The Busting Out of an Ordinary Man by Odie Hawkins Page B

like I once knew how to half-shit or fart at three different tonal levels, and a whole bunch of other things, but you know how it is if you don’t practice.
    â€œAt any rate, I was home free, a pocket full of precious stones, off to trade with the Conquerin’ Lion of Judah, the King of Kings, His Imperial Lawdship, Haile Selassie himself.”
    â€œOh wowwww!”
    â€œYessuh! I figured that the only righteous dude I could deal with would be the Emperor of Ethiopia. I knew, if anybody had any dough at all, it would be him so off I go to Ethiopia.”
    The guard on the tower station above them, concerned about lengthening shadows and the intensity of their closeness, motioned them out to the center of the yard.
    Marcus scowled up at the guard. “Hey, I got a lil’ home brew in my cell, y’all wanna …?”
    â€œNo sooner said than done!” Buddha agreed quickly, the last rays of the sun disappearing over the wall, chilling him to the bone.
    The four of them made their way through the relays of contraband searchers, up to their tier.
    Marcus ushered them into his cell as though he were receiving guests in a swank house. “Make yourselves to home. It ain’t much but it all belongs to the state.”
    He uncovered a potent half-pint of distilled potato drippings, rubbing alcohol, iodine (for color) and the residue of several past batches and passed it to the guest of honor.
    â€œOoooowhhheeeeeee!” Buddha exclaimed, squinching up his already squinched up eyes. “Godddammmm! This shit is ugly !” He passed his critique on it and took another long swallow. The trio beamed around him.
    â€œGo on, Buddha, you was in Ethiopia.”
    â€œUh huh, sho’ was. Got a fair and square deal on my gems from His Majesty, hung around Addis Ababba long enough to sock a couple crumbcrushers into a few ladies and departed, ten minutes ahead of three tribes of brothers intent on makin’ me marry their sisters and a red hot case of ol’ fashioned plague.”
    Donnell spilled a little of the home brew down the side of his jaw. “What kinda plague?”
    â€œThe bubonic plague, young suh, the bubonic plague. The kind that they used to have in Europe that would kill off half of London or Paris or Amsterdam. The plague plague.
    â€œBut like I said, I was off. What I was goin’ to do was hit off ’round the eastern coast, shoot through the Upper Sue-dan right quick, slice through Egypt I hadn’t been to Cairo yet, whip ’round the edge of Libya, maybe get on back into Europe from Algeria, if everything was cool.
    â€œAs it turned out, everything was love jones, ’til I got to Algeria. Somebody had put out a contract on my ass. I don’t have to tell you who, and I guess it was stupid of me to be thinkin’ that the Algerians who wanted my nuts wouldn’t check back home every now and then.
    â€œAnyway, whilst I was dodgin’ knives, bullets and shit being dropped from rooftops, they had started another one of those lil’ ol’ funny time wars they were in the habit of startin’. I think this one was about some dude snatchin’ some other dude’s woman’s veil off.”
    â€œPass it on, Donnell!” Brian reminded him, as he stared hypnotically into Buddha’s mouth.
    Buddha accepted the half empty, half-pint bottle and bowed while seated, supergraciously, half lit.
    â€œI got out,” he said curtly, after a quick swallow. “Who has our cigarettes?”
    Marcus lit a Benson ’n Hedges and handed it to him respectfully.
    â€œYeah, I got out, fled to Casablanca, Morocco. Now that’s a town for you if ever there was one! At the time I swooped in, everything went! You hear me, lil’ brothers! Everything!! I hadn’t been in town fifteen hot minutes, black in white, white on black, moppin’ my face with a snow white hankerchief, when two of the most beautiful lil’ girls,