point you said ‘three.’”

“I did? Three what?”

“I don’t know. That’s what I’m asking you.”

“I don’t recall saying it.”

“And right after, you said yeah, you were sure.”

Louis shook his head. “I don’t know, I must’ve been commenting on something Mr. Walker said. He’s go

“You didn’t say ‘about three,’” Chip said. “You said ‘three.’”

Louis was pushing up from the sofa. “Maybe you didn’t hear it right. Maybe you’re stoned or you got wax in your ears.” He walked past Chip, glancing at the TV screen, Bobby still there waiting. Louis said, “You worry too much for no reason.”

Bobby got up from the patio table saying, “Okay, you ready now?”

“What you want me to do?”

“Here, put it in your pants.”

Louis took the Browning auto from him, looking at it, racking the slide then, saying, “It loaded?” He snapped the slide back again and a cartridge ejected. “You not suppose to play with a loaded gun, man.”

“I want the right feel, the weight,” Bobby said. “First I’m go

Louis was wearing a loose white cotton shirt and loose gray cotton pants with a tan cloth belt. He slipped the Browning into his waist against his belly, and dropped his arms to his sides.

“Like this?”

“Move it around more to the side.”

Louis slid the gun around to his right hip.

“You need a coat,” Bobby said. “The guy always wears a coat.”

“Come on, man, we just playing.”

“I want to see what it looks like,” Bobby said. “I’ll get you one.” He went past Louis into the house.

Louis walked out to the swimming pool that looked like a pond with green scum covering it, the water a murky brown underneath, the sides of the pool turning black, Louis thinking there could be snakes in there, giant beetles and different kinds of ugly shit growing down in the bottom. He felt a breeze and raised his face to it, looking out at the ocean. He believed he could sit all day and look at the ocean, but had never tried it. He believed he’d like to have a boat and cruise around the Caribbean islands in it. Wear white pants, barefoot, no shirt, a red banda

Bobby came back with a black silk blazer hooked on his finger. He held it out. Louis had to come over to where Bobby stood by the table to take it and put it on. The coat fit him and felt good except for the sleeves, an inch or so too short on him.