about his sexual preferences. The DJ straight out asked him if he was gay. That was during morning drive time, so millions of people were listening. The rapper went off and tore up the studio. Microphones were broken, there was a big fight. Station management tried to play it down. So after a day like that, I needed some spirits and laughter.
I had to drink, had to laugh, had to get this tension off my back. A big debt hanging over my head, my own cloud and angst that let me know the devil would come to get his due.
Pedro asked Wolf, “How is the wife?”
“New one or old one?”
“New one.”
“Did I tell you she flew up to Vegas with me, wanted to go to a trade show, Taser International booth. Bought a stun gun. Fifty thousand volts. Those suckers have been big since Nine-Eleven. And she got in line, let them zap her. Fifty thousand volts. She took it like she was a damn android. Got up and spent four hundred on a stun gun. Would you believe she did that?”
I shifted, hid my discomfort, and nodded. “I believe it.”
“Said she wanted it for protection. She has guns all over the house. You don’t buy a stun gun like that for protection. You buy that for torture.”
Silence covered us all.
Wolf asked our friend, “How’s the family, Pedro?”
“Just hope the grocery stores end this strike. My wife has been picketing for three months already. My daughter is in college. We have two car notes. It’s killing us right now.”
Pedro licked his lips, swallowed his frustration, then moved on to another customer.
Wolf asked me about baklava glue again. He was getting frustrated, I could tell. Underneath that cool demeanor he had some temper, some aggravation. The kind that trying to please the wrong woman gave a man. He had no idea who his wife really was.
I patted Wolf’s shoulder, told him, “Five letters. Try h-o-n-e-y.”
He thanked me.
It seemed like yesterday, but almost six months had passed since I had crept into his office, dressed in a black Italian suit, murder and another man’s fortune on my mind. Almost six months to the day. I know because my mother had died late that same evening. Got the message from my brother when I was on the way to kill Wolf.
I didn’t kill Wolf. Didn’t have to. Wolf was already gone.
The way he spoke, I could see Wolf was the living dead. The alcohol on his breath and the dullness in his eyes told me that somebody had killed him from the inside out, had left him living in a prison of his own. One that nobody could see but him.
Women had the power to do that.
His wife, Lisa, had been a bitch in five-hundred-dollar boots. She was his second wife, both African-American. Both beautiful as sin. But Lisa. Her image lived with me. Caramel skin. Bambi-like eyes. Shoulder-length auburn hair. Happy-go-lucky smile. She had upgraded her boobs from A to C, all paid for by Wolf. Her teeth had been veneered. She had a perfect smile. A simple glance at Lisa felt like a transgression, so I didn’t stare at her anymore. Even the scent of her perfume reminded me of when I was fucking her inside his home.
Wasn’t for Wolf I’d either be a poster child for recidivism—back in the joint getting three hots and a cot—or sleeping on a cardboard box with America’s discarded vets.
Didn’t want to think about that shit right now.
He gave me a job. That was all I really wanted. Just needed to get back on my feet.
Pedro whistled, then said, “Look at that dime walking in.”
My attention followed his eyes to the front door. So did Wolf’s.
This dime piece was standing underneath a giant Stroh’s beer sign that was hanging in the doorway. The room was dimly lit, but there was enough light to see what she had to offer. Light brown skin. Long straight hair. Nice curves. Modest frame. She moved like she had an edge about her, like she was looking for trouble. Everybody noticed her. She had more style than the secondhand-suit and FUBU crowd that populated the bar.
I asked Wolf, “Who she?”
Pedro answered, “She breezed through here a couple days ago.”
Wolf went back to his crossword puzzle, more interested in his own personal mystery.
I said, “She’s ripe.”
Pedro nodded. “Put her hair in two ponytails and R. Kelly will be all over her.”
Pedro moved on, went to sell spirits and salvation to the