The Sound of Broken Ribs(16)

“What the fuck you talking about? What ‘writer lady’?” Tony asked. Belinda was amazed at how unreadable her brother’s face was. She was looking hard for a sign that Tony knew more about the “writer lady” than he was letting on, but if she didn’t know any better, she’d say he was completely in the dark on the subject.

“Somebody ran over one of our local artists. Fuckin’ tragedy.” Fat Tom sipped his beer. From the sound of the slurp, he’d gotten more suds than brew.

“She died? She dead?” Carl asked. The big black man was hunched over to the point that Belinda thought he resembled a gargoyle.

“Not that I know of—Nuh-uh.” Fat Tom shook his head and his many chins danced. “Ambulance come got her. Scooped her up from the side of the road. Heard ‘bout it on my band radio.”

Tony said, “Told your ass to stay off that contraption. One of these days, they gonna bust into your house to arrest you for contributing to the delinquency of your waistline, and they gonna find that CB radio of yours and arrest you for listening in on their Mickey Mouse channels.”

“They can’t do that—can they?” Carl asked.

Tony nodded and drank his beer. He belched loudly and wetly and said, “Sure can. Jus’ like they can ticket your ass for having one them speeder devices. What’re they called Frank?”

“Radar detectives?” the small ginger said. This was the first time he’d spoken this evening. Belinda found his voice musical; beautiful, even.

“Yeah. One them. You can get a ticket for using one just like they can arrest you for listening in on their Mickey Mouse channel. I know a guy once who got arrested for listening to a bunch of white cops sitting around talkin’ ‘bout ‘that nigger did this, and that nigger did that.’” Tony tipped his beer can in Carl’s direction. “No offense, brother. Just relaying the facts.”

“Nah,” Carl said with a smile and a laugh. “Ain’t no thing. But you really knew a guy who got in trouble for listening in on some racist cops? How’s that work?”

“Dumb cockheads went and reported the loose-lipped cops to their supervisors. The cop’s supers, not their own. Anyway. They called the cops who watch cops. What’re they called, Frank?”

“Internal affairs?” Frank said. The man seemed to only speak in questions.

“Right. Internal affairs and shit. Anyway.” Tony took a swig, threw some chips on top of the ever-growing pile in the middle of the table, and continued: “These guys I know, they called Internal Affairs on these racist cops and got themselves in trouble for having one them CB boxes like you got, Tommy. So, yeah, stop fucking with that thing.”

“Ain’t like I’m gonna call in and report what I heard. I ain’t no imbecile, Tony. Shit. Have a little more faith in ol’ Tom.”

With a start, Belinda realized Paul was staring at her. It was hard to tell what he was looking at, actually, given his lazy eye, but when she made contact with his good eye, he winked at her. He licked his thin lips and hitched his chin at the hallway. Toward the bathroom. Or, more adequately, toward the guest bedroom.

Belinda smiled coyly and shook her head in quick little jerks.

Paul frowned like a child deprived a piece of candy, which, Belinda thought, wasn’t all that far from the truth.

She mouthed, “Maybe later,” and Paul perked right up.

What the fuck’re you doing? A man like that is likely to fuck you into a coma.

That’s what I’m hoping for.

Belinda considered the fact that she had no idea where this man’s penis had been or what diseases he was carrying. A man like Paul was not only likely to fuck someone into a coma, but he was also likely to have been with unclean partners. He didn’t look like the type of guy that minded a few scabs and warts on the holes he dug. She only hoped he had a condom.

But what if it went too far, and he didn’t have a rubber? A man like Paul wasn’t likely to want to stop.

A man like Paul this and a man like Paul that… Fuck ‘im or don’t, but make sure you do it for the right reasons. You’re not getting revenge on Dan. You’re using Paul to forget Dan. This fuck will be a system restore, not a virus scan.

Belinda once more directed her attention to the conversation around the table.

“—but they don’t know who hit her?” Tony said.

“Nope. Smashed her up pretty good from what the EMTs relayed to the ER doc while they was in route. Multiple broken ribs, smashed arm, a dislocated shoulder, shattered jaw. She was all fucked up. First I heard of someone taking that much damage and living. Reminded me of that doctor last year—that druggie, what was his name? Anyway, the fucker who got his jaw torn off while riding his bike. That guy. This reminded me of that.”

“Who?” Carl asked.

“His friend was that clothespin killer. Come on, you ‘member. I know you ‘member him.”

“Oh!” Tony pounded the table with the ball of one fist. “That Arab-foreigner guy that cut up them women?”

“Yeah! Him.” Fat Tom looked like a cat with a gob full of canary. “Anyway, one of the medics actually brought him up on the radio. Guess he was try’na prepare the doctor for what was coming.”

“Brent Cummings?” Frank asked.