No Dominion(24)

 Don’t you be worryin’ ’bout that sun. It rise all on its own. This what you came up here for, ain’t it? This what Bird sent you to look into?

 Nobody sent me. I’m here on my own.

 Uh-huh. Up here investigatin’ this shit cuz you got a social conscience.

 I care about the little people.

 Uh-huh. A’ight. That good to know. Mean you won’t mind doing a little service for yo black bruthas and sistas. Let’s stretch our legs.

Timberlands and the rhinos stay by the Hummer while Digga leads me to a bench.

 Percy talk to you?

 He said some things.

 He one alchemical niggah.

 If you say so.

 Trust me on that, he is. So, you got a little picture ’bout the political climate up here?

 Volatile.

 Volatile. You got some words on you, son. Yeah, volatile. Right now, it more volatile than usual. That because of you. Word out you on the loose. I put that word out. While you rappin’ with Percy, I been talkin’ with Papa Doc, tellin’ him how you busted out. Now he say you a Society agent. Cross Coalition territory without no passage, come up here with an enforcer on yo ass; do all that to create friction when he be wantin’ ta make peace with our neighbors to the south. Wants to call Dexter Predo, tell him we got nothin’ to do with somethin’ nasty happened to his man. Wants to call Terry Bird, tell him we want compensation for the trouble you cause us. Whatever you up here for, Predo and Bird? Neither them muthafuckas gonna be happy with you. But don’t worry, I talk Papa down. Told him. First things first: got to find the muthafucka. Then we can worry ’bout who first in line to fuck yo ass. Now, ton tons macoute out looking for you. Ton tons macoute. Named for the secret police down in Haiti. Bad news. Man ’tween a rock an’ a hard place, he be glad he not you right now.

He looks at the sky.

 ’Course, soon enough they gonna stop lookin’. Everybody gonna sit out the day. Start it up again come sundown. Think I can keep them from callin’ on Predo or Bird ’til then. Give you maybe enough time ta do somethin’ ’bout your situation.

 Any ideas?

He turns his face to the heights above us.

 Go up there.

I look up at the old, well maintained buildings illuminated by ornamental street lamps and security lights.

 You go on up there where the white folk live.

 And when I’m up there?

 See if you can’t get taken in. Them settlers got people watch that border all the time. They spot you, probably got yo picture in a face-book. Gonna want to talk to you. I be surprised they don’t grab you up an’ get you inside before you can burn.

 Then what?

He faces me, lays his arm along the bench behind my shoulders.

 Get me some fuckin’ proof they sendin’ that shit down here. Find it. Bring it out. Do that? I fix all this other shit. Get me proof and I put Papa where he belongs. And I put you on yo way back home. Don’t say boo to Predo or Bird ’bout shit.

 Or?

He takes his arm away.

 You goin’ up that hill, Pitt. We gonna sit down here in the Hummer behind all that UV tintin’ an watch. You try to come back down, we gonna have yo ass. Once you up there, only so many things can happen. Sun gonna kill you, or maybe they gonna kill you. Nothin’ lost on my end either way. They take you in, you either gonna do my job or you ain’t. You shine it on, manage to get back home on yo own or work out some deal they send you home, we gonna know sooner or later. An’ we gonna make them calls to Predo an Bird ’bout how you makin’ troubles up here. Stir shit up, make life uncomfortable. Bird gonna want nothin’ ta do with you on his turf no more. Once you off Society land, we gonna come for you. Makin’ you a proposition, Pitt. Oughta take it.

I take a look at Timberlands and the rhinos. They’re not far enough away for me to kill Digga before they can get to me. I think about what Percy said about propositions. Guess this is what he meant. Nice of him to give me a heads up. Sort of.

 Being awfully generous with me, Digga. Why’s that?

He shrugs.

 Different reasons. Mostly, you white. Need a white boy ta go up there. Other than that, Chubby Freeze vouch for you.

 Yeah, imagine my situation if he hadn’t.

Digga laughs.

 That no lie, muthafucka. That no lie.

He stops laughing.

 So what it gonna be?

I look at the sky again. Getting lighter with every minute.

 Well, like you say, I’m going up that hill. Once I’m up there, we’ll just have to see what happens.

 That right, we will see what happen.

He stands up and heads for the Hummer. I follow him.

 Say. One thing.

He has the door open.

 What that?

I point at Timberlands.

 Suppose I could get my jacket back?

Digga creases his forehead.

 Doan ask me, it his jacket now.

I look at Timberlands.

He looks at me.

 Fuck off, it my jacket now.

 Uh-huh.

