Yesterday's News

much into the game. Laughed himself sick. You guys feeling queasy, too?”
    They shook their heads.
    I pointed to Bottle. “Set that down. Gently.”
    He complied.
    “Now, when Cliffie here composes himself, you take him somewhere and clean him up.”
    Cliff managed to say, “Jesus, guys... get me home... please.”
    I moved sideways and gestured toward him. His friends haltingly came forward, each taking an arm and lifting Cliff to his feet. They swung back toward me.
    I said, “No. Take him the long way out.”
    Retreat said, “But our car’s—”
    “The long way. Or the hard way. Take your pick.” They looked at each other, hefted Cliff a little higher, and took the long way.
    I went to the man they’d been razzing. I got him up and over to the comparatively cleaner side of the alley, sitting him against the wall of the adjacent building. “You alright?”
    “Why’d she have to go and do that?”
    “Who?”
    “And with my own son. Hell, I knew she was a slut, they’re all sluts. But my own son. Why? Why?”
    I retrieved his bottle and mine, resting his lengthways between his knees.
    Near the rear door of Bun’s, a heap of clothing wearing shoes twitched as I passed. I stopped. “Hey,” I said, shaking the man at the shoulder. “Go ‘way.”
    I said, quietly, “Hey, pal, I got a pint here for the guy who saw the stabbing the other night.”
    “Go ‘way.”
    I moved on to the next heap and repeated the offer. “Seen it. Yeah, yeah. I seen it. Let’s have the pint.” I pulled it halfway from the bag, so he could see the label. “Describe the guy with the knife.”
    “Nigger. Always niggers with the knives. Gimme the pint.”
    “Describe him.”
    “Aw, you know the niggers, man. All look alike. Gimme the pint.”
    “Sorry. No sale.”
    “Fuck you. Fuck you and the horse you rode in on.” Ten feet farther down, a third body said, “Yeah, I the one seen it.”
    “Describe the guy.”
    “Describe him. Charlie be dead.”
    “I mean the guy with the knife.”
    “Where’s that pint at?”
    I showed him.
    His face came forward, deep black complexion, lesions on the cheeks, puffy eyes examining the product from a distance of four inches. “Cheap bastard. Couldn’t gets no good stuff?”
    “I haven’t heard much reason to try.”
    “And you won’t, neither. Not for that shit.”
    “How do I know you’re the one I want?”
    “Guy you want talked to the cops. You seen anybody else around here makes sense enough, cops talk to him?”
    “You still haven’t told me anything.”
    “You wants me to talk, huh? For that cheap shit?”
    “Guess we can’t do business.” I straightened up and turned to move on.
    “Wait a minute. Wait!”
    I looked down at him.
    “Well, come back here. I ain’t gone go shouting it all over the alley.”
    I squatted next to him.
    He said, “First thing, what your name be?”
    “John Cuddy.”
    “You ain’t no cop.”
    “No, the cops want information, they just bring you in, dry you out till you feel helpful.”
    “You gots that right.” He put on a cagey grin. “How’s about me and you do a little deal here?”
    “I told you my name. How about yours?”
    “VIP.”
    “Vip?”
    “Vee-Eye-Pee. Very important person. Leastways to you, you showing even that cheap shit there.”
    “What’s the deal?”
    “You gives me a little taste, I gives you a little taste.”
    “I’m guessing your little taste is this pint here.”
    “Man speaks my language.”
    “What’s my little taste?”
    “Something only the man talk to the cops know.”
    I handed him the pint. He used a corner of his coat to muffle the sound of the top being unscrewed.
    “Fuckin bums in this alley, they hears a tax tag getting tore off, they all over you for some.” He glugged half the pint before I stayed his arm.
    “You said a little taste for me, too, Vip. Remember?”
    “Man done Charlie gots up with Charlie’s knife still in his leg. That taste enough for you?”
    Bingo. “What’s the rest of the deal?”
    “This here pint be enough for me tonight. I ain’t no fuckin drunk like some peoples I could mention.”
    “And?”
    “And I calls you tomorrow.”
    “You’re gonna call me tomorrow.”
    “Yeah. You know, like on the telephone?”
    “Why can’t you just tell me now?”
    “‘Cause I tells you now, you pays me now. Then I ain’t gots nothing by tomorrow ‘cause the scum I gots to live with here rip me off.”
    “What makes you think I’ll pay you