Ten Mile River by Paul Griffin Read Free Book Online

behind the hotel there.’
    â€˜The whorehouse one on Broadway, all that stanky trash in back?’
    â€˜I’m practically rollin through it to ditch Paulie.’ José sniffed his armpit. ‘I stink like whorehouse trash now. Gimme a bar a soap, I’m goin to the river.’
    â€˜Hold up a sec. I gotta talk to you about somethin.’
    â€˜Hell’s wrong with you? Look like you gonna cry.’
    â€˜I ain’t gonna cry . Show you how much of a crier—’
    â€˜A’right, a’right, c’mon, talk quick. The waters are callin.’
    â€˜You take her, the girl. Trini.’
    â€˜Trini? That girl?’ José smoothed his cornrows, caught himself, stopped. ‘Nah, son, you saw her first. You take her.’
    â€˜I can’t take her. She don’t want me to took her.’
    â€˜Nah, Ray, man, she likes you, man. I seen it.’
    â€˜Not like she likes you. She likes you.’
    â€˜Whoa, whoa, whoa, hold up a damn minute here. Whoa.’ José plunked onto the bunk next to Ray. ‘She said she likes you?’
    â€˜Phew, sit downwind, will ya? No, she said she likes you .’
    â€˜That’s what I meant. But she said it?’
    â€˜What, that she likes you?’ Ray said.
    â€˜What are we talkin about here? Yeah, that she likes me.’
    â€˜She almost said it,’ Ray said.
    â€˜Hell?’
    â€˜I go, “You like José?” And she’s like, “He’s okay.”’
    â€˜Holy. Shit. Serious? She said he’s okay ? Dag, son.’
    â€˜Told ya,’ Ray said.
    â€˜Dag, this is serious.’ José flopped back on the bed. ‘What I’m opposed to do now?’
    Ray spit out the window. ‘I want you and her to, you know.’
    José nudged Ray. ‘You gonna be sad?’
    â€˜Psh, course not.’ Ray smoothed what was left of his hair.
    â€˜You’re sure about this.’
    â€˜Psh, course.’
    José looked at the Fatty dog. ‘She likes me, you fat dope.’
    The dog looked at José out the sides of its eyes.
    â€˜He’s too lazy to turn his head,’ José said. ‘Damn dog creeps me out, man.’
    â€˜Leave ’im alone,’ Ray said. ‘You take the niece and I’ll keep tryin to work my way in with the old lady.’
    â€˜Son, you’re the best man at my weddin.’
    â€˜Shut up, man. You cook tonight.’
    José chucked his arm over Ray’s shoulder. ‘Ray-Ray, I’m-a steal us a nice home-cooked meal.’
    They were at Yolie’s door before the joint opened. Trini re-rowed José’s do while Yolie just stared at Ray’s near baldy. ‘I dunno what you want me to cut, amor.’
    â€˜Shave it.’
    Yolie sucked her teeth and draped her breasts over Ray as she shaved his head. Ray was as happy as a miserable man can be. He looked kind of mean bald. He liked the look. Superslick assassin. Mond, Ray Mond.
    Without the chick.
    That night at the new Spider-Man movie Trini sucked a necklace of welts onto José. The slurping sound drove Ray nuts. He said he had to go to the bathroom, never came back, hopped the train downtown to the all-night Home Depot. He liked hanging out there. They gave free classes about plumbing, wiring and how to pick rugs and drapes that created harmonic ambience.
    On the train ride home he read this book that said God is dead.
    Ray shut the book. ‘Bummer.’
    He came in late. José was doing Grand Theft on the big screen. Scarface cheered him on from the small. Ray plopped onto the couch next to the J-man. José looked at him. ‘You’re mad, right?’
    â€˜You’re a hickey with limbs.’
    â€˜Yup, he’s mad,’ José said.
    â€˜I’m only gonna ask you one thing. Do not ever talk smack about that chick with me.’
    â€˜Hell you talkin about?’
    â€˜Like, “Smell my fingers,” stupid shit like