Ace Atkins - Dirty South

“I’d skimp on the shit,” I said. “Want some caviar?”

“That shit got class, but man, it tastes just like fish.”

I smiled.

“Let’s ride,” he said, grabbing his keys and running for the door. I couldn’t even catch a breath.

Two minutes later, we were riding in the Bentley, top down and new beats cranked. He drove about eighty in a forty.

“That’s the one we cut the other night,” he said, sweat beading down his puffy jowls as he talked. “You remember. ‘Project Girl.’ Shiit . Man, that’s what it’s all about. It’s all about the ass. Can’t you see that ‘Project Girl’ pop that ass? You got to make them pop their ass. That’s what Malcolm used to say. Shit, pop it. Pop it. Can’t you see it?”

He let go of the steering wheel and pretended he was gripping two mounds of muscular butt. “Malcolm was a magician. Malcolm could make the crowd slow down, speed up. Pick up the whole world at the projects in Desire and have them roll with his beats. Man, I’m gonna miss those beats. Those crazy NOLA beats. Hard and representin’.”

“Where we headed?”

“Get me a goddamned Snickers.”

“Teddy, you ever have any problems with ALIAS?”

“What you mean?”

“He ever steal from you?”

Teddy turned down his stereo, the heated salty air rushing through the car. The clouds over Pontchartrain growing fat and pink in the soft evening, almost raw like a new wound. The air smelled like fresh-cut grass and mint. Sprinklers misted over the trimmed grass.

He lit a cigar from his pocket.

“Yeah,” he said, thick smoke flying from his mouth. “Kid took two of my credit cards last year. Bought some things.”

“What?”

“Man, I didn’t want to talk about this shit. ALIAS is my boy. You know how he get to your heart, all that shit he been through.”

“What did he buy?”

“Aw, man. Who tole you about that?”

“Just tell me.”

Teddy sighed.

“Everything,” he said. “He worked those Visa cards hard.”

“Like what?”

“I’m talking like twenty thousand? Yeah, some shit like that. Crazy shit. Like bikes from Toys ‘R’ Us and five thousand worth of Air Jordans.”

“You think maybe he worked this con on himself to get it out of the trust fund?”

“Came to me a few times.”

“You ever think about mentioning it to me?”

“I don’t know,” he said. “How you gonna ever know?”

“You ever see ALIAS with a girl named Dahlia?”

“The stripper?” he asked. “I don’t know her.”

“What about Dataria?” I asked, pulling out the Polaroid with her and Bloom.

“Yeah, you showed me that shit.”

He stole a glance while driving, then pulled the car to the side of the road. Cars whizzed past us, honking, and Teddy lifted up his sunglasses to get a closer look.

“I ain’t neva seen that bitch,” he said. “But man, she could make a dead man’s pecker twist into a pretzel.”

“She has a way.”

He nodded, pulling out, and cruising down the road with two fingers. Driving slow. He turned into a space at the BP and killed the engine. A couple of teenage boys hung back and pointed at the Bentley parked away from the gas pumps. They knew him.

“Come on,” he said. “You want a Snickers?”

“I’m cool.”

“Zagnut?”

“I’ll take a Whatchamacallit.”

“A what?”

“Teddy.”

He laughed. “Man, I’ll be right back. Be cool.”

I sank into the rabbit-fur seats and watched Teddy bound into a Canal convenience store in his $2,000 Armani. He held the cigar in his right hand and clutched a dozen candy bars to his stomach with the other.

I watched him pay the cashier with a $100 bill from his diamond-crusted money clip.

He ate and drove, the cigar now smoldering in the ashtray. The Snickers taking the place of the Cuban.

“I heard you caught ALIAS with a woman in the back of your car one night.”

“Oh yeah,” Teddy said. “He was gettin’ him some. He’s old enough. Didn’t think much of it.”

“Could it have been Dahlia?”

He shook his head. “Man, I don’t know. I know some of my boys were talkin’ about it the next day. Said the woman was lots older.”

“Like Janet Jackson older? Or Eartha Kitt older?”

“Who’s Eartha Kitt?”

“Catwoman.”

“About double his age.”

I buried my head into my fingers, my elbow propped into his door. I didn’t want to see any of the road ahead.

“ALIAS says she was the one who conned him,” I said. “He says he didn’t know her.”

“Man, I don’t know what to think,” Teddy said. “Yesterday, he come over to see me and gets to talkin’ about y’all’s trip to Clarksdale. He said you wanted half of his money if you get it back.”

“I never said that.”

“For real?”

“Man, come on.”

“Kid’s workin’ our crank, ain’t he?”

“Looks that way.”

“Goddamn. Goddamn.”

The sky twisted into dark patterns forming a black-and-peach quilt over the lake. I couldn’t see the shore on the other side. Pontchartrain seemed to be an endless sea.

IT WAS NIGHT now and I drove for about an hour, down to the bar, then back home, where I called JoJo. I finally found him and Bronco at the Spotted Cat in the Marigny watching a guy I knew named Washboard Chaz and some twenty-year-old Italian kid who I’d heard could play Robert Johnson note for note. They were drinking Dixies and laughing with Chaz, his beaten washboard propped in his hands, when I walked into the dark little bar off Frenchman. The place was a narrow shot of bar with a small wood stage by the door and a grouping of mismatched chairs by a plate-glass window. Candles in glass bowls flickered from small tables and on top of the bar.

I bought a Dixie from the bartender, said hello to Chaz while exchanging places with him, and took a seat.

“Think he’d do nicely for a Wednesday night,” JoJo said.

“How’s the kid?”

“Note for note,” JoJo said.

“No shit?”

“No, sir,” he said. “And Eye-talian to boot. How ’bout that?”

Bronco clicked open his stainless Zippo and lit a Kool. He nodded at me, his cheekbones and red-black face something out of a history book. Men clearing the Delta with mules.

I walked outside where I’d left Annie next to a hitching post and let her drink the last few sips of my beer. I went back in and settled back in my seat so I could see where she was tied.

“You still gonna do a red-beans-and-rice on Monday?”

“Be a fool not to,” I said.

“When did that stop you?” JoJo said, his eyes watching mine. No grin forming on his face.

“Where’s the kid?” I asked.

He shrugged. “Left with some hoodlums in some kind of pimped-out truck.”

“How long?”

“Couple hours,” he said. “I ain’t got time.”

“Bronco?” I asked. He turned. “You enjoyin’ the sights?”

He turned to watch a young girl in a red silk dress make herself thin, sliding through the crowd at the bar. He nodded, smoke coming out his nose. “Mighty fine.”

I FOUND ALIAS alone at his mansion. The door was open, the rooms cavernous without any furniture. I followed the lights and ended up out on his back patio, where he lay reclined in a lounger staring up at the night sky. He had a forty by his side and his tan lug-soled boots crossed at the ankles. He looked over at me and then looked back up at the stars.

“What’s up?”

Annie trotted over to him and started licking his mouth.

“Damn, dog,” he said, kind of laughing like he was twelve.

I looked away. “I talked to Teddy,” I said.