Shadow Prey

fluorescent pink lipstick. She had a nasty scar on her right cheek, the end product of an ill-considered fight with a man who had a beer can opener in his hand. The scar scared the shit out of everybody.
    If Gineele was bad, Howdy was a nightmare. Howdy was white, so white he looked as if he’d been painted. A quick glance at his eyes suggested that this boy was snorting something awful. Ether, maybe. Or jet fuel. Toxic waste. In any case, his eyes were always cranked wide, his mouth was always open, his tongue flicking out like a snake’s. To complement his insane face, Howdy wore steel rings around his neck, black leather cuffs with spikes, and knee-high leather boots. He was twenty years old—you could see the youth in his carriage—but his hair was dead-white and fine as spun silk. When Howdy and Gineele went into a K Mart, the white guys in the rayon neckties went crazy. While the two decoys caromed around the store, Yellow Hand took boomboxes out the front door by the cartload.
    Jesus. Yellow Hand really needed them . . . .
    An hour after he hit the street, he scored a clock-radio and three calculators at a Walgreen’s drugstore. He cashed them for a chunk, smoked it, floated away to never-never land. But it was a soiled trip, because even as he went out he was anticipating the cold reality of the crash.
    Early in the evening, he tried to steal a toolbox from a filling station. He almost made it. As he was turning the corner, a guy by the gas pumps spotted him and yelled. The box was too heavy to run with, so he dumped it and hauled ass through two blocks of backyards. The gas jockey called the cops and Yellow Hand spent an hour hiding under a boat trailer as a squad car cruised the neighborhood. By the time he started back to the Point, it was fully dark. He hadto think. He had to plan. He had only two more days at the Point; then he’d need money for the rent. The nights were getting cold.
     
    Shadow Love was smoking a cigarette when Yellow Hand came in.
    “Loan me a couple bucks?” Yellow Hand begged.
    “I don’t have no money to spend on crack,” Shadow Love said. He reached for the hardpack of Marlboros. “I can give you a smoke.”
    “Aw, man, I wouldn’t buy no crack,” Yellow Hand whined. “I need to eat. I ain’t had nothin’ to eat all day.” He took the cigarette and Shadow Love held a paper match for him.
    “Tell you what,” Shadow Love said after a moment, fixing Yellow Hand with his pale eyes. “We can walk up to that taco joint by the river road. I’ll buy you a half-dozen tacos.”
    “That’s a long way, man,” Yellow Hand complained.
    “Fuck ya, then,” Shadow Love said. “I’m going. Thanks for lettin’ me stay.” He’d paid Yellow Hand three dollars to use the mattress.
    “All right, all right,” Yellow Hand said. “I’m coming. I’m so fuckin’ hungry . . . .”
    Walking slow, they took twenty minutes to get from the Point to the Mississippi. The river was a hundred feet below them and Shadow Love sidestepped down the slope.
    “Where are you going, man?” Yellow Hand asked, puzzled.
    “Down to the water. Come on. It’s not much further this way.” Shadow Love thought about Yellow Hand and Davenport. Yellow Hand had told the cop about the newspaper clipping: that was something. The black spot popped up.
    “We gotta climb back up, man,” Yellow Hand complained.
    “Come on,” Shadow Love snapped. The black spot floated out in front of him. His heart was pounding, and the rising power flowed through his blood like gold. He wasn’t arguing anymore. Yellow Hand looked back toward thelights of the street, undecided, and finally followed, still bitching under his breath.
    They crossed a river access road and continued down to the water, where the riverbank was supported by a concrete wall. Shadow Love stepped onto the wall, drew in a breath of the river air and exhaled. Smelled real. He turned to Yellow Hand, who had climbed onto the wall behind him.
    “Lights look great from down here, don’t they?” Shadow Love asked. “Look at the reflections in the water.”
    “I guess,” Yellow Hand said, puzzled.
    “Look over there, under the bridge,” Shadow Love said.
    Yellow Hand turned to look. Shadow Love stepped closer, taking the pistol from his waistband. He put it behind Yellow Hand’s ear, waited a delicious second, then another and a third, thrilling to the darkness of the act; when he couldn’t stand it anymore, the glorious