– Why’d Luther kill himself?
– Don’t know.
He drops the pillow on the couch.
– Tired of livin’, I guess.
He goes to the closet and pulls down two musty afghans.
– Know how that is, don’t ya?
I take the blankets and spread them on the couch.
– Not yet.
– That so? Don’t get tired of life yo ownself?
He sits on the old recliner that faces the TV. I accept the cigarette he holds out to me.
– Yeah, I guess sometimes I do.
– Sure you do. Me, I feel that way most all the time now.
We light up.
Percy touches the remote. The TV blips on. He flips a couple channels, then turns it off. I lean over and knock some ash into the tray resting on the arm of his chair.
– How’d he do it?
– Like they say, stabbed hisself in the eyes.
– How’d he manage that?
He looks at me.
– Ever meet the X?
– Nope.
– Man had willpower.
– Why you think he did it that way?
He pulls the lever on the side of his chair and it tilts back until he’s looking at the ceiling, blowing smoke at the fixture above his head.
– Didn’t like what he saw no more. Didn’t like what he saw comin’.
He talks to the ceiling.
– See, back when that picture was taken, we had us a time. Had us a fight. All this up here was Coalition. Till the X. He made it happen. Revelation. Revolution. Once that was done, once we was our own masters, things still wasn’t easy. No more of that Coalition welfare blood comin’ in. Had to work, find new ways to keep people fed. Had to integrate the brothas and sistas with the Latinos. Havin’ the revolution, that was just the start. But we got there, the X made damn sure we got there. An’ for awhile then, things was easy. People start forgettin’, don’t remember what the cost was. Got people like Papa sayin’ it time for a change. Sayin’ Luther had his time, now we stable, now we at peace, now we start communicatin’ with the Coalition again. Time to let bygones be bygones. War was war, but now we got prosperity. Hook up with the Coalition and it be even more prosperous. Bull. Shit. They just comfortable. Want to be more comfortable. Ask me, Papa’s on the Coalition tip. Ask me, that spook Dexter Predo whisperin’ in his ear.
Saying Predo’s name, he turns his head and spits at the floor.
– So maybe Luther looked at all this. Saw his people getting fat, saw his old friend gunnin’ for him, saw another fight on the way, maybe he saw all that, and he decided he didn’t want to see no more. Maybe he said to hisself, Time to go out. Go out on my terms. Go out and maybe leave a little gift behind, something my boy Digga, my smart boy Digga, can turn to his hand. So maybe that why he did it that way, the hard way. Man’s got daggers in his eyes, ain’t no way no one gonna say he did it hisself. Somethin’ like that, it like to cause an outrage when Digga stand up an’ say, Coalition did it! White devils assassinated our king! That a rivetin’ image: a king with knives in his eyes. That rallied the troops alright.
He picks up the ashtray and hands it to me.
– Put that on that table there.
I put it on the table.
– Yeah, Digga got us back on that war-foot. Galvanized the people. Got they’s heads right again. But that talk comin’ back now. That appeasement talk. Digga can throw as many dogs as he wants in that pool. Bite as many as he want. Keep puttin’ on a show. Sooner or later, boy gonna have to show the people the devil’s face. Prove to them they got enemies outside they borders. That enforcer comin’ up here was a help, but he need more than that. Need to show that poison comin’ in for real. An’ it comin’ from Predo. He show that, no one gonna take his crown nohow. He show that, Papa gonna have to mind his P’s and his Q’s.
I start another smoke.
– How you know all that about Luther?
He sighs.
– I cut the man’s hair din’t I? Now switch off that lamp.
I switch it off and we sit in the darkness. Just some light coming from the luminous dial of an old clock on top of the TV and from the tip of my cigarette.
– You stay up an’ smoke you want to. Gonna get me some sleep.
He settles deeper into the easy chair.
– Percy?
– Huh?
– What’s your end in this?
He turns his head to face me.
– Shit, boy, I’m Enclave. Just doin’ a solid for Daniel.
I study his black skin by the glow of my cigarette.
– You don’t look it.
– Well, theys Enclave and theys Enclave. Man can be a Baptist without he got to be no holy roller.
He closes his eyes and turns his face away.
– The can is down the hall you got to take a piss.
– Pitt.
– Hmmn?
– Wake it and shake it. It time.
– Hn?
I feel like I just closed my eyes. I open them.
Percy is sitting on the edge of the couch. I boost myself up.
– What?
– It time. Here.
He hands me an unopened pack of Pall Malls and a book of matches.
– Now doan forget what we talk about.
– OK.
– Things ain’t always what they look like they is.
– I know.
– When the man give you a proposition, you take it. Right?
– What?
– Take the proposition.
– What?
He glances at the door.
I hear them.
I’m off the couch and down the hall. Behind me the door is kicked in. I’m past a bedroom, past the bathroom. Ahead, there’s one more door. I open it and a vacuum cleaner falls out. Footsteps are behind me. I turn around.
Timberlands is coming down the hall followed by the two rhinos from last night. I reach for the switchblade in my pocket.
Percy yells from the parlor.
– Careful, he got a knife.
Timberlands pauses as I pull the switchblade and pop it open. He puts his hand in the pocket of my own fucking jacket and pulls out my own fucking.32 and points it at me.
– Gonna put a hole in yo ass, you doan drop it.
I drop the knife.
He steps to the side to make room for the rhinos. I try to fight them, but they make me stop. They drag me back down the hall and through the parlor.
Percy is talking.
– Take you long enough. How long a man supposed ta entertain the white boy?
Digga is standing in the open doorway.
– Just as long as it take, Percy.
– They not happy with you, Pitt.
I’m sitting in the backseat squeezed between the two rhinos. Timberlands drives. Digga sits in the front passenger seat.
– Why’s that?
– Could be cuz they had ta go down like that. Had ta take a rap on the back of the skull from the one-armed man. Not the kind of thing a man likes gettin’ ’round. Course, it ain’t gettin’ ’round.
– No?
– Shit no. What gettin’ ’round is how you fooled they asses into openin’ the door and then took ’em both. That the story gettin’ ’round. An that the real reason they not happy with you.
– Too bad.
– Too bad for you, they get a chance to dance on you.
I look from one rhino to the other.
– I like dancing.
Digga turns himself around and looks at my face. He points at it.
– Not done yet. Mark him up a little more.
The rhinos toss a couple quick elbows at my face. My lips split open. A knot starts to grow over my right eye. My nose breaks for about the twentieth time in my life. It’s OK. Pain is relative. You never stop feeling it, but have enough of it inflicted on you and you get kind of accustomed to it. It’ll all heal. If they don’t kill me.
– Enough.
They stop.
– See what I mean, Pitt. They just not happy with you.
My right eye is swelling, closing up. I squint at Digga.
– What about you, you happy with me?
– Me? Well, I say this, you playin’ yo role.
I spit blood onto his upholstery.
– Still happy with me?
Digga snaps his fingers at Timberlands.