you wrong.”
“No, Everett,” she said. “You’re wrong. I’m not involved. I’ve never been involved. I’ll never be involved. I’m not the one who—”
“Shut up!” Black said, raising his voice for the first time. “You are involved. So stop tryin’ to act like you so far above all this, ’cause you ain’t. You smokin’ just like I’m smokin’. And you want some more dope just like I want some more dope. So stop frontin’ like you so shocked, ’cause you ain’t no better than nobody in here. Now, take the money, girl, and don’t make me do nothin’ I don’t wanna do. ’Cause I’ll take your car, lock you in the trunk, and leave yo’ ass out the airport till the dogs catch the scent.”
For a moment, there was near silence. The only sound in the room was the chatter of the radio and the hiss of Black’s breathing. Everyone else, it seemed, was holding their breath. No one blinked, or shifted position, or spoke. Nothing, in fact, moved—until Pookie laughed.
Clarisse reacted before anyone could stop her. By the time Black looked up, her fist was flying past him in a blur, and Pookie’s feet were leaving the floor. When he looked again, Pookie had banged into the far wall and was sliding down, her eyeballs rolled back in the sockets like marbles.
She crumpled to the floor in a heap, and Leroy rushed over to help her.
“How much money are you talking about?” Clarisse said, ignoring Pookie while she rubbed her knuckles and breathed heavily.
“Huh?” Leroy said, looking up from Pookie. “Oh, three hundred.”
“Six hundred,” she said.
“What?” Leroy said, acting as if she had asked for his right arm.
“I’ll give her the other three,” Black said. “Let’s just get outta here.”
“All right,” Leroy said, looking at Pookie with glazed eyes.
“The shower’s upstairs,” Clarisse said. “There are new razors and toothbrushes in the bathroom cabinet, and some men’s clothes in the closet in the master bedroom. They might be too big for you and Leroy, but you’ll be wearing coats, so I guess it won’t matter.”
“What you doin’ with men’s clothes?” Black said.
“None of your business. And wake that bitch up. I don’t allow any sleeping in here.”
Leroy splashed water in Pookie’s face while Black went upstairs to shower, stripping off his clothes as he climbed the stairs and hoping that Clarisse and Pookie could stop themselves from killing each other for the next five minutes or so.
“Throw your clothes in the trash can up there!” Clarisse yelled up the steps.
Black didn’t respond. He was too busy hiding his thousand dollars between some towels and rummaging through the bathroom cabinet for a toothbrush. Finding one, he unwrapped it and hastily squirted toothpaste across its bristles before stepping into the shower.
“Everett?” Clarisse said, and he ignored her again as he turned on the water, watching the steam rise slowly against the glass shower doors as he scrubbed the toothbrush feverishly against his teeth.
Black could hear Leroy talking, and then the sound of someone coming upstairs, but it sounded like it was only one person, so he knew it wasn’t five-o. Not that he cared. This was a shower, and nothing was going to stop him from getting it, because showers were special, particularly since he had begun living in the street.
Most of the time, he would just go into a McDonald’s bathroom and wash up in the sink. Other times, he would spend the night at Ridge Avenue Shelter and shower there, or he’d go to 802—the place for the homeless on Broad Street—and sign the shower list. But a real shower in a real home? Black hadn’t had one of those since his family had stopped letting him in the house. Maybe that’s why he didn’t hear Clarisse come in and slide the shower door back.
“Everett,” she said, her mouth almost next to his ear.
Startled, he jumped and turned around to see her naked body draped in a cloud of
“No, Everett,” she said. “You’re wrong. I’m not involved. I’ve never been involved. I’ll never be involved. I’m not the one who—”
“Shut up!” Black said, raising his voice for the first time. “You are involved. So stop tryin’ to act like you so far above all this, ’cause you ain’t. You smokin’ just like I’m smokin’. And you want some more dope just like I want some more dope. So stop frontin’ like you so shocked, ’cause you ain’t no better than nobody in here. Now, take the money, girl, and don’t make me do nothin’ I don’t wanna do. ’Cause I’ll take your car, lock you in the trunk, and leave yo’ ass out the airport till the dogs catch the scent.”
For a moment, there was near silence. The only sound in the room was the chatter of the radio and the hiss of Black’s breathing. Everyone else, it seemed, was holding their breath. No one blinked, or shifted position, or spoke. Nothing, in fact, moved—until Pookie laughed.
Clarisse reacted before anyone could stop her. By the time Black looked up, her fist was flying past him in a blur, and Pookie’s feet were leaving the floor. When he looked again, Pookie had banged into the far wall and was sliding down, her eyeballs rolled back in the sockets like marbles.
She crumpled to the floor in a heap, and Leroy rushed over to help her.
“How much money are you talking about?” Clarisse said, ignoring Pookie while she rubbed her knuckles and breathed heavily.
“Huh?” Leroy said, looking up from Pookie. “Oh, three hundred.”
“Six hundred,” she said.
“What?” Leroy said, acting as if she had asked for his right arm.
“I’ll give her the other three,” Black said. “Let’s just get outta here.”
“All right,” Leroy said, looking at Pookie with glazed eyes.
“The shower’s upstairs,” Clarisse said. “There are new razors and toothbrushes in the bathroom cabinet, and some men’s clothes in the closet in the master bedroom. They might be too big for you and Leroy, but you’ll be wearing coats, so I guess it won’t matter.”
“What you doin’ with men’s clothes?” Black said.
“None of your business. And wake that bitch up. I don’t allow any sleeping in here.”
Leroy splashed water in Pookie’s face while Black went upstairs to shower, stripping off his clothes as he climbed the stairs and hoping that Clarisse and Pookie could stop themselves from killing each other for the next five minutes or so.
“Throw your clothes in the trash can up there!” Clarisse yelled up the steps.
Black didn’t respond. He was too busy hiding his thousand dollars between some towels and rummaging through the bathroom cabinet for a toothbrush. Finding one, he unwrapped it and hastily squirted toothpaste across its bristles before stepping into the shower.
“Everett?” Clarisse said, and he ignored her again as he turned on the water, watching the steam rise slowly against the glass shower doors as he scrubbed the toothbrush feverishly against his teeth.
Black could hear Leroy talking, and then the sound of someone coming upstairs, but it sounded like it was only one person, so he knew it wasn’t five-o. Not that he cared. This was a shower, and nothing was going to stop him from getting it, because showers were special, particularly since he had begun living in the street.
Most of the time, he would just go into a McDonald’s bathroom and wash up in the sink. Other times, he would spend the night at Ridge Avenue Shelter and shower there, or he’d go to 802—the place for the homeless on Broad Street—and sign the shower list. But a real shower in a real home? Black hadn’t had one of those since his family had stopped letting him in the house. Maybe that’s why he didn’t hear Clarisse come in and slide the shower door back.
“Everett,” she said, her mouth almost next to his ear.
Startled, he jumped and turned around to see her naked body draped in a cloud of
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