Criminal Read Free Page B

now,” Mary whispered, begging for Lucy to stop. But Lucy couldn’t stop. Her master had told her to speak.
    “It was a Saturday. Mama always took me to the library on Saturdays.”
    “That right?” Juice asked.
    “Yes.” Even with her eyes open, Lucy could still see the scene playing out in her head. She was in her mother’s car. Safe. Carefree. Before the pills. Before the needle. Before the heroin. Before Juice. Before she lost that little Lucy who sat so patiently in her mother’s car, worried that she wasn’t going to get to the library in time for her reading group.
    Little Lucy was a voracious reader. She gripped the stack of books in her lap as she stared at the men blocking the streets. They were all dressed in their white robes. Most of them had their hoods pulled back because of the heat. She recognized some from church, a couple from school. She waved at Mr. Sheffield, who owned the hardware store. He winked at her and waved back.
    Lucy told Juice, “We were on a hill near the courthouse, and there was a black guy in front of us, stopped at the stop sign. He was in one of those little foreign cars. Mr. Peterson walked right up to him, and Mr. Laramie was on the other side.”
    “That right?” Juice repeated.
    “Yes, that’s right. The guy was terrified. His car kept rolling back. He must’ve had a clutch. His foot was slipping because he was so panicked. And I remember my mama watching him like we were watching Wild Kingdom or something, and she just laughed and laughed, and said, ‘Lookit how scared that coon is.’ ”
    “Jesus,” Mary hissed.
    Lucy smiled at Juice, repeated, “Lookit how scared that coon is.”
    Juice took the toothpick out of his mouth. “You best watch yourself, gal.”
    “Lookit how scared that coon is,” Lucy mumbled. “Lookit how scared …” She let her voice trail off, but it was only like an engine idling before it was gunned. For no reason, the story struck her as hilariously funny. Her voice went up, the sound echoing off the buildings. “Lookit how scared that coon is! Lookit how scared that coon is!”
    Juice slapped her, open palm, but hard enough to spin her around. Lucy felt blood slide down her throat.
    Not the first time she’d been hit. Not the last. It wouldn’t stop her. Nothing could stop her. “Lookit how scared that coon is! Lookit how scared that coon is!”
    “Shut up!” Juice punched his fist into her face.
    Lucy felt the crack of a tooth breaking. Her jaw twisted like a Hula Hoop, but she still said, “Lookit how scared—”
    He kicked her in the stomach, his tight pants keeping his foot low so that she felt the toe of his shoe scrape her pelvic bone. Lucy gasped from the pain, which was excruciating, but somehow liberating. How many years had it been since she’d felt something other than numb? How many years had it been since she’d raised her voice, told a man no?
    Her throat felt tight. She could barely stand. “Lookit how scared that—”
    Juice punched her in the face again. She felt the bridge of her nose splinter. Lucy staggered back, arms open. She saw stars. Literal stars. Her purse dropped. The heel of her shoe snapped off.
    “Get out my face!” Juice waved his fist in the air. “Get outta here ’fore I kill you, bitch!”
    Lucy stumbled into Jane, who pushed her away like a diseased dog.
    “Just go!” Mary begged. “Please.”
    Lucy swallowed a mouthful of blood and coughed it back out. Pieces of white speckled the ground. Teeth.
    “Get on, bitch!” Juice warned her. “Get on outta my sight.”
    Lucy managed to turn. She looked up the dark street. There were no lights showing the way. Either the pimps shot them out or the city didn’t bother to turn them on. Lucy stumbled again, but kept herself upright. The broken heel was a problem. She kicked off both shoes. The soles of her feet felt the intense heat of the asphalt, a burning sensation that shot straight up to her scalp. It was like walking on hot coals.