Brazil swirled the coffee in his cup. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly.
‘So. You going to bother going to bed tonight?’ West said.
‘There’s no night left,’ Brazil said.
‘You want to come over, maybe scramble up a few eggs or something?’
Sadness walked through Brazil’s eyes.
‘As long as we stop at my house first,’ he said. There’s something I’ve got to get.’
The Azalea Motel on Northside’s Chamberlayne Avenue was not where the police would have expected to find Smoke. He also liked the irony of the name, since the Azalea Parade was the day after tomorrow. Smoke had big plans.
He sat on his single bed in his single room and thought where he was staying wasn’t much better than the clubhouse. The Azalea Motel was the sort of place where people did drugs and got murdered and nobody cared. Smoke got room 7 for twenty-eight dollars a night. He stared blankly at the TV and drank vodka from a plastic cup. Smoke had been monitoring the news. At five after six A.M., his phone rang.
‘What,’ he answered.
It was Divinity.
‘Baby, they raided our place just like you said they would,’ she told him in an excited voice.
Smoke smiled as he stared at the trash bags full of guns and ammunition in the corner.
‘Sick and me parked the car at the dirty bookstore and we was in the woods watching, you know, baby. It was all we could do not to laugh. Them busting in there with all their stuff on and big guns and all. You sure was right about getting out when we did, sugar. But I wanna know when I’m gonna see you, huh?’
‘Not now,’ Smoke told her without much interest as he spun around the cylinder of a Colt.357.
‘I sure could do with a little more / miss you enthusiasm.’ Divinity’s voice was hurt on the way to being mad.
Smoke wasn’t listening. His mind wandered back to the old woman and her fear. Smoke had never scared anybody that much. He was awed by his power and as drunk from it as he was from vodka. He loved the way it felt to squeeze the trigger. He had been so high he barely heard the explosions when he blew apart her head. He threw back another swallow of vodka.
‘What’cha gonna tell the others?’ Divinity was asking.
Smoke came to.
‘About what?’ he said.
‘You ain’t even listening.’ Her voice was getting sharp.
One thing Smoke avoided was fighting with Divinity. She could make a scene, and that was what he didn’t need right now.
‘I’m just so tired,’ he said, sighing. ‘And I miss you and it makes me crazy I can’t see you until Saturday night. That’s when we’ll be free and clear.’
‘How?’
‘You’ll see.’
‘What about Dog and the rest of them?’
‘I don’t want them anywhere near me,’ Smoke said. ‘None of you come anywhere near the Azalea Parade.’
‘I don’t understand this big shit about some little parade named after a bush.’ Divinity hadn’t softened much.
‘Baby, I’m gonna be the king of it,’ Smoke said.
‘What’cha gonna do, ride on a float?’
He couldn’t stand it when she got sarcastic. He slammed down the vodka bottle and snapped the revolver’s empty cylinder in place. He dry-fired at the TV.
‘Shut up!’ he said in his voice from hell, that tone he got when the change came over him. ‘You just do what I say, bitch.’
‘I always do.’ Divinity backed down.
‘Don’t you call anymore. Don’t you come around, and the others don’t know where I am, right?’
‘I ain’t told ’em nothing. So you dumping me?’
‘For two days.’
‘Then we’re good?’
‘As good as it gets,’ he said.
Brazil ran into his house for only a moment and when he returned to West’s car, he was carrying a grocery bag with something in it. He had a strange look on his face.
‘What’s that?’ West asked.
‘You’ll see,’ he said. ‘I don’t want to talk about it right now.’
‘You got a body part in there or something?’
‘In a way,’ Brazil said morbidly.