Читать книгу Fri Nov 22 00:00:00 CST 2019 - Bryan Woolley - Страница 20

HENRY

“Fuckin’ scotch,” Muffin said.

“You’re particular for a nigger,” Henry said.

“Mother-fuckin’ scotch,” Muffin said.

“If you don’t like it, don’t drink it,” Henry said. He took the bottle away from Muffin and held it up, trying to see how much was left, but it was too dark under the viaduct for him to see. He shook the bottle. There was some left. He drank it. “Listen to them sirens,” he said.

“Fuckin’ sirens,” Muffin said.

“I bet there’s a big wreck somewhere.”

“Fuckin’ wreck,” Muffin said. “Give me that scotch.”

“Ain’t none left,” Henry said.

“Fuckin’ scotch,” Muffin said.

“You’re sure uppity for a nigger,” Henry said. “You know who give me that scotch? The most beautiful lady in Dallas. Sheila Towers. Right outside of Babe’s place. You know Babe’s place. Well, that’s where she give it to me. Right out in front. Just give it to me. Just like that.”

“Fuckin’ Shelia,” Muffin said.

“You know Shelia? Naw, you don’t know Shelia. Shelia wouldn’t know no nigger. Shelia wouldn’t give no nigger no scotch.”

“Fuckin’ Shelia,” Muffin said.

“Ain’t no use thinking about that,” Henry said. “Ain’t no nigger fuckin’ Shelia. Shelia’s got her man for the night, Muffin. He’s the one that give me that scotch out in front of Babe’s place. He just held it out to me and said, ‘Here, Henry, you take this here scotch. I don’t need it no more. Have yourself a good time, Henry.’ ”

“Fuckin’ scotch. Give it to me,” Muffin said.

“Ain’t none left,” Henry said. “You just roll over and pull this viaduct up under your chin and go to sleep, boy. Ain’t no use worryin’ about no scotch. Ain’t no scotch left.”

Muffin started crying. “Fuckin’ rain,” he said.