Mat Johnson - Hunting in Harlem

"I'm not the problem! That child molester behind — " This time it just took a hand pulled back to shut Anderson up.

"No lying," Lester said before leaning in closer. "We know how you been treating that boy. The beatings. The insults. Evil. It is the moral responsibility, the job, of the strong to protect the weak. How small are you, how weak must you be, to ignore that?" Baron Anderson didn't look weak to Snowden at all. In fact, Snowden found the man rather threatening despite his current situation. All he had to do was imagine the retribution the man would exact later to see him as strong. Of course, there would most certainly be retribution after this performance. Lester was a fool, or insane. The only reason Snowden didn't stop him was that the damage had already been inflicted and there was nothing to do but enjoy this section of the disaster that would surely unfold.

"I'll assume for a minute that you don't know any better, that you were raised by a beast who did the same. That is a travesty; one can only hope that you will fight to change your ways, because either way the cycle will be broken. Our people can't afford another generation of males raised by wolves to drag us down. Don't you see that? We simply can't afford to waste our energy on people who act like you. So I'm going to let you in on a little secret. Can you keep a secret?" Anderson nodded in response.

"That's good, because this is a big one. OK, here it is. It's about accidents. The thing about accidents is that the cops never bother to look further. It's not like on TV — the police simply don't have the time. As long as there's no reason not to, they just take it on face value and go on to more pressing matters. No investigation, no autopsy, nothing. But that's not my secret, here's my secret: You keep treating your boy the way you been, the next accident's going to happen to you." Baron Anderson was crying now. Not sobbing, just tears. Angry ones, like a pot boiling over. He was shaking as well; the way Lester had his hand around his neck, it was like he was trying to keep him still. "Since we are decent people, were giving you one more chance, one more opportunity to find salvation and change your ways. If we hear any more crap about you mistreating that angelic little boy, though, see as much as a bloody knee, then we're going to kill you. You having an accident is as easy as — ghost, get me that sing-along thing."

Snowden went over to where the karaoke machine sat on top of the toilet basin. It was as big as the thing it was sitting on, covered in colored knobs that had been lit and flashing when they entered the room. Snowden picked it up. Might as well break it, Snowden agreed. As long as they were here.

"Give it to me."

Snowden walked over. Still sitting on the edge of the tub, Lester kept his gun on their host, had one blind hand out to receive it.

"It's heavy," Snowden warned him.

"I know what I'm doing. Give it to me, I can handle it," Lester told him. Snowden decided to agree with him, just because he wanted to go home and have this be over. One hand armed and occupied, Lester reached down underneath the middle of the machine with the other, balanced it against his arm. Lester turned back to Anderson, unsmiling. "If this monstrosity just happened to crash down into the water and give your life a little poetic justice, no one would think to look for any other cause of death, or want to." Baron Anderson, naked and fetal in the gray water, flinched, but it was because Lester didn't really have a good handle on the karaoke machine, and its falling weight alone was capable of damage. "Put this back now. It is important to respect the property of others." Snowden walked forward, tripped on its industrial cord. It was not enough to send him falling, but was enough to do that to the large electrical appliance in Lester's hand.

To his credit, Lester compensated with his arm as the karaoke machine jolted away from him, but it was his overcompensation that sent the appliance backward, down into the tub in little hops as it bounced off Lester's desperate hands. All he succeeded in doing was knocking the power button back on, giving it a moment to flash frantic and scream wordlessly before going down into the bathwater of Baron Anderson.

The white flashes came from the front of the machine as the water poured in the ventilation holes in the back. The blue flashes came from where its cord met the socket in the wall, streaks that left smoke and brown marks on the surface around it. Snowden, who kept shooting his hand toward the plug only to pull it back when an electric flame shot out again, was in part relieved when Lester held him back from trying. Past him, Snowden could see Baron Anderson sharing his favorite place with his favorite possession. He wasn't shuddering violently as Snowden expected. Instead, Snowden watched as Anderson remained nearly still throughout the ordeal, every muscle clenched in unison until the lights went out.

In the dark, Snowden said: "Oh shit I think we just killed Jifar's dad."

Lester shuffled through his pockets blindly, responded by illuminating the room with a penlight. They walked over to the tub together. The dim yellow glow encircled Baron Anderson's face. It stared intently at the side of the tub from beneath the water.

"Accidents happen. You just tripped on a cord, no reason to suffer for that. Go down the hall, wipe off everything you touched with your hands as we came in."

"I didn't touch anything," Snowden said. This was a plan. Plans were good in times like this one.

"The inside front doorknob, the space in the middle of the wall where you leaned to take your shoes off. I saw you. Start with this door here and that monstrous noisemaker." Lester laid his flashlight down on the sink, aimed up toward the ceiling. It didn't give much light but enough as their eyes swelled out of necessity.

Snowden rubbed hard. Snowden rubbed his way toward freedom, up and down the length of the door, in places he could have possibly glanced standing. Lester took Anderson's pants from where they sat on the toilet seat, unfolded them, picked up the coins that fell to the floor. Finding the wallet, Lester laid it on the sink's rim before putting the pants back. Pulling his own wallet from his jacket pocket, Lester worked carefully trying to open it with his leather gloves on but gave up and took them off. The faux Caucasian skin of latex gloves covered Lester's hands. "Germs," he said when he caught Snowden looking, and began counting his money, whispering the sums as Snowden waited to move past him to rub down the murder weapon in the tub.

"Just give me a second. Five, ten, fifteen, twenty, twenty-five," Lester said as he tallied his bills. Snowden was still, yet still managed to become frozen.

"What are you doing?"

"Well, we don't want this looking like a robbery, do we? Not even a murderer would resist stocking up on spending money on the way out the door. Makes it look more like an accident, and that's good for us. It's what's best for the neighborhood." Lester put the bills together neatly and placed them into Anderson's nearly bankrupt wallet, folded it up, and stuck the contents back into the pants. Snowden took a deep breath after moments of no breathing at all, his lungs as preoccupied as the rest of him.

"But why. . why did you use all five-dollar bills?" Snowden managed.

Lester, realizing that the other had no intention of passing him and getting on with his job, relaxed back into the middle of the small room once more.

"What? Does that really matter right now? No reason. All right, then, the only ATM I can use Uptown without the dollar-fifty surcharge only carries fives — better to serve the broke, I imagine. Banco Republic, crappy services but the interest rate on checking is way better than Chase." Lester laughed. Snowden didn't. Snowden was too busy grabbing the toilet plunger, aiming the rubber end like a sword at Lester's head as he backed out into the hall.