Many Rivers to Cross

15

15 U -Rite lowered the gun to his side and backed along the wall, halting at the edge ofthe window to peek through the open blinds. The Orleans Parish deputies were talking to one another in the boat below. "Muthafuckuhs," he said, raising his thick eyebrows. "1 didn't figure they wanted us that bad." PJ shrugged. "Like you said before, latta niggahs running wild in this water. How they gonna know it's us ifwe're not wearing orange?" U-Rite stepped away from the window and pointed the Ruger at PJ again, reaching slowly for the trash bag in his hand. Even with a 9mm in his face, PJ was reluctant to give up the money. He watched the man's eyes narrow and a wicked smile tug at the comers of his mouth. "Long as I can stand the stank, I'm gonna sit up in here and chill," U-Rite said. "Count my money. Figure how I'm gonna spend it." His grin had turned vicious. "Crib ain't big enough for boaf of us, dawg. You gonna have to take your chances out there," he said, wagging the gun at the window. "I don't want to fuss around with you, bruh," PJ said. "Let's split this grip and leave it at that. You can have D'Wayne's half. He won't argue with you." U-Rite laughed a hard cruel laugh. "Yeah, you right," he said, his trademark tag. "And you won't argue, neither, if you hugging the rug with a cap in your head." PJ glanced out the window. The flat-bottom motorboat was slowly cruising toward the gap between buildings, its crew standing with shotguns raised, their eyes searching in every direction. "You don't 111 1I2 wanna do that," he said. "You pop one off, the heat's gonna be all up in this place." He didn't see it coming. U-Rite swung the pistol at his head and the blow knocked him against the walL He slid to the floor with a moan, struggling to fIgure out what had just happened. He touched the side of his numb face, ran a fInger inside his mouth to check if any teeth were loose, wondering if his jaw was broken. He'd been hit harder than that once or twice and had always oounced back to handle it. But never against a man with a gun in his hand. "Get the fuck on out of here, comedian, before I lose my patience," U-Rite said, standing over him with the Ruger pointed at the top of his skulL "Don't let me see your ugly face again, ya heard me? I didn't like your uppity ass inside and I sure as hell don't have to tolerate it out here. Go take a long swim, homeboy," he said, gesturing with the gun toward the door. "Next time I run up on your sorry ass, Five 0 won't be 'round to hear what I'm 'on do." Moments passed before PJ's head cleared. He could feel wann blood on the broken skin of his ear. He rose slowly to his feet and walked past U-Rite without uttering a word and found himself in the dark living room, wobbly and staring at the Saints cap on Grammy's scarred old coffee table. He was aware that the head buster was standing a few feet behind him with the pistol aimed at his back. He took his time adjusting the plastic snaps and fitting the cap on his head. It had been one long hard goddamned day and he was at the end of his rope, with nothing but bruises and a bleeding ear to show for it. He didn't like the idea of wading back into the floodwater without the money. How was he going to blow this town now? Working the bill of the cap up and down, rubbing the side of his numb face, he considered a quick spin move, defensive lineman-style, and attacking the man, but he knew he wouldn't be quick enough. Not the way he was feeling, with everything moving in slow motion. As he reached the window to the fire escape, U-Rite said, "They catch you, niggah, you better not dime me out. Ya feel me? 'Cause l'll find your big ass, wherever you end up." [3.137.218.215] Project MUSE (2024-04-25...