money and put it in his wallet. The hat was passed back through the crowd.
‘Look here,’ I said before we broke, ‘if the Man stops you, you don't give out no lip. Ansuh whatever he wants to know an’ tell ‘im you been watchin’ TV an’ stay on the block. Stay away from the 13th Street park an’ stay in the open where a lotta old people can see you. That way the Man can't rough you up an’ claim you fell while you tellin’ all you know.’
The crowd started out of the park when I finished. Cooly and I strolled down 17th Street toward Ninth Avenue. We acted as though we owned the sidewalk. Even though it was going on ten o'clock, the block was still lit up with domino games, and crapshooting was on full blast. The Puerto Rican boys on the stoops were drinking beer and rapping to their little painted women. When we passed, they waved and whispered. I grinned to myself. I like to see them spreading the word about me. Soon everyone would have to know me. It would be an unwritten law.
The gambling had started right after work, and now only the beer cans and cake wrappers could say for sure how long Jose, the store owner, had worked to keep the games going. They kept him rich when they gambled all night, and he didn't give a damn if he had to do a little extra sweeping every morning. Most of the storekeepers didn't want the mengambling anywhere near their place, because the old ladies complained and went elsewhere to buy their cat food. José evidently had no concern for old ladies and their cats.
As we moved closer to Ninth Avenue, the sounds of the night took on a Latin beat. Eddie Palmieri and Joe Bataan were the music heroes of the neighborhood. The Met game was coming out of some window or other, and the Mets were getting their asses kicked again. The blasts coming from off the rooftops told us that a few Spanish boys were having a ‘love-in’ under the sky. The old ladies crowded the sidewalks in folding chairs and sped through Spanish in no time at all. All I could ever catch was Puerto Rico and something-something ‘MeeAmi.’ They could rap a whole book while I hung back trying to translate the first word they had flown over.
Aretha was coming from a window. She was singing ‘Do-Right Woman,’ and for a second I thought I heard Isidro's voice. Every time I heard that side I was reminded of Isidro, because I had been sitting in Tommy's Coffee House the day after school listening to it when Seedy barged in. I was surprised when he walked in, because I had only talked to Lee the day before and found out about my new deal.
I was drinking a Coke with a little rum Tommy had thrown in, and there was my girl Aretha building the atmosphere. It was early afternoon, and very few people were up and about. None of the chicks that I wanted to talk to were around the place, so I kept the back table busy and played sides.
‘I wanna talk to you, man,’ Isidro said, dropping into the seat opposite me.
‘Talk,’ I said. From the broken English I hadn't had to look up to identify the speaker. I was cursing under my breath for being caught off guard.
‘Who you gize gon’ buy you stuff from? Me o’ dis odder cat?’
‘We gonna deal with Lee,’ I said.
‘Why?’
‘You know good and damn well why! You been beatin’ the hell outta us for too fuckin’ long! Dirty smoke! Bad pills! Fuck you!’ I looked around, but there was no one near enough to hear us. Tommy was watching from up front, however.
Isidro made a gesture with the middle finger of his right hand. His eyes widened, and he pulled closer to me across the table. I could smell the wine on his breath and the odor of coffee.
‘Look ‘ere. I jus’ wan you to know somsing. I heard ‘bout dis sheet you wan pull on me. It ain’ gon work. Oye? I wan you to know I ketch one pussy near my sheepment, I gonna keel ‘im. I don give a fuck you got Spade to back you up. A boolet can kill Spade like any man. I'm gon carry a gun from now on. I can kill
‘Look here,’ I said before we broke, ‘if the Man stops you, you don't give out no lip. Ansuh whatever he wants to know an’ tell ‘im you been watchin’ TV an’ stay on the block. Stay away from the 13th Street park an’ stay in the open where a lotta old people can see you. That way the Man can't rough you up an’ claim you fell while you tellin’ all you know.’
The crowd started out of the park when I finished. Cooly and I strolled down 17th Street toward Ninth Avenue. We acted as though we owned the sidewalk. Even though it was going on ten o'clock, the block was still lit up with domino games, and crapshooting was on full blast. The Puerto Rican boys on the stoops were drinking beer and rapping to their little painted women. When we passed, they waved and whispered. I grinned to myself. I like to see them spreading the word about me. Soon everyone would have to know me. It would be an unwritten law.
The gambling had started right after work, and now only the beer cans and cake wrappers could say for sure how long Jose, the store owner, had worked to keep the games going. They kept him rich when they gambled all night, and he didn't give a damn if he had to do a little extra sweeping every morning. Most of the storekeepers didn't want the mengambling anywhere near their place, because the old ladies complained and went elsewhere to buy their cat food. José evidently had no concern for old ladies and their cats.
As we moved closer to Ninth Avenue, the sounds of the night took on a Latin beat. Eddie Palmieri and Joe Bataan were the music heroes of the neighborhood. The Met game was coming out of some window or other, and the Mets were getting their asses kicked again. The blasts coming from off the rooftops told us that a few Spanish boys were having a ‘love-in’ under the sky. The old ladies crowded the sidewalks in folding chairs and sped through Spanish in no time at all. All I could ever catch was Puerto Rico and something-something ‘MeeAmi.’ They could rap a whole book while I hung back trying to translate the first word they had flown over.
Aretha was coming from a window. She was singing ‘Do-Right Woman,’ and for a second I thought I heard Isidro's voice. Every time I heard that side I was reminded of Isidro, because I had been sitting in Tommy's Coffee House the day after school listening to it when Seedy barged in. I was surprised when he walked in, because I had only talked to Lee the day before and found out about my new deal.
I was drinking a Coke with a little rum Tommy had thrown in, and there was my girl Aretha building the atmosphere. It was early afternoon, and very few people were up and about. None of the chicks that I wanted to talk to were around the place, so I kept the back table busy and played sides.
‘I wanna talk to you, man,’ Isidro said, dropping into the seat opposite me.
‘Talk,’ I said. From the broken English I hadn't had to look up to identify the speaker. I was cursing under my breath for being caught off guard.
‘Who you gize gon’ buy you stuff from? Me o’ dis odder cat?’
‘We gonna deal with Lee,’ I said.
‘Why?’
‘You know good and damn well why! You been beatin’ the hell outta us for too fuckin’ long! Dirty smoke! Bad pills! Fuck you!’ I looked around, but there was no one near enough to hear us. Tommy was watching from up front, however.
Isidro made a gesture with the middle finger of his right hand. His eyes widened, and he pulled closer to me across the table. I could smell the wine on his breath and the odor of coffee.
‘Look ‘ere. I jus’ wan you to know somsing. I heard ‘bout dis sheet you wan pull on me. It ain’ gon work. Oye? I wan you to know I ketch one pussy near my sheepment, I gonna keel ‘im. I don give a fuck you got Spade to back you up. A boolet can kill Spade like any man. I'm gon carry a gun from now on. I can kill
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