Doom Fox (29 page)

Joe says, 'But Reba was different, on the square, Pops, before she got sucked into the preacher's trick bag. I don't think she's leery of me or hates me no more. You know how she's sent me food packages and birthday cards for the last three years. Why I just got a classy Christmas card yesterday ... unsigned, but I'd bet it was Reba's. 'Sides I heard her ticker is on the bum. Maybe she and me ...'

'Dummy up boy!' Percy fiercely whispers.'Ain't no names never been on mosta that stuff ya got 'cept ya son's and true blue Panthuh's 'fore he busted his pump strings and croaked coupla years ago ridin' that chippie. Ya jus a hurt junkie. Ya thinkin' she's been out there ten years with her pussy itchin' for ya? 'Sides, them game playin' elephant dick nigguhs out there is likely what's done drug her ass. Ya goin' out there and kill 'nother nigguh?'

Joe says, 'Pops, I've changed. If I harm another joker out there about Reba I will 'cause he's mistreating her, not on a pussy basis. Guess this long bit has dried up my jism well ... don't even care if Reba's love machine throwed a rod.'

Percy sneers, 'I hear ya but that don't signify she's got no sweet feelin' for ya jus 'cause ya hooked on her pure like she's the Virgin Mary. Next ya gonna git 'ligion, huh?'

Joe frowns. 'Shoot, the way God treats niggahs I wouldn't go to Heaven 'less he dies or gets evicted.'

Percy goads, 'Let's git back to them 'nonumus kites and goodie boxes. Mebbe ya muckety-muck daughters been sendin' ya that stuff on the Q.T. Why ain't Reba been writin' ya every week, comin' to see ya like ya son? Ya ain't got no win with Reba! If she sent the stuff, it ain't nothin' but a cross. Mebbe ya the onliest slave she can still catch.'

Joe stubbornly shakes his head. 'Pops, don't bad mouth her no more. You ain't reading her right. She only made one mistake. The preacher! I've forgave her for that ... maybe she's forgave me for her pain and disgrace. I think maybe in her older age she's come 'round to be a smidget like she was before the preacher hooked her. Maybe she ain't even playing 'round. She might even be lonely and needing me with the kids grown. So Pops, I mean it, don't run her down no more. Don't make me chastise your old crazy ass. I ain't denying it's a long shot but I think that we could ...'

The old man's eyes narrow in icy contempt as he harks and spits a gob of phlegm at Joe's feet. His face contorts to a fearsome mask of rage and disgust to cut Joe off. He goes to the basin, furiously splashes water on his face. Joe watches with a stunned expression.

Joe murmurs, 'What the hell you salty about, Pops? I gotta gamble a shot with her again. It's my life ... I gotta try to be with her again! Now dummy up about her! ... Niggah, pull for me to be happy, if you my friend.'

Percy turns, his eyes mad balloons as he weirdly jiggles his head and grunts derisively. He leans into Joe's face and violently taps a gnarled index finger against his pursed lips.

'S-s-s-sh! Suckuh!'

Joe shrugs. 'You're full of Reb-time shit on this one, Pops.'

Joe rises to dress. Then he rolls up his bed clothes and packs his possessions. Percy perches on the throne, his slitted bright eyes watch Joe as he shapes a chilling smile. Finally he gets off the throne and washes off. For a moment Percy shuts his eyes, cackles obscenely as if watching an interior geek bite off heads. Then he winks compulsively, jiggles his head weirdly as he dresses and makes up his bunk.

Joe remembers that Percy spent ten years in the state asylum at Atascadero after his double murder ax caper.

He shudders, remembering his own horror commitment there for the first three years of his bit after he blew Felix away. So he lies atop his bunk intently watching Percy as he furiously sweeps the floor and jiggles his head in that weird way.

The cellhouse lights bomb on. Joe glances away from Percy for an instant toward the exploding ribbons of light bulbs on the tier. A shadow swoops the trap door in the corner of his eye. The fingers of his right hand, toying with the twine on a shoe box, reflexively tighten on the twine and jerk the box to his chest as a silver light streaks down.

Joe hears a slash sound, feels the box jounce over his heart. He seizes Percy's wrist, poised for a second strike, in mid-air. Percy grips a razor sharp stiletto. Joe crushes and twists the old man's wrist until he squeals with pain and falls to his knees. The shiv clatters to the floor. Joe leaps off the bunk. He bends the shiv into a circle. Then he throttles Percy, shakes him so violently his dentures bounce to the concrete.

