Black Buck(53)

“What?”

“Um, it’s just that, uh, you said you would try to get me a job at Sumwun, right? Doing what you do. And I know that it didn’t work last time, but, um—COCK! Sorry, uh, maybe you could talk to Clyde and ask for a do-over?”

“I don’t have time for this, Brian,” I snapped, my voice soaked in rage. “I got you an interview a month ago, like I said I would. I vouched for you, like I said I would. And you fucked it up, like you said you wouldn’t.”

“But—”

“But what, Brian? You think I’m just some endless well of opportunities? You think I can just, as you say, ‘Talk to Clyde and ask for a do-over?’ Life doesn’t work that way. Sometimes you get one shot at the game,” I said, jabbing a finger in front of his face. “And if you fuck it up, you’re done. And it doesn’t mean it’s right, but that’s just how the game is. But it’s a good thing you didn’t get the job. Because, frankly, you don’t have what it takes. You would’ve been eaten alive, and it would’ve been more of a waste of your time than the time I’m wasting with you right now. So just stick to Starbucks, okay?”

Tears welled up in his eyes and slowly crawled over the pimpled and pockmarked surfaces of his face. He nodded, walked back up the stairs, pushed his way through the revolving doors, and disappeared.



* * *





When he saw me exiting the station, Wally Cat stood up from his crate, eyes wide in fear. Today his Hawaiian shirt featured red, blue, and yellow parrots on various tropical leaves. “Aye, don’ do nothin’, Darren! It’s not worth it!”

Jason was where he always was: on his corner, wearing the same black hoodie with the sagging black pants and rolled-up black balaclava from TV. He was on the phone, waving a hand full of cash in the air. Before he could turn around, I rammed my fist into his face, knocking him to the ground. His phone bounced off the concrete and the wad of hundred-dollar bills exploded like confetti.

“Yo, what the fuck?” he shouted, eyes knocked into the back of his head.

“What’s good now, son!” I said, crashing heavy fist after heavy fist into his face. Left eye, right eye, left cheek, right cheek, nose, chin, upper lip, bottom lip. My hands knew no boundaries, traveling freely from place to place like migratory birds.

He scratched and clawed at my face, doing anything to make me stop, but I was already on top of him, the weight of my body planted on his chest, my feet firm on the concrete.

“Big man now, huh?” I shouted, pummeling his face like a raw piece of meat, unable to feel the tears flying out of my own eyes. “I’m not shit, right? Said I forgot where I come from, right?” I beat his mouth so many times I felt teeth break right out from his gums, heard his nose crack to the left, then straighten to the right, saw blood pooling in his mouth so dark and red, it resembled oil.

“You’re gonna kill the nigga!” someone shouted.

“WORLDSTAR!” another said, cell phone cameras flashing as if I were surrounded by paparazzi.

I didn’t care. Nothing hurts worse than betrayal from someone you love.

“D! Stop!” someone yelled. I looked up, and in the dense crowd that swarmed the corner, I saw Soraya, a hand covering her mouth and her face wet with tears. Unable to continue, I got up, wiped my eyes, and walked over to her.

When I looked back at Jason, he was choking on his blood. Wally Cat turned him over and pounded his back. Blood splattered all over the corner, filling the cracks in the concrete.

Police sirens grew louder, and the crowd dispersed in every direction. I stood still. The wind blew a strong smell of cinnamon and cocoa butter toward me; I allowed it to fill my nose and spread throughout my body.

“Let’s go!” Soraya pulled me away.

I looked back and saw Wally Cat holding Jason in his arms, rubbing his head.

As we passed the bodega, I waved to Mr. Aziz, but he just stared. We turned the corner and bolted up the stairs.



* * *





“I don’ understand,” Ma said, dabbing my face and hands with alcohol.

“Ow!” I shouted. “That hurts, Ma!”

“Well maybe it should hurt more. I don’ understand how you and Jason went from bein’ Batman and Superman to fightin’ on the corner like animals.”

“You saw the interview, Ma. You saw how he did me, didn’ you?”

She pressed the alcohol harder into my cuts, bringing the pain to an all-time high. “How he did you?” She sucked her teeth. “What’s gotten into you, Darren Vender? You’re startin’ to sound like one of those prepubescent gangbangers on Judge Hatchett, talkin’ ’bout street justice and other nonsense I raised you to steer clear of.”

Soraya walked into the living room, waving my phone. “It’s ringin’, D.”

I swatted Ma’s hand away and sat up on the couch. Rhett. Fuck.

“Hey, Rhett,” I said, trying to sound normal.

“Jesus, Buck. What did you do?”

“What do you mean?”

“Buck,” he said, spitting my name out. “The video is all over every news channel. Why did you do that? I thought you had more sense. I thought you knew what was at stake.”

Shit. “I don’t know, Rhett. I wasn’t thinking. I just saw what he said about me and lost it. I’m sorry, man. I’m really sorry.”