‘Baby, it’s just I don’t want nothing bad to happen to you,’ she tried one more time as he sped along Midlothian Turnpike, away from the slum he called a clubhouse where he now had enough of an arsenal to take out an entire police precinct.
‘I find him, he’s dead,’ Smoke said.
Wu-Tang was playing ‘Severe Punishment.’ Smoke turned it up louder.
‘What’d I tell him to do?’ Smoke glared at Divinity.
‘You told him to paint up the statue,’ she said quietly, watching his hands to make sure he didn’t head them her way.
‘I told him to paint up, as in fuck up, as in ruin.’ Smoke gripped the wheel hard. ‘I knew I shoulda stayed there and watched. Goddamn it. Shit! Then he paints that little fucking blue fish and the whole fucking world thinks that fish virus has got something to do with it! Where’s our credit, huh? Where does it say the Pikes?’
‘Don’t look like we got credit, baby.’ She was freezing up inside, waiting for that beast in him to jump out.
‘Well, I’m gonna fucking fix that, and you know how?’
‘No, baby,’ Divinity said, rubbing his neck.
‘Don’t touch me!’ Smoke shoved her away. ‘My mind’s working.’
The newsroom at this hour was left to a certain breed, the cave fish of journalism, those who slept through the sun and monitored life at its darkest hours. Artis Roop did not keep to a schedule.
He was energized and almost crazed as he hammered on about ‘Smokes,’ Fishsteria and the same blue fish painted ever so subtly on the base of Basketball Jeff. There had been no real breaks. Roop was rearranging old information, and he knew it. There was nothing else going on except the same old drug shootouts and fights in city council.
‘Shit.’
He leaned back in his chair and stretched, cracking his neck to the right and left.
‘Got anything for last edition?’ night editor Outlaw called out.
‘Working on it,’ Roop called back.
‘How big?’
‘How much space I got?’ Roop asked.
‘Depends on what comes in over the wire,’ Outlaw said.
Roop was about to confess that he had nothing worth shit when his phone rang.
‘Roop,’ he answered.
‘How do I know for sure?’
‘Huh?’ Roop asked.
‘How do I know I’m talking to Roop?’ the tough male voice came back.
‘What is this, some kind of crank call?’ Roop was about to hang up.
‘I’m the blue fish guy.’
Roop was silent. He flipped open his notepad.
‘You ever heard of the Pikes, man?’
‘No,’ Roop confessed.
‘Who the fuck you think painted that fucking statue? What the hell do you think the fucking fish is?’
‘A pike?’ Roop was fascinated. ‘The fish is a pike?’
‘You fucking got it.’
‘There’ve been suggestions the fish is actually the state fish, a trout,’ Roop let him know.
‘It ain’t no trout and you better pay attention “cause there’s a lot going down in this city that the Pikes are taking charge of.’
‘So is it fair to say that the Pikes are a gang?’ Roop asked.
‘No, fuckhead, we’re a Girl Scout troop.’
‘Then it’s all right if I refer to the Pikes as a gang in my article. Who are you?’ Roop asked cautiously.
‘Your worst nightmare.’
‘I mean, really.’
‘The leader. I’m whatever I decide to be and I do whatever I want. Your fucking city ain’t seen nothing yet. And you can print that in red. Remember the Pikes. You’re going to hear from us again.’
‘But why a basketball player, and does the fish tag have anything to do with the computer crash… ?’
Roop was answered by a dial tone. He called the police.
At this point, tables B3, B6, B2 and Bl had gotten caught up in Bubba and Smudge’s conversation.
‘Let me tell you what happened to me one time,’ said an old man in overalls. ‘Found one in my toilet. Lifted the lid and there it was, all curled up, its tongue sliding in and out.’
‘Oh my!’ exclaimed a woman at the other table. ‘How could that have happened?’
‘Can only figure it was a hot summer and he wanted to cool off.’