Marlon James - A Brief History of Seven Killings

— Hmmm.

— And another thing, my youth. Seems a couple of your dealers also using. I don’t know if that how things work in Miami, but over here that is always, always bad for business. One of them baseheads say he couldn’t find your dealer so he go in the crack house thinking somebody would give him a hit only to find the two dealer beaming up. The two of them! I mean, to r’asscloth how you can have your two dealer in the basehouse with line of people outside itching for base? And how the hell you can trust a crackhead to make a business transaction? And where them get it if they not burning out your own supply?

— Josey?

— Yeah, me hearing you.

— Hey my brethren, me just talking it as me see it. And when a man have to skip borough just to get two or three packet that sound like a problem. Make me tell you, in the Bronx me run a tight ship, even from the days when me just ’lowing little weed. Back in 1979 me set things up like any business, better than any shop, because I know from the devil was boy that you can never expand if your core base didn’t set right. I don’t take kindly to no kind of slackness. Worse if is my brother. You know what me tell the last man who fuck up? Me give him a choice, me say to him, My youth, this is what I going do for you. You get to choice which eye you want to lose, the right or the left. If you car have a loose wheel, it soon fall off and kill everybody. And what go for Bronx also go for Queens.

I still can’t believe the man just call me a youth.

— Who hire them, you or Weeper? I mean, Weeper should have seen that and stamp it out quick-quick but then again, Weeper… Well you must know what you doing.

— Yeah.

— But I tell you, the last time I have a deputy start using it wasn’t long before me have to cancel the bredda. Because here is the thing, Josey, cocaine is not like crack. At least cokehead have some class and even if they didn’t have no class at least they have money. You can still manage that like a gentleman. Crack? That man will suck you dick or cut their own baby heart out to beam up. You can’t have that kind of fucker selling your shit? No, my youth. No way. But then you and Weeper go way back, right?

— Not that way back.

— Oh.

— Well I don’t know. As I say, you must know about Weeper. But you should at least check out what going on at your spot in Bushwick. Me, I go into every situation with a needle and a gun. Either I fixing you or I putting you out of your misery. You need me to go straighten out Bed-Stuy, Bushwick, or wherever, just say the word. I would need some more manpower but still I—

— I already tell you, Eubie, me have them place lock down. You deal with where you know. Anyway, call you when I reach.

— Huh? Oh yeah, sure. Call me.

I hang up. My woman still looking at me. I call Weeper and it ring without answer. I know she watching me because she know when I’m getting mad. I can hear her already saying to no bother show them things in front of the one pure child she have leave. I look at her looking at me.

— Is cool, man, stop look so, I say.

Y ou gonna answer it?

— No.

— Don’t you have some buddy to pick up at the airport?

— I tell you about that? Not till later.

— At least turn the ringer off. It’s that thing in—

— I know where to find the fucking ringer. Where’s the K-Y?

— Dunno, it’s in this bed somewhere.

— Where?

— Said I dunno. Maybe you’re lying on it. Or it’s under the pillow beneath you. Know what? Roll over. Of course I maintain, I dunno what’s so bad about spit. Jamaicans are so weird about saliva.

— Wah kinda remark that? You spit on a man, that’s disrespect.

— It’s just water. Like would you spit on my ass and lick it?

— Lawks. No.

— Because of the ass or the spit? You realize by licking ass you’re licking your spit anyway.

— How you can lick back up your own spit? Once it leave your mouth it gone, it not supposed to come back ever.

— Haha. Roll over.

— What?

— You heard me. Roll over.

— I like it this way. You go deeper.

— Deeper my ass, you just don’t want to look at me.

Afternoon in the room. I roll over. The bed too soft and me sinking and he on top pushing me down in the sheet. Sinking. He say inhibited but I don’t know what he mean, even though he say it with a smile. Looking at me and not turning away. Today is a Tuesday, a yellow-looking day. He still looking at me — me lips dry? Eye crossed? He thinking I going to be the one to look away first, but I not going look away and I not going to even blink.

— You’re beautiful.

— No bother with that.

— I’m telling you, not many men can pull off that glasses thing.

— Boy done with that shit. Man don’t tell man them things that is some—

— Batty boy business? I know, I heard you the last seven times. I swear you’d love the Puerto Ricans. They don’t think sucking dick or fucking ass makes them gay either. Only if you get fucked, then you’re a fucking fag.