Joe harshly whispers into Percy's upturned face. 'Dingaling muthafuckah, you so lucky! ... lucky you my play pops. Why!? Why!? You s'posed to be my friend.'

Joe flings him away against the john. Percy lands on his bottom, chest humping. He gasps, 'I'm ya true friend! ... wanted to save ya from the misery ya headin' for out theah ...'

The wake-up bell clangs. The harsh clicking of the hacks' keys unlocking the cells on the tiers is like the sound of a colossus banging away at a mammoth rusty typewriter.

Joe helps Percy to his feet. He says, 'Crazy greyass, get yourself together. You ain't God!'

A hack pauses to study a slip of paper after he unlocks their cell.

Percy whispers, 'Ya shoulda did me a favor, son, and kilt me.'

The hack says, 'Big One, on your way to breakfast, drop your stuff into the dress out cell, A-5, on the flag. Return to that cell after breakfast.'

Joe nods. The hack moves on.

Joe picks up the fallen dentures and rinses them off at the washbasin before he gives them to Percy. Percy squeezes adhesive on them and pops them back into his mouth.

Convicts start to rumble past the cell as the steel lock bars above the cells slide back. Joe picks up his gear, starts for the door, turns back, stands at Percy's bunk. Percy is a rigid knot on the side, his face turned toward the cell wall.

Joe says gently, 'Pops, I hope you don't mind me saying goodbye to you.'

The old man turns slowly. He creaks himself to his feet. He blinks away tears as he extends his bony hand.

As Joe squeezes it in a giant paw Percy says hoarsely, 'I was a mule's ass, son. I ... forgive ya for chastisin' me ... look out careful for ya'self. I'm pullin' for ya ... didn't ya say her ... Reba's peepuhs was green?'

Joe's face is puzzled as he nods. They embrace for a long moment before they disengage and Percy flops down on his bunk.

As Joe moves toward the door he says, 'Pops, you gonna pass up the Sunday morning coffeecake?'

Percy mumbles, 'I ain't hongry this mornin'. I'm makin' sick call. Gonna try to skip the tailor shop today. So long, son.'

Joe steps from the cell, smiles back at the old man who flaps a claw-like hand goodbye. Joe disappears into the line of gray clad cons slogging down the tier.

Percy clambers off his bunk. He digs feverishly into the bottom of a paper carton for a treasure hidden for seven years from Joe. He excavates a half century old gold leafed framed picture of a ravishingly beautiful and curved high yellow heart stomper in a sequined chemise dress. He sits on the side of his bunk with the picture atremble on his starved knees. His withered loins sparkle and spasm as his soft ginger cookie eyes gaze rapturously into the green witch eyes of his beheaded inamorata.

17

Reba Allen sits tensely in her driveway with dashing twentyish Theodis Grant on the front seat of his white Jaguar. His light tan comely face is twisted with frustration as he gazes at her obdurate profile. She is still uncommonly attractive but her once proud shoulders have been slumped a bit by the long term ravages of alcohol and general unhappiness.

'But, baby, give me one logical reason why you can't be my girl any more. I love you!?' he pleads, then lights a cigarette and puffs furiously under her solemn scrutiny.

She heaves a sigh. 'You've just given me the one important reason Theo ... I'm not a girl. I've known all along you've been seeing ... sleeping around town with girls young enough to be my daughters. That's all right ... boys should have lots of girls. I don't need you and, my dear, you certainly don't really need me. I've reached a point in my life where I have to be needed!'

She opens the car door with a sad little smile. He clutches at her. She escapes to the pavement and slams the door shut.

He scrambles across the seat, sticks his head through the open window. 'Please, Reba! Don't cut me loose. I need you baby!'

She shakes her head. 'I'm sorry but it's over, Theo ... please return my door key.'

He pats his pockets. 'It's at home. Baby, I'll bring it when I pick up my suit. But we can't quit!'

'We already have' she says. 'Goodbye.' She touches the back of his hand. 'Give up, Theo. It's over.' Reba turns and goes up the driveway toward her front door.

She goes through the door, inhales the lush pine fragrance pervading the living room. Elderly Baptiste and his granddaughter Sadie string the last of the glittery ropes of tinsel, hang the final shimmery red, blue and golden balls on an opulent Christmas tree. They stand back to admire their art in the flare of fireplace flame.

Lean Sadie strolls into the adjoining den with the sensuous grace of the fashion model that she is. She sits in a chair near a front window. She lights a cigarette and watches as steady rain drizzles from the overcast Sunday afternoon sky. Reba goes to the bathroom to shampoo her hair.

