Libra Read Free Page A

Nicky Black. Here to pester the animals, create the routine disturbances that made up their days. He could almost feel their small joy as they spotted him, a little jump of muscle in the throat.
    Scalzo’s voice banged through the high chamber.
    “They call your name every day in class. But what kind of name is Lee? That’s a girl’s name or what?”
    “His name is Tex,” Nicky Black said.
    “He’s a cowpoke,” Scalzo said.
    “You know what cowpokes do, don’t you? Tell him, Tex.”
    “They poke the cows,” Scalzo said.
    Lee went out the north door, a faint smile on his face. He walked down the steps and around to the ornate cages of the birds of prey. He didn’t mind fighting. He was willing to fight. He’d fought with the kid who threw rocks at his dog, fought and won, beat him good, whipped him, bloodied his nose. That was on Vermont Street, in Covington, when he had a dog. But this baiting was a torment. They would get on him, lose interest, circle back fitfully, picking away, scab-picking, digging down.
    Scalzo drifted toward a group of older boys and girls huddled smoking around a bench. Lee heard someone say, “A two-tone Rocket Olds with wire wheels.”
    The king vulture sat on its perch, naked head and neck. There is a vulture that breaks ostrich eggs by hurling stones with its beak. Nicky Black was standing next to him. The name was always used in full, never just Nicky or Black.
    “Playing the hook is one thing. I say all right. But you don’t show your face in a month.”
    It sounded like a compliment.
    “You shoot pool, Tex? What do you do, you’re home all day. Pocket pool, right? Think fast.”
    He faked a punch to Lee’s groin, drew back.
    “But how come you live in the North? My brother was stationed in Fort Benning, Georgia. He says they have to put a pebble in their hand down south so they know left face from right face. This is true or what?”
    He mock-sparred, wagging his head, breathing rapidly through his nose.
    “My brother’s in the Coast Guard,” Lee told him. “That’s why we’re here. He’s stationed in Ellis Island. Port security it’s called.”
    “My brother’s in Korea now.”
    “My other brother’s in the Marines. They might send him to Korea. That’s what I’m worried about.”
    “It’s not the Koreans you have to worry about,” Nicky Black said. “It’s’ the fucking Chinese.”
    There was reverence in his voice, a small note of woe. He wore torn Keds and a field jacket about as skimpy as Lee’s windbreaker. He was runty and snuffling and the left half of his face had a permanent grimace.
    “I know where to get some sweet mickeys off the truck. We go roast them in the lot near Belmont. They have sweet mickeys in the South down there? I know where to get these books where you spin the pages fast, you see people screwing. The kid knows these things. The kid quits school the minute he’s sixteen. I mean look out.”
    He blew a grain of tobacco from the tip of his tongue.
    “The kid gets a job in construction. First thing, he buys ten shirts with Mr. B collars. He saves his money, before you know it he owns a car. He simonizes the car once a month. The car gets him laid. Who’s better than the kid?”
    Scalzo was the type that sauntered over, shoulders swinging. The taps on his shoes scraped lightly on the rough asphalt.
    “But how come you never talk to me, Tex?”
    “Let’s hear you drawl,” Nicky Black said.
    “I say all right.”
    “Talk to Richie. He’s talking nice.”
    “But let’s hear you drawl. No shit. I been looking forward.”
    Lee smiled, started walking past the group hunched over the park bench, lighting cigarettes in the wind, the fifteen-year-old girls with bright lipstick, the guys in pegged pants with saddle stitching and pistol pockets. He walked up to the main court and took the path that led to the gate nearest his street.
    Scalzo and Nicky Black were ten yards behind.
    “Hey fruit.”
    “He sucks