Natalie Baszile - Queen Sugar

On the floor, John groaned.

“Answer my question,” Ralph Angel said.

Charley sighed. If she could turn the clock back twenty years and alter Ralph Angel’s fate, she would. Gladly. “I don’t know,” she said. It was an unsatisfactory answer, but the only one she could offer.

But Ralph Angel nodded, as if she’d confirmed something. He reached over, then, and turned on the radio, tuned the dial away from Miss Honey’s church music, and stopped at Marvin Gaye’s voice, smooth as cane syrup.

Charley couldn’t believe what she was hearing: the some song that played the first time she and Hollywood sat in Miss Honey’s kitchen after the reunion. She glanced at Hollywood and their eyes met.

And that’s when Hollywood inched forward, perhaps emboldened by the song on the radio, held his hand out. “Come on, Ralph Angel,” Hollywood said. “Put down the gun.”

If this were one of Hollywood’s movies, Charley thought, police would be creeping around outside. Men on the roofs across the street, calling each other on their radios. Charley closed her eyes. No one was going to burst through the doors.

Ralph Angel blinked. “I’ll be damned. Look who’s decided to be the hero.”

“Please, Ralph Angel,” said Hollwood. “I’m asking you nice. You done enough already. John’s hurt. Give me the gun.”

Charley watched as Ralph Angel.checked the clock. He wiped blood off his cheek. “Shouldn’t you be out cutting somebody’s grass? You ever take my advice and raise your price?”

In the background, Marvin Gaye sang low and smooth.

“We got to get John to the doctor,” Hollywood said.

“Of course you didn’t,” Ralph Angel said. “Why would you listen to me? You know, Charley thinks I’m jealous of you.” He turned to Charley. “Ain’t that right, sis? Ain’t that what you said about your boyfriend here?” Then he turned back to Hollywood. “You know, we used to be best friends. In fact, I’ll even admit you were my only friend. But then you got all chummy with Charley, and where did that leave me?” He tapped the gun’s barrel against his temple. “Hey. I just got an idea. Since you two are buddies now, why don’t you tell Charley how you got your name.”

Charley saw Hollywood’s face change. He looked confused.

“My name’s Francis. After my granddaddy.”

“Not your real name. Your nickname.”

“My nickname’s Hollywood.”

Ralph Angel rolled his eyes. “Jesus Christ. Not that one. Tell her how you got the name Peanut. Hey, Charley, you want to hear a funny story?”

Hollywood shook his head. “No. No, no. You can’t tell that story.”

Ralph Angel looked at Charley. “A bunch of us boys used to work for this man, Mr. Sam. He owned a pharmacy downtown.”

Hollywood put his hands over his ears. “Stop talking, Ralph Angel. Stop talking.”

Charley put her hand out. “Don’t do this.”

“What’s wrong? I’m giving you your big break. You get your chance at stardom.” Ralph Angel turned back to Charley. “Mr. Sam used to hire a lot of the black boys from the Quarters to work on the loading dock after school. Thing was, he had this wife, see? Tits like cantaloupes. Mr. Sam liked to take us home with him on our breaks. Used to like to watch us fuck his wife.”

“Shut up, Ralph Angel,” Brother said.

“So, one day, Mr. Sam took ole Hollywood here. But when it was his turn—”

Charley knew there were only two ways for action movies to end. The hero either died or he didn’t. She looked at Hollywood. But what if you weren’t the hero? What if you were only a guy who lived with his mother and cut people’s grass for five dollars? What if you were the guy who stood on the sidelines while someone else got the girl? “Ralph Angel,” Charley said, and it sounded like she was begging because she was. “You have to stop.”

“When it was Hollywood’s turn, he got scared,” Ralph Angel said. “Couldn’t get it up. Mr. Sam called him a nancy boy. Threw him out. When Hollywood came to work the next day, Mr. Sam told him to take his peanut-sized dick and get off his dock.” He turned to Hollywood. “Am I telling it right, Peanut? Ain’t that the way it happened?”

Charley didn’t have to look at Hollywood to know he was crying.

Ralph Angel had finished his story. Everyone stared at the floor.

“I guess that does it for me.” Ralph Angel sighed wearily, as though he were relieved to finally set down a heavy box he’d been carrying. He looked at Miss Honey, his whole demeanor softening, and Charley saw the little boy reemerge. “Well, ’Da, it looks like Violet and Brother were right. Things didn’t work out like you wanted. But before I go, I wanted to say I’m sorry I pushed you last time. I feel real bad about that. Violet and Brother won’t believe me, but I really am. You’ve always been in my corner and I hate myself for hurting you. I know I’ve let you down.” He walked over to Blue. “Time to go, Buddy.”

Blue whimpered as Ralph Angel picked him up.

Charley took a step forward. “Leave Blue here. I’ll take care of him.”

Ralph Angel looked baffled. “And let you have the last thing that means something to me? No, thanks.” Then he turned and walked out of the kitchen.

No one moved until the front door slammed. When they heard Ralph Angel’s car pull away, Violet and Brother rushed to John’s side. Charley grabbed Micah, who was crying, then she called 911 for an ambulance. After that, she called the police. And after that, she walked over to Hollywood, but he wouldn’t look at her.

Miss Honey, meanwhile, stood by herself against the wall.

Out on the road, Ralph Angel rolled down his window. The night was cold, the air stung his face. He turned on the radio and settled back into his seat. A two-hour drive to New Orleans. They’d lie low for a couple nights and then what — Orlando? Miami? Maybe they’d try Atlantic City. He looked over his shoulder. Blue was stretched out on the backseat, where he’d cried himself to sleep.

Ralph Angel blew past the Indian casino, all bright and glowing, and for a moment he thought about Amber, wondered if she ever got that cherry-red pickup. He had just passed the turnoff where she lived when a car pulled out and sped to catch up with him. Another second and the icy blue and white lights flashed. Ralph Angel slowed, pulled onto the shoulder, cruised to a stop.

“License and registration, please.”

Ralph Angel recognized the voice. His heart drummed.

One Mississippi.

“Good evening, Officer. I’ve got my license right here.” His hands started to sweat.

Two Mississippi. Three.

The beam of the officer’s flashlight swept over Ralph Angel’s face, swept over the dashboard, swept across his shoulder, and hovered for a few extra seconds above the passenger seat.

“Step out of the car, please.” The officer’s voice was tense. Tenser than it had been before.

Ralph Angel squinted into the harsh light. He shielded his eyes. “Is there a problem?”

Four Mississippi.

“I said, step out of the car, please.”

“If it’s about the rental, I can explain.” Ralph Angel laughed nervously. “You see, I was going to turn it in. I got the contract in here, somewhere. I’ll pay what I owe. I swear.” His thoughts shifted to The Cane Cutter. After he took it from Charley’s dresser, he wrapped it in a towel, put it in the trunk. In the end, he hadn’t given it away; couldn’t bring himself to do it. He’d just wanted to give Charley a good scare. Hold on to it for a couple days then give it back.

“I said, step out of the car. Now. ”

Five Mississippi.

Ralph Angel saw the trooper pull his gun from its holster and take a measured step to the side. He listened as the trooper called for backup on his walkie-talkie, and it seemed like only seconds before he heard sirens in the distance. Ralph Angel reached down, slowly, to unbuckle his seat belt and saw what the trooper saw: John’s gun on the passenger seat where he’d tossed it. He heard a click as the trooper released his gun’s safety.