— You calling the brethren a bombocloth faggot?

— Oh no, you’re crazy about the pussy.

— I like pussy.

— Dude, we fucking or am I supposed to be Harry Hamlin to your Michael Ontkean?

— What the r’asscloth you talking about?

— You want to guess how many times in just two years I just had the previous discussion? It’s tired, man, and I’m tired of cocksuckers on the quiet tip. Especially you black guys. I just wanna do this.

I keep my lips shut. I wait on him. But he already sucking my right nipple and then the left one harder, like he going to pull it off. It start to hurt and I about to say what the fuck it hurt but then he lick it. Flick his tongue, flicking and licking. I shudder. I want to beg him to lick the right one just to stop shuddering. I feel a circle of warm spit on my nipple that he blowing dry and cool. He need to stop making me the woman. Not from a fuck but from a blow on the nipple.

— Christ, just let it out, you fucker. You mumble any more you’re gonna choke.

— What?

— You can’t be cool as fuck and enjoy your own damn body the same time, so give one of them up. Maybe I should leave and you can call me when you make up your mind.

— NO. I mean, no.

He back in my mouth before I can say bad man don’t kiss. Sucking my tongue, moving his lips over my lips, tongue on tongue, dancing it and making me do it back. He is making me think like a faggot.

— Aw, look at you. You just giggled like a school girl. There may be hope for you yet.

Lip on top of lip, lip turned on the side licking me in the mouth, tongue on top of tongue, underneath tongue, lips sucking my tongue, and I open my eye and see him two eye close tight. That moan come from him not me. I reach up and squeeze him nipples but not hard, I still don’t know hot from hurt. But he moan and now he taking him tongue down my chest to my nipples and my navel leaving a wet trail that feel cold even though him tongue warm. New York spying me do this? I spy what do you spy? B A T T Y with a tight needle-eye. Outside the window is five floor up but I don’t know. Too high for the window washer or pigeon or whoever climbing the wall although nobody would be climbing no wall. Nobody can see but the sky. But Air Jamaica going fly right by and Josey going see me. The man tickle my navel with him tongue and I grab him head. He look up for second and smile and the hair pass through my fingers so thin, so soft, so brown. Hair that make you sound white when you describe it.

— Come back, fucker.

I want to say I am here but he just swallowed my cock and that’s not what come out of my mouth. Something about foreskin, him saying. Pulling it back, looking at the head, diving down on it and I jump up. You uncut guys are really sensitive, huh? Licking, sucking just the head then swallow all the way down until he bump into my crotch hair. Up and down, fucking it, and I feel his lips and his tongue and the top of him throat and the wet and the warm and the vacuum suck and release and suck and release and suck and release and I can’t stop grabbing him shoulder every time him pull the foreskin back. And the look, white going down on black then coming up, white going down and coming back up with a twist and lick with pink tongue. The third time I grab him shoulder and squeeze. He stop finally. But then he grab me two ankle and push me ass up and him tongue fucking me. I don’t think about how I don’t like it so much, don’t think that it just feel like something wet is wetting up me asshole. Him leaving me legs up in the air. He roll off the bed and picks up a condom. I still can’t tell the difference between covered up and bareback, which is also the name of a condom so I don’t understand. I know it’s five floors up but what if somebody pass by the window right now and see my leg up in the air? This is really going to happen again. I don’t fuck enough yet to not think every time that this is really going to happen. I don’t fuck enough yet not to think that there is another hard cock in the room and is not mine. And me just want to grab it and squeeze it and tug it, and maybe suck it one day. And then his fingers now rubbing lube in my asshole, and for once me not thinking prison fuck, though by saying me not going think about prison fuck I do think about prison fuck and he’s really rubbing that stuff in me asshole good and fucking me with him finger and he reach something and somewhere that make me jump and no I don’t wonder if this is how woman feel when me hit the spot, because fuck women and fuck pussy and fuck trying to fuck the faggot out, at least right here, right now five floors up. And fuck thinking what it going mean the white man on top because I don’t think about the white man on top until I think that this is America and if I think like a nigger then it mean something that the white man on top and maybe I should go on top even though he can still ride me. Thank God me not the one who need to have a hard cock.