Terminal

“A’ight, Tommy. You cool, I can tell. Irish, like your boy Sherm here, right?”

I nodded.

He turned to Markus and Kelvin. “Irish is the white niggaz. They were slaves too. The white man called them indentured servants, but it was the same shit. If you’d have stayed in school, you’d know that. Ya’ll want to talk about a revolution? The motherfucking Irish was off the hook. Still are, with that Republican Army and shit.”

I said nothing. Wallace relaxed.

“Sherm says you’re looking to buy some handguns.”

I shuffled my feet, hesitating. Now that it came down to it, I didn’t want to say it out loud. It seemed like another act of finality.

“Yeah, I need two. They’re for—”

“No”— he held up a hand—“don’t tell me what they’re for, dog! The less I know, the better. That way I can’t flip on you, and it don’t come back to me.”

I nodded.

“Those are nice shoes,” John said to Markus. “I need a pair like that. Where’d you get them?”

“Ganked them from a white boy down at the mall,” Markus replied. “He looked a lot like you. Hell, coulda’ been your brother.”

“Oh . . . I don’t have a brother.”

“Shut up, John . . .” Sherm warned.

Wallace opened the shoe box. Two pistols lay inside.

“These here are Smith & Wesson .357s. You can load a .38 special or .357 magnum round in them. Depending on what you’re using them for, I’d go with the magnum round. Shoot a guy in the back of the head with that, and the motherfucker’s spine will come out his nose and shit. Ain’t no safety on these; they’re revolvers, so don’t shoot your dick off if you’re sagging. They’ve got an exposed hammer, so you can thumb it back for a real easy shot. Two hundred. Cash up front. No checks or credit cards accepted.”

“What about ammunition?” I asked.

He grinned. “I look like Walmart to you, dog? Any store like that will have ammo. Ain’t you got hunting stores out there in Hanover— all them crazy redneck motherfuckers running around shooting at deer and rabbits and shit?”

“Squeal like a pig, boy,” Kelvin drawled.

“Yeah, we do. We’ve got all kinds of places to buy ammo. I’m just a little low on cash right now, is all.”

“Come on, Wallace,” Sherm urged, “hook us up, man. All the business I’ve given you, why you want to do us like that? Shit, I’ve practically paid for your last year’s rent!”

He grinned, considered it, then shrugged. “A’ight, but only because you’re a good customer, Sherm, and because I like your boy Tommy here. Those are six-shooters. They’re fully loaded. You all can keep what’s in ’em. You need more than that, though, it’ll cost you extra.”

“No, twelve rounds should be all right,” I said. “Hopefully, we won’t have to fire them at all.”

“These are just insurance,” Sherm explained.

“Whatever, dog. Like I said, I don’t want to know. Less I know the better. Just make damn sure you understand the drill. You didn’t get them from me and I never heard of any of you. The serial numbers have been filed down, and I wiped the prints off before I put them in the box. They all yours now.”

I handed him the money and he handed me the box. For one crazy instant, I wanted to reach out and snatch the money back from him, tell him that I’d changed my mind and it was all just a terrible mistake. But I didn’t. Instead, I accepted the box. It was heavier than I’d thought it would be.

Wallace counted the money, folded it, and stuffed the wad into his pocket.

“Pleasure doing business with you.”

“A’ight, Wallace, we out.” Sherm rapped fists with him and turned to leave. “I’ll catch you next week, yo.”

“Later, Holmes.”

He turned to me, presented his fist, and I rapped it.

“You’re okay, Tommy. For real. It was cool doing business with you. Come on back again sometime and we’ll chill. Maybe play some chess and shit. You play chess?”

“Yeah— a little. Learned it when I spent a weekend in County for unpaid speeding tickets.”

“There ya go. Jailhouse chess— the same thing I play. We cool then. Later, dog.”

“Thanks.”

I trailed along behind Sherm. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw John stop. Saw him turn to the three of them. Saw him smile. Saw his hand wave slowly. Saw his mouth open and say . . .

“Later my niggaz. Peace out.”

I froze, cringing at what I’d just heard.

Wincing, Sherm whipped around. Still smiling, John turned toward us, saw the horrified expression on our faces, and stopped.

“What? What are you guys looking at? What did I do wrong?”

“Say what?” Markus spat. His face was ashen. “What the fuck did you just say?”

Wallace took a step forward. “Somebody please tell me that this stupid motherfucker did not just drop the N-bomb.”

“You’re damn straight he did,” Kelvin growled. He reached inside his baggy pants pocket, and I saw him clench something. I knew what it was before he pulled it out. Without thinking, I ripped the lid off the box and reached inside.

“Hold up!” Sherm stepped between us, hands outstretched. “Just hold up a fucking minute. Let’s not do something stupid, ya’ll.”