TAKE IT OUTSIDE

By Tony Black

             

I ain't saying Uncle Jake's a bum, he just hangs out a lot.

I knew as soon as I stepped off the sidewalk and into the diner I was in for a ride. But I kept my head down.

I nodded to Allie to bring me a coffee and my usual Danish.

'With you yesterday, handsome,' she hollered at me.

Already I was hearing the sniggers, blowing down from the back of the diner and smacking me upside the head. I didn't bite, none.

I tucked my nose in the newspaper, read about a gang rape in the Lower East Side, a thirteen-year-old girl got her neck snapped ... that whole neighbourhood, fucking warzone.

'Here you are, honey.' Allie placed the plate down in front of me, two Danish with a pile of whipped cream smiling at me like the luck of the Irish.

‘You sure are some piece of work,' I said.

Allie flicked the bar towel over her shoulder and draped a slender arm around my neck. 'Ah, hell ... what's a girl got to do to get noticed by you, Mickey?' She was close enough for me to smell the scent on her neck as she bent over and showed me a sight more flesh than I'd seen this side of the Joint.

'Hey, I'm lookin' ain't I?'

That made her smile, pushed a row of pearly whites through those big red lips. She turned tail and left me hanging, hanging on the sight of a fine piece of ass.

'Hey, nephew put that pecker away!' yelled Uncle Jake.

Allie just about fell on her fine ass, shook her head in such a frenzy her blonde locks dropped some pins. Her sweet legs quickened as she ran for cover behind the counter, when she got there she put a cold-blue eye on me, then turned fast to the wall.

'Ho-ho-ho ... breaking up all ready,' roared Uncle Jake. A chorus of laughter followed from his fawning little pack of deadbeats. They pointed fingers at me, shit, I could take that. I'd had worse things pointed at me inside, and elsewhere.

'Little lady won't be getting no action out on the trash cans tonight,' hollered Uncle Jake.

Allie dropped a cup. It smashed louder than Fourth of July firecrackers as she ran from the diner and headed out back.

I stood up, called out, 'Allie ... Allie ...' but she was kicking dustclouds.

The deadwood thought this was top-notch, real dime store drama. I turned to watch them back slapping Uncle Jake. He grinned like a piranha, and then some pencil-neck reached over and placed a Lucky behind his ear.

Till now, I coulda kept a lid on things. I was counting to ten, reached five when I saw the Lucky passed over. This was goon kudos. In the Big House, a Lucky gets things done you wouldn't wanna think about.

I put a bead on Uncle Jake and took off for the back of the diner.

My heart pumped harder than Niagara Falls and adrenaline raced all the way to the point in my head where the slow-down switch was kept.

As I walked, I saw the expressions changing. The pencil-neck with the Lucky looked filthier than a back-alley tom.

I am not a violent man, but there is violence in me.

The State Pen' tried to beat it out, and for most parts, it did a good job, but that kinda thing don't just go away. Uncle Jake knew it, and he should've known better than to test me.

The deadbeats eyeballed me like they'd just spotted a twister out at sea. I know I'm a big guy, 6' 4'' and 220 lbs, but I don't carry it like a threat. I work-out, still do my 500 push-ups a day, but hell, I never put it to use, till now.

At their table I stood for a second or two. The air was still, save a few curls of tobacco smoke heading for cover. If I was smart, I'd join them, get the hell outta Dodge. But I was never the brains of the family, that was always Uncle Jake.

He sat back and grinned, slowly, drew the Lucky from behind his ear, 'Got a light, my young nephew?'

I gulped my heart all the way down into my stomach. In my coat pockets I felt my fists tightening like dead-bolts. He was riding me again, worse than ever, but I found some strength, tapped a line of cool.

'Uncle Jake, could I talk with you, please?'

He snickered. Showed that piranha smile again, then a full out laugh. The deadbeats followed suit. Soon they were all laughing loudly, they thought the trouble had passed.

'Sure ... sure we can talk, Mickey boy ... go on, speak your mind.'

'In private,' I said softly, taking as much of the threat out as I could.