Baptiste, dissatisfied, shakes a silky forelock of platinum hair from his bifocaled eyes. Old Crow whiskey staggers him a bit as he continues to rearrange the baubles.

Shortly, Reba returns to the den. She sits in a chair beneath a hair dryer. She sips on a Tom Collins as she cranes her neck to see the tree. Beauty salon owner Belle, the more rounded twin, and newly divorced, sits on a sofa near Reba. She lights a cigarette, sips a bit of Reba's drink. She kisses her mother's cheek as she returns the glass to the table.

She says, 'Just five minutes more, Mom.'

Belle's baby stirs, opens big liquid eyes, in the rocking horse crib beside her. She pushes the crib into motion. The baby girl shutters her eyes and slips back into slumber. Sadie sees Joe Junior pull the battered La Salle to the curb in front of the house between Belle's new El Dorado and her own Porsche. Belle moves the dryer aside to check Reba's hair.

Sadie, as she starts to rise, exclaims 'Junior just drove up, Mama.'

Reba says 'I know, the racket of that La Salle is unmistakable ... let him in, Papa.'

Baptiste continues his tree fiddling and grunts, 'He's got the key you gave him.' Then under his breath, 'Gonna clean us out one day with that key.'

The doorbell rings insistently. Baptiste mutters obscenities as he shuffles to the door. He opens the door, nods and scowls as always at Joe Senior's carbon image. Junior scowls in retaliation as he pushes past him to the den.

Baptiste says to his back, 'Even a heathen would speak to his grandfather.'

Junior growls over his shoulder. 'Not if the heathen's evil ass grandfather greets him with rocks in his jaw.'

Junior enters the den with a toothy smile. He bolts for Reba, arms outflung. 'Hi Mama Sweets! Prettiest Mama in the world!'

They hug.

Reba laughs. 'Jiver, I hope that compliment is a freebie 'cause I'm broke. Lose your key?'

'No, left it at home.' He boogies from Reba to his sisters with sloppy kisses as he vises their faces between his gigantic palms. He sprawls on the sofa beside Belle. He ignores Belle's protestations as he scoops baby Constance from her crib onto his knee. Constance awakens and bawls wildly for an instant before she recognizes him. She rolls her green eyes at him and coos when he kisses her. She falls asleep on his bouncing knee.

Reba says 'How are Dottie and the kids?'

'Great!' Junior exclaims unconvincingly.

Belle swivels the dryer head away to reveal Reba's clean, still luxuriant but grey riddled mass of auburn glory. The vibrant eyes are slightly dulled, sunken a bit in the finely boned face that is under imminent threat of a double chin. Her glowing skin is not quite as taut as before but the slave master curves that inflate her orchid peignoir are intact.

Belle expertly begins to style the still damp hair with comb and scissors. Baptiste sips whiskey from a water glass as he stares balefully into the den from a living room chair.

Reba says, 'Junior, I'm warning you that I'm not going to give you your family's lovely presents to take to them this year. I'm expecting you to bring them to Christmas dinner this weekend coming to receive their presents.'

Junior glances at his watch, lifts Constance tenderly back into her crib. His thick Afro grazes the chandelier as he stands.

He says, 'I'm leaving at midnight to pick up Papa at the joint in the morning ... which one of you rich folks is gonna loan me the price of two rear tires and two tanks of gas?'

Belle says, 'Junior, you'll never make it to San Francisco in that thrashing machine. I can do without my car until Tuesday. Go in it so you can be sure you and Papa will make it back to L.A.'

Junior says, 'Thanks Sis, but my driver's license is expired. I don't want to put you against the wall with your insurance company in case some chump hits me or something.'

Baptiste grunts and stomps disgustedly toward the kitchen. Sadie gets her purse off the carpet, digs into it.

'The best and safest way, Junior, is to wire Papa money for a plane ticket. What if he breaks your jaw and violates parole at the gate when he sees the raunchy condition of his forever La Salle?' she says as she extends a twenty dollar bill.

Junior laughs shakily as he hops over and grabs it. Then he screws up his face in terminal anguish. 'Sadie, I should slap your jaw about cracking that Papa's nuts!'

Reba says sharply, 'Watch it! I don't allow even play gorilla under this roof.'

Sadie says, 'Ree, Junior won't and hasn't hit me since I split his head open with your big steel skillet when I was ten.'

Junior laughs. 'You didn't K.O. me. I coulda come back and harmed you 'cept I loved your rotten butt ... and hey! You cracked a plane ticket for Papa. Wouldn't you dig me picking you up in person if you were hitting the bricks after a ten year bit? Now somebody lay forty more on me so I can split and get together for the trip.'