I look at Digga.

 How ’bout my gun and my knife?

Digga looks at me, looks up the hill, looks at Timberlands.

 Man should not go unstrapped.

Timberlands shrugs. He hands me my switchblade and I slip it in my back pocket.

 My piece?

He takes the.32 out of my jacket’s pocket. He weighs it in his hand.

 Gat a piece a shit anyways.

He hands it to me. I take it from him and stick the barrel in his mouth.

 Suppose I could have my jacket back?

The rhinos take a step. Timberlands stays where he is, but his eyes go to Digga.

Digga shakes his head.

 Me, I’d give him the jacket, niggah.

Timberlands takes off my jacket, carefully. He holds it out. I take it, remove the barrel of the.32 from his mouth and wipe it on the front of his shirt. He and the rhinos close in.

Digga holds up his hand.

 Uh-uh, no time now. Sun gonna be up. Man’s got walkin’ to do.

The rhinos get in the Hummer. Timberlands walks around to the driver’s side.

 Gonna settle with you later, muthafucka.

 Yeah, yeah. Wait your turn.

Digga gets in the Hummer and sits there with the door open.

 Someone special musta give you that jacket.

I put it on, take my Zippo from the pocket and use it to light one of Percy’s Pall Malls.

 Yeah, pretty special.



The asphalt path climbs through pools of lamp light. Down here, just off the street, they’re cast by ugly gray industrial lamps. Up higher, around the wall, they have the same ornamental lamps you’d find in Central Park.

The sky is low and sickly. I walk beneath it, the wall looming closer. Plastic bags are snagged in the bare branches of the trees. They look like scraps of dead skin. The park lights go out, letting me know daylight is on the way. The hovering storm clouds will give me a little time, blocking out the worst of the sun. But I need shelter, I need it fast. I look down at the street. Digga’s Hummer cruises slowly, keeping pace with me, making sure I don’t make a break. Making sure I don’t run for God knows what.

Figure Digga’s right about the border patrol up there. Probably spotters in that big dorm. Get someone installed up there near the top floors and they can spot for miles. And I will be in their face-book. If they’re up there, and figure they must be, they have my face. Digga’s probably right about what that means, too. Means they’ll try to snag me off the street and bring me in. Only question left for me is how to play it at the top. The paths bends again, cuts, and I’m looking up the southern staircase. Wide, the wall on one side, a view of the Hood on the other, a gate at the top.

I climb.

Figure I let myself get hauled in, at least I don’t have to worry about the sun. For the moment. Soon after that, I’ll probably be hearing from Predo. That’s what Digga doesn’t really know about; that damn hard-on Predo has for me. Figure that’s gonna make it pretty difficult for me to fish for any information on the shit. Difficult as in impossible. I make a break for it, I might make it to that 1 stop. And if I make it to the train, get my ass back downtown in one piece? Figure Digga’s right on that count, too: gonna be hell to pay. A Rogue at odds with both the Coalition and the Hood? Count my remaining days on one hand and you’ll have some fingers left over when you’re done. I come to a landing halfway up the staircase. I stop and look at the view. I light up.

Yeah, this one’s a bitch alright.

I turn around and look at the wall. It’s right in my face now. I have to crane my neck to look up to the top. Big stones with deep cracks at the joints. Yeah, I would have held on to this turf, too. If hell ever does break out between the Coalition and the Hood, this will be the turf to have. I smell something on the wind. I look up at the gate at the top of the stairs. They’re up there, two of them, waiting.

I look back down through the park. The Hummer is still down there. I think again about the enforcer: a skin full of that shit and being eaten by frenzied dogs. I touch my left shoulder where a dog once bit me. I didn’t like it. I look back up at the guys above: silhouettes against the blank sky. I drop my smoke, grind it out under my boot, and climb.



They’re young as hell and armed to the teeth. The ones at the top of the stairs flash me the tiny black machine pistols that dangle from their shoulders. One of them latches onto my arm and jams his weapon into my back. If he pulls the trigger the bullets will spew out and slice me in half. He pushes me away from the wall as the other one stays at the top of the steps making sure no Hoodies are following me. Once he’s sure his rear is safe, he follows us to the curb and raises his fist in the air. A black SUV pulls out from between two parked cars, zips up and stops on a dime. The back door opens and another young guy with a machine pistol grabs me by the shoulder and pulls me inside. The door slams, a bag is dropped over my head, my hands are yanked behind my back and bound with wire, and I’m finally given a proper pat-down that finds both my revolver and my switchblade. The only real pisser is that they take my smokes and my Zippo as well.