'Oh, he wants to talk in private ...' his jibe got some more laughs, 'maybe he want me to tell him how to keep a piece of ass in check!'

I was on the mat, taking a ten count from these bums as they laughed me up. Then Uncle Jake rose to his feet.

'Lead the way ... I'll show you how to make her smoke!' He brought the Lucky up to his thin lips and pursed tight round the filter, sucking it like a teet. I coulda grabbed his neck and snapped it like a match, but I held out.

'Lets go out back,' I said.

'Sure ... sure ...' Back slaps and high-fives encouraged Uncle Jake on his way.

My blood lapped like a race car as we walked through the diner and on to the fire escape. All the while my uncle, was he even a real uncle?, did my Mom even know?, while my uncle smiled at me like Satan.

He stopped dead in the back lot, right next to the dumpsters.

'What the hell are you playing at, asshole,' said Uncle Jake, 'are you trying to make an fool outta me? Well are you?' said Uncle Jake.

I didn't answer. The time for words had passed.

'Nothing to say? No ... and I'll tell you why, ‘cuz you don't want to go back inside.'

Uncle Jake laughed in my face, then threw up his arms and pushed past me.

'Hell, I'm outta here!'

As he went I rabbit-punched him. I felt a good, clean connection and it sent him face first into the dirt.

Where he fell, he turned over. Blood streamed from his nose like red ticker tape. I grabbed him by the collar and threw him against the dumpster, put a kidney punch on him. He let out a screech like tires on a getaway car.

'Ahh-h-h ... you dumb son of a bitch, you just bought your ticket,' he said.

I hit him again, cracked a knuckle on his bony jaw. It tore a flap of loose meat from under his chin.

'No, you bastard ... I'm not going anywhere,' I said.

'You're busted good, boy. I’ll rat you out for this. I got witnesses, see . . . stacks. Me and my boys are gonna jail your sorry ass.'

I hit him again, in the gut this time, lifted him a good five inches clear of the asphalt.

'How's that feel ... in your gut?' I raged now, shook him left to right, 'Well, how's it feel ... you hurtin?' His eyes rolled up in his head, all I saw was their whites, I thought he'd passed out.

I shook him again, slapped him round, 'Tell me how it feels! I want to know how it feels...' He looked at me, his mouth spilled open, but nothing came out. 'What I thought ... it don't feel nothing like what you put in my ass when I was a kid!'

He raised his head, his bug-eyes stared out into a wilderness of the unknown. The dread, the despair. The knowledge of what he had done to me fell on him like a funeral pall.

'That's right ... you remember, don't you.'

He stared on, looking through me now. He wasn't with me at all. He was back in my Mom's cold-water apartment in downtown Queens. And I was a boy again, wailing in terror, even at the thought of seeing him.

I spat in his face. But he didn't move.

'You quit riding me, hear?'

He still didn't move. I shook him by his scrawny coat-hanger shoulders. But there was still no life in him.

I drew back my hand and slapped my Uncle Jake's face. The force of it stung my palm and sent electricity up my arm. This time he looked at me, but his eyes were still dead.

'You quit riding me ... leave me and Allie in peace, d'you hear?'

He said nothing, his eyes dropped from me fast as dimes in a pay-phone.

I grabbed his bloody jaw, forced him to look at me, 'I said, do you hear me?'

This time, he nodded. Slowly I stepped away. At the edge of the lot I pulled down the ladder to the fire escape. When I turned back to Uncle Jake he was curled up on the asphalt, legs tucked to his chest like a child, and sobbing.

I climbed from the lot, and called out to Allie.

We'd some talking to do.

 

Copyright 2007 by Tony Black

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Tony Black's first novel PAYING FOR IT is to be published by Random House in 2008. Ken Bruen kindly praised the book, saying it "blasts off the page like a triple malt . . . one adrenaline-pumped novel that is as moving and compassionate as it is so stylishly written". More of Black's writing can be found online at: Scotsman.com, Books from Scotland, Thug Lit, Pulp Pusher and is forthcoming in Out of the Gutter. Black lives and works in Edinburgh. Reach him at: t_black_uk@yahoo.co.uk