Nameless Night by G.M. Ford

Author:G.M. Ford [Ford, G.M.]
Language: eng
Format: epub, pdf
Published: 0100-12-31T22:00:00+00:00

25

Coupla minor problems. One . . . they came in from the opposite end of the street, so it looked way different. Two . . . it was daytime and the streetlights weren’t doing their thing. Didn’t matter, though . . . half an hour in, Randy snapped to it. This was his street of dreams. The same opulent suburban neighborhood he saw every night when he closed his eyes. The realization weakened his knees. They sat on top of a weathered picnic table at the back of a little neighborhood park, diagonally across the street from 432 Water Street. The houses sat on double or maybe even triple lots. Four thirty-two was, like the others on the street, an enormous two-story, white with black trim. The roof line suggested a vaulted ceiling on the ground floor, with a bunch of bedrooms upstairs. A quick trip around the block had revealed the obligatory lanai out back. The maturity of the landscaping and the size of the houses screamed of the late fifties. Cocoa Beach, Florida. Your Tropical Dreams Come True! Acey sucked on a cherry Popsicle. His lips and mouth were harlequin red.

“You scared?” he asked between slurps.

“Why would I be scared?”

“Scared don’t need no ‘why,’ dog. You either scared or you ain’t.”

“Maybe a little.”

“’Bout what?”

“I don’t know,” Randy said.

“Maybe you scareda dat blond bitch.” Acey referred to the leggy woman they’d seen collecting the afternoon newspaper a half hour back. “Maybe you one of those guys like my ol’ man . . . go out one time fo’ cigarettes and doan nobody see your ass again.”

“I don’t smoke.”

Acey wasn’t going for diversions. “You figure dat ho see you again after all this time, she gonna put an ice pick in you’ fuckin’ ear.”

“I thought we had an agreement about that word.”

“I’m workin on it, dog. Ol’ habits die hard.” With that, he went back to scowling and slurping his Popsicle.

The air was hot and thick and wet. Without enough breeze to stir their fronds, the trees hung limp. Randy dropped his head into his hands. He still harbored a dull ache deep behind his forehead. The images of things past were coming thicker than ever now, sounds and faces and places blazing past the inside of his eyes, like shop windows seen from a fast-moving train.

An elbow to the ribs lifted his gaze. In the street, a blue-andwhite police cruiser rolled slowly by the Mercedes. “Nosy motherfuckers,” Acey muttered. “Wanna make sure dere ain’t no niggers hanging round.” He giggled to himself. “’Cept dey know for sure some nigger woulda pimped that ride first thing.”

An hour ago they’d disagreed about how and where to wait. Acey’d wanted to stay in the air-conditioned car, but Randy knew better. The Mercedes was the only car parked in the street. Neighborhoods like this didn’t park cars in the street. Probably against community covenants and that kind of shit. Way Randy saw it, sit-ting in the car was an invitation to meet the local cops.

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