In This Rain Read Free

question. But from nowhere, T.D. had the answer. “Them drawings you give me. For the first job? The ones you say I better study, the ones you was so serious, I better give ’em back?”
    “You gave ’em.”
    T.D. smiled big because Kong sounded confused. “I copied their asses.”
    “Say what?”
    “I got copies. Zee-rocks.”
    Kong’s face rippled into a grin. “Naw. You ain’t got no copies. Why you gonna do that, make copies? I know you didn’t.”
    “Did,” said T.D. Damn, this was fun. “Because you was so serious. I thought, these things is so important, maybe I need to keep ’em.” That wasn’t the real answer. T.D. liked those drawings. They were like little pieces of blueprints. He was planning on studying them. Not the way Kong said, but to practice making lines like the ones in them. Maybe even work out the words. “You want them, you got to pay me. What you owe me, plus extra. For my trouble. I got to go get ’em for you.”
    “What, they far away?”
    T.D. wasn’t falling for that, no way. “Just show me the money, bro.”
    “Couldn’t be no trouble, getting ’em. You just ask your moms, right? Nice lady, your moms. Got a skinny ass like you. Or Shamika. Bet Shamika got ’em. Hot bitch like that, I know I’d give her my copies.”
    “I ain’t saying, cocksucker! You want ’em, you gotta pay me.”
    Kong nodded his huge head, up and down, up and down. “All I got to do? I pay you, you give me the copies? Awright.” Kong smiled again. Because of the blunt, T.D. didn’t see right away that this was a different kind of smile. He tipped to it just before Kong slammed him in the gut. As he crumpled, Kong’s fist smashed his jaw. The clouds spun crazily. T.D. sucked in air, tried to stand himself up. Kong clamped onto his arm. T.D. tried to shake him off, to yell What the fuck? but he didn’t have the breath and Kong didn’t let go.
    All this time Kong didn’t say a word, even when he dragged T.D. to the edge of the roof, even when he picked him up, even when he tossed him off. Whoa, T.D. thought, tumbling through the air; and he tried to soar, swoop down near the rooftops and fly up again. For a second or two, he thought he had it.

CHAPTER
3
    Heart’s Content
    “Jesus, Joe. Say something.”
    But he could say nothing. Ann Montgomery stood at his door and he just stared.
    A gust of wind streamed her unbuttoned coat and her hair behind her, giving her the look, against his dissolute front yard, of a stern Renaissance angel clipped from canvas and pasted on cheap pulp. She folded her arms as his silence stretched on. “Can I come in?”
    “Ann,” he said. Two steps behind as usual, Joe, he pointed out to himself with the smugness of self-disgust.
    “No, Mother Cabrini.” She swept past him as though he were not standing in the doorway, which he discovered he was not. As he always had done, he’d moved without thinking to accommodate Ann. “Joe.” She faced him. “This is no way to live.”
    He looked around, trying to see the rented cabin with her eyes. Faded wallpaper, but fresh paint; battered furniture, but the scent of oil soap; vinegared-clean windows sheltered by pines, sunlight lying quietly on the grass beyond. He disagreed. It was a way to live.
    Not a reason. But a way.
    She plunked her bag onto his table and showed him his blank walls, his empty kitchen counter, his sofa, and the two kitchen chairs. Without asking, she turned and strode down the hall. He didn’t follow and she briefly vanished; he imagined her leaning in the bedroom door, taking stock. Returning, she stood, hands on hips; clearly, to her mind, she’d made her point.
    He asked, “How did you find me?”
    “Find you?” She let her arms drop. “I called your parole officer. Earth to Joe Cole. Come in, Joe?”
    Of course she had. It’s what he’d have done if he were still on the job, and Ann was still on the job. She’d probably checked his employment status (a road crew with a contractor used to hiring men from the prison; they spread asphalt and crushed stone