Cheap as Wisdom (PGM) con’t

Listen boy.   You hold your hands out at your side.  Keep em clear of your fucking pockets.  Got me?

            Yella’s hands drift out of the folds of his coat, ragged fingernails rimmed black.

            Hold your palms up partner.  Let’s take a look.

            The hands roll over slowly, the palms slick with blood.

            Christ. 

            Under the coat, now Haltek can see the clotted gauze, the tape.

            You’re hurt buddy.

            Fuck I know it.

            We’ll make a call for you.

            The Korean’s gonna fix me.  The Korean.

            Go call an ambulance junior.

            I’m not leaving.

            Do it.

            Castellano takes a back step, his hands still at his holster.  Yella drops to one knee, reaching into his front pocket.

            Haltek barks, draws, but Castellano’s bullet has already hit.  The left shoulder, spinning Yella flat, facedown on the sidewalk.  His arm flies forward with the impact, flinging the small revolver into the street.  Good shot.

Cheap as Wisdom (PGM) con’t

Yella takes a step.  Castellano’s arm wheels under his coat, but he doesn’t draw.  Haltek is unmoving.

            Who are you waiting on friend?

            Fuck you talkin about.

            You’re waiting for someone.  The guy who opens the store, or you got a friend work’s here?

            Fuck you know about it?  Fuck you know?

            Another step.  Menace.  Haltek’s gut pinches, not just fear and not just thrill.

            Let’s just you and me have a quick conversation friend.  Just a few words.

            His chest is heaving visibly under the cheap trenchcoat.  Haltek notices that he’s shirtless underneath.  The left front pocket bulging.  Castellano’s hand is on his unsnapped holster.

Mustang vs. Charger

Cheap as Wisdom (PGM) con’t

No answer.

            Store’s due to open in ten minutes.  Let’s us have a quick talk before you go in.

            Walking closer, but the pace slows.  Castellano is shooting quick glances at his partner, who keeps his hands held up chest level, his eyes straight on.

            This guy looks pissed Sarge.

            He’s worked up about something.  Keep your cool.  Partner, step over here and let’s talk a minute.

            Fuck you want cop?

            He speaks.

            Eloquent bastard.  You just seem a little agitated friend.  Thought we could help you out.

            The pair come to a stop, maybe ten steps between them and Yella, who stands tense, leaning forward, nostrils flared, showing teeth.

            You can’t help shit.

            You’re not the first person to tell me that.

            Lemme knock this clown.  Castellano, muttering through fixed lips.

            Keep your dick in your pants junior.  Tell you what friend.  Step over this way, and we’ll see for sure who can help what.  Just take a breath.

            This boy looks dusted Sarge.  Looks like a handful.

            And some fresh prick, six months on the job with a shelf full of city league boxing trophies would love to earn his rep here and now.

How Far We’ve Come

It’s bootlegs and bars until 5 a.m., second-hand clothing and two-dollar beers. The railroad apartments, black and white bathroom tiles the size of oyster crackers, windows painted shut and radiators next to the pedestal sink. Sweating rent money, but having enough to buy a case of beer and some grass. A gigantic time.

Some Kid from Japan

Developing a Taste for Blood

On approach, there’s that level of comfort

The waxy ease the cripple had around his eyes

Seen so much

When did he decide it was okay to let the rope go slack?

(I envy that resignation)

Must have taken decades

Chest tight with hope and scrabbling for an ideal that redefines itself every seven seconds

Enough

I’m starting to know what a real deep breath feels like

They fight the mirror

They chew on the narrow metal bars and don’t stop even if they swallow their teeth

But that has nothing to do with me, really

Cheap as Wisdom (PGM) con’t

            The plainclothes pair are out of the car, Haltek sliding from behind the steering wheel, his long coat trailing, Castellano gripping the doorframe and vaulting with a convert’s enthusiasm.

            Easy junior, it ain’t the OK Corral.

            I got a love for the occupation.

            That’ll get the best of you, Haltek thinks, then he pats each hip, checking for pistol and ammunition.

            The pair amble forward, the man shambling in front of the liquor store coming into definition.  Not a bum, Haltek notes to himself, not torn up enough.  About 40, clean head and cappuccino complexion.  High yella Moses would call him.  Closer now, he notices the pair moving toward him and goes stock still.  Castellano pauses and slides a hand toward his own armpit.

            Keep walking junior.  Don’t get dramatic.

            Yella is facing them now, arms out from his sides like he’s carrying a pair of suitcases.  His chest is heaving.  His eyes are wide.  His jaw set.

            Morning friend.  Everything under control?

Happiness Staggering On Down the Street

The Half-Second Hesitation Before the Chair Tips Over

Losing balance is its own kind of balance

Surrender maybe but it takes less work than trying too hard

Which most of us are guilty of

I’ve forgotten sleep (an impossible narcotic)

I’ve forgotten rage (useless audiences)

I’ve forgotten love (lingering nectar, warm suffocation)

But I remember new things

Hallucinatory laugher, raw and pure and sweet as comb honey

Being weary

There’s no crime in it