OUTSIDE THE WINDOW, the slums of West Philly, rows of two-flat brick houses — two symmetrical windows on each floor, a small porch, wooden rails — twins of the flat brick houses in South Lincoln. Light made the houses transparent. Lucifer could see women with perfect breasts, men with penises naturally contoured, whiskey brawlings, bare vineyards, branching trees of crystal, tall limbs bending overhead, triangular groves, white grass, fat speckled fish, and violets he could not reach. The train shook the window up and down; images swam, paperweight objects gravity-free. And just as suddenly, green forestry, the Philly river, through the window opposite the aisle downtown Philly, its colonial spires, its arcades like a giant’s stiff legs, arching cupolas and rooftops, and highways of blackened stone. The sun faded in a tunnel. The train shoved out the other side and pulled into a city of iron lace. A bridge curved black in blue air, both ends invisible. (Bridge cables?) Thirtieth Street station. The train pulled to a stop. Whistling trains punctuated the distance (silence). Some passengers exited. Others hurried on.
This must be a switching point, the reverend said.
I see.
We should be moving shortly.
Good.
The train started to move, in reverse direction.
Hey, Lucifer said. We’re going in the wrong direction.
Relax, the reverend said. It always does that.
28
I’M GHOST.
I know. Ain’t seen or heard.
I been busy.
Ain’t we all?
So you found me.
Didn’t think you’d come. Didn’t homeboy — T-Bone aimed his bald head at Abu — smother word?
Yeah, Hatch said. Damn. It’s seven-thirty now. How soon’d you want to get here?
T-Bone looked straight into Hatch’s eyes, an iron path. His bald head gleamed like a chess pawn. He bit down on his toothpick. Held his barking bulldog tattoos in check with the leashes of his shirtsleeves.
Fast as I could get here.
T-Bone continued to iron-watch Hatch. He bit ridges into his toothpick. Tasted it. Savored it. Cool, he said. Held out his hand, a long black line between his thumb and forefinger. Hatch gripped the black scar with everything he had.
Good to see you, T-Bone said. T-Bone squeezed fire into Hatch’s hand.
Same, Hatch said, pain beneath the word.
Abu. T-Bone extinguished the fire. Gripped Abu’s palm. Squeezed Abu’s fat thin for a moment.
What’s up, T-Bone?
Kickin it.
How’s life treatin you?
The same. See a lot. Hear a lot.
Damn, Hatch said. Is that a motor?
T-Bone studied Hatch’s face, eyes unmoving. Stretched straight before him in a gleaming wheelchair. Silver spokes, silver hubs, and the wheels themselves, coated with black rubber. The motor tucked under the seat, small and black, neat as a gift, strong as a lunchbox.
That is a motor, Hatch said. Automatic. A first for T-Bone. Years of manual motion had molded muscle, and you would see him, see his bulldog arms dogsledding him all over the city.
So what. I don’t really need it. I want it. Earned it.
Uh oh, you slippin.
Yeah, Abu said. You slippin.
Nawl. Earned it. Deserve it. A nigga gotta move up, that’s all. I’m still me. You never grow out of being yourself. T-Bone thumped his leather chest.
The boom rocked Hatch, powerful waves. He steadied himself. So you found me. So I’m here. So what’s up?
Same ole same.
Got to be more than that, Hatch said.
Yeah, Abu said. Tell us. I’m all ears.
T-Bone ran his eyes slowly over Hatch’s face. That bitch still troublin you?
Hatch nodded.
What’s her name again?
Elsa.
Spanish, right?
Puerto Rican.
Let me educate you. Cause you know I used to be out there. Race don’t matter. If a bitch won’t give—
That’s why you brought me here? That’s why you want me? You kickin word? You jus want to bust the hype? I thought it was something serious? Abu said you said that it was serious.
Yeah, Abu said. That’s what you said.
T-Bone shot a glance at Abu, then returned his demanding eyes to Hatch’s face.
Hatch caught his drift. Abu, Hatch said, I check you later.
What?
Why don’t you go get the tickets. I’ll meet you there in a few. Better yet, I’ll pick them up. Meet you back at the house later.
I thought we was going together?
I changed my mind.
Why?
I jus did, that’s all.
Abu looked at Hatch for a long balancing minute. Emotion bled from his face. Understanding set him in motion. Okay. Aw ight. Check you later.
Maintain, T-Bone called after him.
Abu said nothing. Went swinging along and alone.
He’s gone, Hatch said. Abu’s gone. So tell me.
I think you hurt his feelings.
You can’t hurt Abu, Hatch said. He too fat.
That’s yo homeboy. Learn how to be subtle.
He’ll get over it. So tell me.
T-Bone’s bulldog biceps bounced and leaped at invisible possums.
Come on, T-Bone. Tell me.
T-Bone smiled, showing toothpick between teeth.
He said it was serious. Something about Uncle John and Jesus.
How yo family doing? T-Bone spoke with night hush in his voice.
Damn, T-Bone. Hatch kept his voice calm. Held his anger and anticipation in check. No easy task. Skin hot, he wanted to scream. Damn. Why you holdin back?
Chill.
I am chill.
Ain’t you never heard, patience makes virtue.
Patience is a virtue.
I said it right the first time. T-Bone’s bright bald head threw Hatch’s glances back at him.
Okay, Hatch said. You’re right. I am chill. I really am. Chill.
Good. T-Bone spit out his toothpick; it arched and dropped, missilelike. John stole a bird.
Uncle John did what?
You heard me.
Come on, T-Bone. Come on.
T-Bone worked a new toothpick into his mouth. John stole a bird.
Damn, T-Bone. Damn. Why you playin?
You know I don’t play.
Then somebody—
And Lucifer helped. Aiding and abetting.
Lucifer?
Yes, Lucifer. Aiding and abetting.
Lucifer? Hatch chuckled. No. That can’t be right. Who—
I saw it, T-Bone said. Saw it with my own eyes.
Hatch’s head traveled in a rotating pattern. Damn. Damn. You don’t dispute fact, Hatch thought. Fact working through T-Bone. Eyes surprised into witness. Damn, Hatch said, his voice wavering. Damn. Whose bird did he steal?
Freeze.
Hatch felt something wet in his chest. Freeze?
T-Bone nodded.
From Stonewall?
You know another?
Uncle John don’t even know Freeze.
T-Bone’s toothpick curved limp and white, wet and heavy from spit and words. T-Bone tugged at it.
How?
Does it matter?
Hatch said nothing. His voice was buried deep inside. If he attempted speech, surely no sound would emerge.
Long as you know. Long as you know Freeze know. And long as you know that Freeze let Jesus know.