Cry Revenge (3 page)

"I'm sorry, Moms," Curtis began, trying to apologize. "It just slipped out, that's all. You know I didn't mean no disrespect by it."

"Yeah, Curtis, I know you didn't," she answered slowly, "but that's just what I'm talking about. Those streets teach you them things."

Dan finished his plate of food and pushed it to the middle of the table. Mrs. Carson glanced out of the corner of her eyes to see if he had finished everything. It was wiped clean, so she didn't make any comment.

Curtis followed his friend's action, only his plate wasn't as clean. His mother gave him a cold stare but again didn't make any comment. As the two men got up from the table, she pushed back the seat she had taken and followed them toward the door.

"Curtis," she began as they walked slowly toward the door that led out of the kitchen and into the hallway to the living room, "if you see your sister anywhere, you tell her to get her butt home. It's way past time for her to be home from summer school. Goodness, I don't know which one of you will put me in my grave first, you or Rita!"

As the men walked briskly through the hallway, Curtis didn't bother to answer. He had heard this statement all his life. It seemed as if he had been putting his mother in her grave ever since he was a little boy. But even though he didn't mention it to his mother, he would make sure Rita got her ass home if he saw her on the streets. He hated to see the crowd she ran with. All the girls were easy, and wild as hell.

The freshly painted hallway was long. The three bedrooms in the house were set off from the hallway. Two were on one side, while the other bedroom with the toilet next to it was on the other side. When the men reached the living room, their steps were silenced by the thick carpet. It wasn't wall-to-wall carpeting but the accumulation of three old rugs piled on top of each other, which gave that effect. The top rug was reddish and checkered, matching the black couch and chair that took up most of the room. The living room contained a dining room set that no elderly woman would do without in the early sixties. It included a matching china cabinet where the good dishes were kept on display.

Mother Carson followed the two men right to the front door. She even held it open as they went out. "Now remember, Curtis, send your sister home if you see her, hear?"

Curtis glanced irritably at his mother; then the feeling died as he saw the worried look in her face. She didn't really mean any harm, but she did get on his nerves with her constant nagging about the so-called "dangers of the streets."

"Don't worry, Moms," Curtis replied, then leaned over and kissed her on the cheek. It was something he hadn't done for quite a few years, and he could see the surprise come into her eyes as he removed his arms from around her neck and stepped back. "Just do like I said, Momma, and don't worry. If you want, I'll go out of my way and find her and see to it that she gets her ass home."

As a nod of appreciation came from her, he grinned and caught up with Dan. "Don't worry, Mrs. Carson," Dan called out, "I'll look after both of them for you!" He laughed loudly and pounded Curtis on the back. Mrs. Carson stood in the doorway and watched the two men make their way down the street. She knew she shouldn't worry, but Curtis reminded her too much of her husband, and it was all too clear in her mind how he had died. As long as she lived, she would always believe the streets had killed her husband, and every night she prayed to the Lord that the streets wouldn't likewise be the death of her older son.

DAN AND CURTIS HAD to walk only three blocks before they were up on the set. The black-topped New Mexico street where they hung out consisted of two poolrooms and four bars, two bars on each side of the street. Soldiers staggered from one bar to the next on weekends as they sought the few good-looking whores who worked the bars and the street corner.

Their first stop was a poolroom, where Curtis inquired about the whereabouts of Fat George, an old Mexican who, was the largest dope dealer on their side of town. Not seeing Fat George's new Cadillac, Curtis knew it would take a while before George showed up.

Since the man hadn't given Curtis any phone num ber when they had talked a few days ago, all he could do was wait and hope that the Mexican would show up sometime that evening.

"What do you think?" Dan inquired, as the two men came out of the first poolroom and walked slowly towards the next one.

"What do I think about what?" Curtis asked vacantly, letting his thoughts wander.

"About George, that's what. Do you think he's going to show up or what?" Dan asked, not letting the subject drop.

His mind still wandering, Curtis gave a shrug; then he stopped suddenly in the street. "I'll bet that silly little bitch is hanging out over at the Do-Drop-Inn!"

"Maybe," Dan replied. "Ain't but one way to find out for sure, though."

Both men set off walking down the street. The DoDrop-Inn was a restaurant and bar, but it didn't sell whiskey, only beer and wine, the specialty being a large pitcher of draft beer that was the favorite of most of the customers.

The age restriction was supposed to be eighteen and up, but the owner, Joe, allowed the young girls in the neighborhood to come in. The boys were another case. If a dude couldn't show proof that he was eighteen he wouldn't be allowed inside the place. Some boys who were really old enough to get in still had trouble if they didn't have their identification on them when Joe asked for it.

The bar was located in the middle of the block, across the street from one of the poolrooms. The first thing that reached the two men as they entered the club was the loud sound of the jukebox. Curtis had to blink his eyes before they became accustomed to the darkness of the place. The restaurant part of the club was in the front. Tables were set up in the middle of the floor, while neat rows of booths were along the wall. To reach the club part, where the drinking and dancing went on, a customer had to walk to the rear of the club and enter through the back door. It was just one step down and then you were in the club. Here too booths lined the wall, while small tables filled the center of the club.

There was no actual bar, only a large dance area in the middle of the floor. When a customer ordered a pitcher of beer, the waitress had to walk over to the window that opened into the kitchen. There was a woman standing there whose only job was taking the orders from the three waitresses, who stayed busy delivering the drinks to the tables.

Now as Curtis glanced around the club, he could see the place was crowded with soldiers from the nearby base. They came in at all hours of the day to dance and try to make it with the young girls who sometimes skipped school so that they could hang out at the Do-Drop-Inn.

