says.
“Nope.”
“Good. That’s what I was hoping for.” The kid smiles and rubs his hands together, as if he’d been sitting on that damn prow just waiting for Cree to turn up.
“I just didn’t expect anyone.”
“Oh, so you think you have this place to yourself? You the proprietor?”
“Like I said, nobody comes around much,” Cree says, crossing to the middle of the lot.
“Maybe I do now.” The stranger pulls off his hood. His face is long and narrow, with drooping eyelids and a down-turned mouth. His hair sticks out in tufts and bunches. His skin is ashen black. Cree guesses the kid is a couple of years older than he is, maybe twenty or twenty-two. “Maybe I’m acclimating to the place.”
“You new in Red Hook?” Cree says.
“Been here since before you.”
“You live in the Houses?” Cree asks.
“I’m done with the Houses. I’ve got no more business there.” The kid spits to one side. He holds a lighter in one hand, scraping his thumb over the circular flint, letting the flame spark briefly.
Cree gives the kid a look, trying to figure out whether he’s messing with him. “So where you living?”
“Bones Manor mainly. Means I live nowhere.”
In all his years of wandering through Red Hook, Cree has rarely ventured into Bones Manor. The large lot, a former truck loading zone, is hidden behind a patchwork of corrugated iron fence that runs the length of the entire block. It’s a no-man’s-land for junkies, hookers, and other Red Hook irregulars. The concrete walls on the lot’s waterside are famed for their graffiti—the dopest pieces in the neighborhood it’s rumored. Sometimes the lot is empty. Sometimes it feels as if a whole damn city is thriving back there, but no matter how crowded the Manor seems, it has always felt to Cree like the loneliest place on earth.
Nature is out to reclaim Bones Manor and turn it into some sort of inner-city wetlands. A large pond of water, which the residents of the Manor call the Lake, rises and falls with the tides from Erie Basin. People in the Manor make their homes in abandoned shipping containers or the shells of old cars pushed up against the sides of the lot, all sorts of jerry-rigged shelters into which they can disappear in a flash. There’s a ghostliness to the way the wind whips from the water and gets trapped inside the place, rattling the corrugated walls, agitating the reeds, and rippling the surface of the Lake.
The kid on the boat lights a cigarette. In the lighter’s glow, Cree sees the hollows of the boy’s cheeks. “What?” the kid says. “You scared of the place? You intimidated?”
“Nothing around here scares me.”
“Not even the police? Those boys can put the fear into anyone.”
“I got nothing to fear.”
“Is that so?” The kid exhales smoke and looks Cree up and down.
Cree makes a fist and rubs it over his lips. “Truth be told, I got shook down for the first time ever today. Some nonsense I got nothing to do with. Couple of girls took a raft out in the bay. One disappeared.”
“Somebody made you a scapegoat.”
Cree shrugs, as if a small gesture could brush the whole thing off. “It’s messed up.”
“What’s your business with this boat?” the kid asks. “Seems like at the moment you should be keeping away from all thing aquatic. Don’t want to attract improper notice.”
“The boat’s mine, is all,” Cree says.
The guy lowers himself to the ground. “Doesn’t look like it belongs to you. This is one dissipated ship.”
“The boat’s mine,” Cree says.
“So how come you just let it sit here? What’s the use of a boat without water?”
“I’m fixing it up.”
“I could help you with that.”
“No need.”
“Well, if you change your mind, find me at the Manor. Ask for Ren.”
“We’ll see,” Cree says.
“In the meantime, she could use a little freshening up.” Ren scrapes his nails along the hull. “Sorry ass paint flaking like snow.” He pulls something
“Nope.”
“Good. That’s what I was hoping for.” The kid smiles and rubs his hands together, as if he’d been sitting on that damn prow just waiting for Cree to turn up.
“I just didn’t expect anyone.”
“Oh, so you think you have this place to yourself? You the proprietor?”
“Like I said, nobody comes around much,” Cree says, crossing to the middle of the lot.
“Maybe I do now.” The stranger pulls off his hood. His face is long and narrow, with drooping eyelids and a down-turned mouth. His hair sticks out in tufts and bunches. His skin is ashen black. Cree guesses the kid is a couple of years older than he is, maybe twenty or twenty-two. “Maybe I’m acclimating to the place.”
“You new in Red Hook?” Cree says.
“Been here since before you.”
“You live in the Houses?” Cree asks.
“I’m done with the Houses. I’ve got no more business there.” The kid spits to one side. He holds a lighter in one hand, scraping his thumb over the circular flint, letting the flame spark briefly.
Cree gives the kid a look, trying to figure out whether he’s messing with him. “So where you living?”
“Bones Manor mainly. Means I live nowhere.”
In all his years of wandering through Red Hook, Cree has rarely ventured into Bones Manor. The large lot, a former truck loading zone, is hidden behind a patchwork of corrugated iron fence that runs the length of the entire block. It’s a no-man’s-land for junkies, hookers, and other Red Hook irregulars. The concrete walls on the lot’s waterside are famed for their graffiti—the dopest pieces in the neighborhood it’s rumored. Sometimes the lot is empty. Sometimes it feels as if a whole damn city is thriving back there, but no matter how crowded the Manor seems, it has always felt to Cree like the loneliest place on earth.
Nature is out to reclaim Bones Manor and turn it into some sort of inner-city wetlands. A large pond of water, which the residents of the Manor call the Lake, rises and falls with the tides from Erie Basin. People in the Manor make their homes in abandoned shipping containers or the shells of old cars pushed up against the sides of the lot, all sorts of jerry-rigged shelters into which they can disappear in a flash. There’s a ghostliness to the way the wind whips from the water and gets trapped inside the place, rattling the corrugated walls, agitating the reeds, and rippling the surface of the Lake.
The kid on the boat lights a cigarette. In the lighter’s glow, Cree sees the hollows of the boy’s cheeks. “What?” the kid says. “You scared of the place? You intimidated?”
“Nothing around here scares me.”
“Not even the police? Those boys can put the fear into anyone.”
“I got nothing to fear.”
“Is that so?” The kid exhales smoke and looks Cree up and down.
Cree makes a fist and rubs it over his lips. “Truth be told, I got shook down for the first time ever today. Some nonsense I got nothing to do with. Couple of girls took a raft out in the bay. One disappeared.”
“Somebody made you a scapegoat.”
Cree shrugs, as if a small gesture could brush the whole thing off. “It’s messed up.”
“What’s your business with this boat?” the kid asks. “Seems like at the moment you should be keeping away from all thing aquatic. Don’t want to attract improper notice.”
“The boat’s mine, is all,” Cree says.
The guy lowers himself to the ground. “Doesn’t look like it belongs to you. This is one dissipated ship.”
“The boat’s mine,” Cree says.
“So how come you just let it sit here? What’s the use of a boat without water?”
“I’m fixing it up.”
“I could help you with that.”
“No need.”
“Well, if you change your mind, find me at the Manor. Ask for Ren.”
“We’ll see,” Cree says.
“In the meantime, she could use a little freshening up.” Ren scrapes his nails along the hull. “Sorry ass paint flaking like snow.” He pulls something
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