Dude one stick his hand out the window for Darlene to shake and goes, My name’s Jarvis Arrow and we’re with the Chronicle—like the Chronicle be something famous we musta heard of before, like if somebody said, I’m with Sandwiches, or I’m with Money. He go, Are you one of the farmworkers for Delicious Foods? We’re wondering if you would speak to us on the record for a piece I’m doing. He pointed to the other guy. This is Frankie, he’s recording sound. Frankie wave with his fingers. Jarvis got a handheld video camera in his lap; Darlene took a cautious li’l peek at it and Jarvis went, That’s in case I decide to make a documentary.
Darlene shook Jarvis’s hand, then her eyes gone to the backseat ’cause she thinking ’bout hopping in and just going. But out of all the damn cars on the road, this one would have to be a two-door and not a four-door so she couldn’t make the decision herself real fast and force em into it. And then what Eddie gonna do?
The song lyrics we sung was still in her head and we was still braindancing, and kinda letting it spill out her mouth, she went, I want to do the things you want to do, so baby, let’s get to it, do it. And she laughed.
It’s okay, then? Jarvis asked. He frown, looking confused, and turnt off the car. Frankie got out with that sound equipment, and after checking behind him for traffic, he gone around the back of the car and put the gear on top the trunk. Darlene looked over her shoulder down them rows of non-limes and ain’t seen nothing, but she knew that ain’t mean wasn’t nothing coming for her. She still thinking she might have to perform sexually if she wanna convince em to take folks outta there.
Jarvis slide out the car and ask her name and vitals, then Frankie hand him the mic and kept fiddling with the knobs. Darlene ain’t had the best information on her vitals, so she just said some bullshit. She moved her hips into Jarvis personal space, but he sidestepped to a comfortable distance without making no comments on her.
He goes, So can you just give me a general picture of what the working conditions are like at Delicious Foods?
It’s good, she said, forcing a smile. That’s when we realized that these motherfuckers probably worked for the Fusiliers in real life, like they had set all this shit up, so she said, I mean it’s great! I guess it’s great. And if it’s not, I brought that on myself, you know. Like the song goes, only got myself to blame. I signed the contract, so—She shrugged. My son and I work here…it’s a family business…religious folks…so that’s good. I need to pay my whole debt back, which they told me is up there, and plus the book said you have to think positive to get positive things. I admit I haven’t always thought things of a positive nature, so that might take a while. She struggling to stay focused on what she saying.
So what are the living conditions like here? We’ve heard reports. A guy named Melvin Jenkins told us some things that shocked us. Do you know him?
No, I don’t know anybody named Melvin…The two of them locked eyes; look like he expecting her to say some more. So baby, let’s get to it, she said.
Jarvis turnt his head for a second and then goes, Are the working and living conditions fair here? Are you fed well? Are you paid well?
Darlene ain’t wanna answer none of them questions on account of the shame it brung her, a certain kinda shame she wouldna even noticed ’less he asked her to tell the realities to the world. Quickest way out would be to seduce him and they could get into the car. I ain’t really care that much, I mostly wanted to stay, but I knew Miss Darlene wasn’t going nowhere without me no more. I thought maybe if she done a li’l dance and he heard her sing it might get past that straitlaced news-guy mask he be wearing, so she start singing the song. How ’bout if we could go push push in the bush?
Jarvis shared a frightened look with Frankie. He stepped out of Darlene’s way. Ma’am, I’m trying to conduct an interview here. Are you okay?
Darlene tickled Jarvis’s stubble with her fingers and kept dancing. You know you want to go push push in the bush. Get down get down do it do it. Me and Darlene let out a giant laugh.
At that moment feet start coming down them rows of citrus trees right toward em, on through the dry grass and leaves. Darlene grabbed the car door handle but it’s locked and she stumbled backward. When she got done stumbling, her shoulders fell onto a stiff tough thing that coulda been a tree stump but turnt out as How shiny cowboy boots. His cold andouille-sausage fingers lifted her up by her armpits and pushed her behind his bigness. He stomped over to get up in Jarvis and Frankie face.
Hello, sir, Jarvis said, raising his microphone and putting out his handshake. I’m interviewing the workers at Delicious Foods.
No, you’re not.
Uh, yes. I am. I’m with the Chronicle. The, um, Houston Chronicle.
What is that, a newspaper?
Jarvis goes, Yes, it is. It’s got a circulation of—
I don’t read. And I’m sorry, we’re not currently talking to the press.
Currently? You mean, at this time? Well, when—
No, I mean ever. He took the mic out Jarvis hand and ripped apart the connection and threw that sucker into the road and it made a little cloud when it hit the dirt. Then somewhere outta him he unleashed the harsh bellowing of a demon. Now get the fuck off our private property! He reached behind his back and Jarvis and Frankie must have got the idea. Maybe they seen that he had a weapon on him and he ’bout to turn em into a human watering can.
Frankie rushed into the road tryna save that mic; he chucked it into the backseat with the tape recorder, and then got in the passenger side. Jarvis ducked as he leapt into the driver seat, and the two of them motherfuckers was a mile down the road, tires left a couple of divots right there by the grass.
With some kinda kung fu move, How switch his hand from Darlene waist to her wrist, curled her arm behind her back like a barbecue chicken wing, then frog-marched her into a part of the groves where wouldn’t nobody see.
The fuck is wrong with you, he said. He kept smacking the base of her skull with his palm to move her forward. You want the world to know you’re a crackhead hooker? You want your picture in the paper as a whore?