"Over here," Dan said and pointed at a booth in the rear of the club. As Curtis followed Dan's direction he saw a group of young girls and two soldiers packed together in the booth. In the dimness of the club, it was hard to make them out. But as Curtis stared, he heard the high laughter of one of the girls and he knew then that he had found Rita. There was no mistaking her loud laughter. No one laughed the same way she did.

Curtis led the way toward the rear of the club. As they neared the booth, Rita saw her brother coming and began to get up from the table. Ordinarily Curtis didn't interfere with what she did, so she was surprised to see him approaching her.

The owner of the club, Joe, watched from his private table next to the dance floor. He knew Curtis by sight, and he knew Curtis' sister was underage. The last thing he wanted was any kind of trouble out of some angry brother-not over any young girl. It was too easy for him to lose his license, even though he paid off the police regularly.

Before Rita and Curtis met, Joe was up and moving his huge bulk toward them. "Your momma is worried about you, Rita, so you better get on home and see what she wants."

"Shit!" Rita exploded, revealing at once that she had had too much beer to drink. "I ain't no child, Curt, so I don't know why the hell you're going out of your way to run me down."

At first, Curtis was surprised by her reply, then anger welled up inside of him. "Hey, Sis, this is Curt, your big brother, not one of these phony-ass niggers you mess around with down here, so don't give me any of your shit. I don't want to hear it!"

"Well," she said, pouting, "I ain't in no hurry to go home, so you just run along and take care of whatever business you got to take care ofl"

Joe stared at the tall, brown-skinned girl with the short mini-skirt. He had wished many a time that he could've gotten into her drawers. Big legs and large tits, though her facial features were more mannish than he would have liked. She had a short natural hairstyle that made her resemble a man even more, while her nose was short and blunt. Her eyes were the same as her brother's, jet black with heavy eyebrows. She had the same height that the men in her family had, standing almost six feet tall without shoes. When wearing the latest style, the huge heels, she towered over six feet, and one could see she was still young and had some more growing to do. When she smiled, she revealed evenly spaced white teeth. But there was something cruel about her. It could be seen in her face-a cattish look. Yet many men would still think she was very lovely.

Now as she spoke, there was nothing lovely about her. Her lips were formed into a sneer. "I ain't in no hurry, Curt, to go home and hear no fuckin' preaching," she said, putting her hands on her hips.

Before Joe could interfere, Curtis' hand came up in a blur and he slapped her viciously across the face. One of the soldiers jumped up from the table where he had been watching the two.

"You just hold onto that fuckin' seat," Joe warned. "Curtis, I don't need that kind of shit in here, so you get your sister on out, but no more slaps, okay?"

Curtis stared coldly at the fat black man. At first he wanted to give Joe a hard time but quickly realized that the owner of the club was right.

The slap had brought Rita to her senses. She knew she had pushed her brother too far and she had no intention of pushing him any further. He must have been mad about something else, she reflected, because he rarely put his hands on her. It had been years since he had last slapped her.

"Damn, Curt," she moaned softly, "you didn't have to do that."

"I just don't want to hear any of your smart lip, Rita," he said, beckoning toward the door. "Now, let's get the hell out of here."

Dan glared at the soldier, who still wanted to come to the girl's rescue, not so much really to help her but because she had drunk up so much of his beer and he had hoped to get her into the nearest motel. Now she was being led away by her brother, so the money he had spent on her was all wasted.

Dan stepped back and let Rita walk past him. He couldn't help but admire the large ass she had. With the miniskirt riding high on her hips, he got a good look at what he liked to see. If she ever bent over, he reflected, she'd have to show her natural ass. The skirt was so short that just the slightest bend in her back would reveal the color of the drawers that she wore.

No one spoke until they were on the sidewalk in front of the Do-Drop-Inn. It had been Curtis' plan to walk her home, but as they reached the street, the first thing he saw was Fat George pulling up in his latemodel Cadillac. Dan spotted him at the same time.

"Looks like we're running in luck," Dan stated.

"Rita," Curtis began, "I want you to take your ass on home now. I ain't going to follow you, but I mean for you to go there, you dig?" He waited a second, then added, "I'll be home in about fifteen minutes, so I want to see you when I get there. Now, you can act cute if you want to and not go home, but whenever I find you, I'm going to kick the living shit out of you! You understand where I'm coming from?"

"Naw," she answered harshly, "I don't know where you're coming from, but I'll do what you say." She hesitated for a second, then added, "Curt, I don't know what's buggin' you, bro, but I don't dig this shit of yours coming down on me like I'm your whore or something."

"Well, that's too damn bad," he replied, "but you ain't but sixteen, so if you give me any trouble I'll personally see to it that Joe don't let you in his joint no more."

The threat of being kept out of Joe's was enough to make her change her ways quickly. Joe's was the only place in town for young girls to really have fun. Other than that, she would have to go over to one of her girlfriends' houses to dance, and that was really boring. Their parents would be watching, and none of them allowed their young daughters to bring any soldiers home. It was the same with her mother. She wouldn't allow a soldier in the house. She thought the soldiers would try to take advantage of her daughter.

If there was one thing Rita didn't want, it was her brother telling her mother that she was with some soldiers. She might have to stay home for a week or two before she would be allowed back out on the streets.

"Aw, Curt," she began, pleading openly, "you and me ain't never had no misunderstanding that we couldn't rap about, bro. I'm sorry if I said anything out of the way back there, but I been drinkin' a little too much beer, that's all. I got myself together now, so ain't we still cool with each other?" She flashed him her most pleasing smile, showing the well-kept teeth that she was so proud of