Cry of Angels

41

41 "GET UP, BOY! SUMP'N'S HAPPENED!" IT WAS EM, STANDING SILhouetted against the predawn blue of the window. When he saw I was awake he stepped through the window onto the roof of the shed. I jumped out of bed and followed him, and we stood looking down into the early shadows of the Ape Yard. I couldn't make out anything unusual; there were a few people moving about, the headlights of cars on their way to the first shift at the mill, kitchen lights burning , the usual early morning stirrings in the hollow. "I don't see anything. What is it?" "Ain't right down there," he said, alarm growing in his eyes. "Come on!" I dressed quickly and we ran down the ridges and along the woods to the road that curved by Teague's store. Then Em put an arm in front of me and pointed. Then I saw them, white men in old battered cars and trucks, scattered out around the neighborhood. They had parked unobtrusively at different points along the streets, in front of stores, even in people 's driveways. They sat quietly in their cars, their lights off. 342 B O O K T H R E E Em nudged me and we walked along the street toward the store. I could feel their eyes on us as we moved along the darkened street. As we approached a black Chevrolet, the doors opened and two men stepped out. "Where you goin', big 'un?" one of them asked. Em stopped. "That some business of yours?" "I don't believe I'd go around that store if Fs you." "Why?" "I'd just stay away from there," the man said. Em lowered his shoulders until he looked the man directly in the eye. "I'm gonna take that as friendly advice, friend. 'Cause, you see, ain't nobody tells me where I can and cannot go, and if I took it as a threat, I'd have to bust ever' bone in your face. I can take it as advice, now, can't I?" The man looked over at his partner. He swallowed. "Can't I—please?" The man nodded. "Oh, good," said Em. "You got such a pretty face." And he straightened and we continued on our way. Mr. Teague was alone in the store. He was standing behind the leaning counter in the old part of the store. "What's happened, Mr. Teague, where's Tio?" He responded with a grim nod toward the stairs. We raced up the steps to the apartment. Carlos sat at the kitchen table, perspiration standing on his contorted face. His head was bandaged with a dirty handkerchief. Tio was standing behind him, tight-lipped, peeling Carlos' shirt away from his back. The back of his head and neck were nicked and bleeding , but his back had borne the brunt of the beating. The ragged shirt was matted with pulpy flesh, and as the blood-soaked flannel was pulled away, little lint patches were left standing in the open wounds. Welts stood out like mole burrows across his back. "Doc Bobo," said Tio, "he made the rounds last night. All the shop boys." "He's next, I told him," said Carlos, shivering as Tio peeled away a swatch of cloth, "I told him he got to git gone!" "Okay," said Em, "that does it. We're gettin' out of here." Tio didn't answer. He went to the medicine chest and got down a 343 A C R Y O F A N G E L S can of yellow salve. Em yanked it out of his hand. "You hear me? We got to get gone!" Tio snatched his arm away. "Don't tell me what I got to do. I ain't goin' nowhere!" "The hell you ain't!" Em turned him and shoved him toward the door. "Walk or I'll tote you, but you goin', and now!" He straightened Tio up and dragged him toward the stairs. "Earl, go up and get the bike!" "It's too late," I said. From the top of the stairs I could see the green hood of the Continental nosing to the curb. We flattened ourselves on the landing as the screen door squeaked open and Doc Bobo's resonant voice came booming into the store. "Good morning, Mr. Teague!" Mr. Teague glanced up briefly...