I exited the van, telling Donna to remain inside, then walked over to meet Lou. I wanted to prep him to be nice to her and to not get pissed that I had brought her along. Outside the bus, the smell of diesel fumes clung heavy in the air, reminding me of my job back at Mixon’s service station and garage. My brother and I slapped hands, giving each other five, followed by the “black hand side” before sharing a hug.
Although Lou and I were around the same height, he outweighed me by about fifty pounds of muscle. That’s not even speaking of the fly threads and shoes he loved to sport, which I never could afford.
Lou had been gone a month this time, tending to whatever relationships he was trying to cultivate beyond Hillcroft. From his demeanor, I guessed he was successful.
“Still workin’ at the gas station, huh, college boy?” he joked, flashing that smile of his nestled beneath his full moustache and untouchable afro. His eyes scanned my oil-stained shop coveralls only briefly before moving on to survey the people around us. Lou could be here, but his mind always seemed to be operating somewhere else. This town made him restless, and he wasn’t afraid to let it show.
“Yep. It’s an honest job,” I replied, trying to cut my brother with words that I knew would merely bounce off his impervious ego. But they did bring his attention back to me as we waited for his luggage to be unloaded from storage beneath the bus. I had a good idea of what he brought back with him from his trip up north.
“I’m honest with my work too, boy. No preconceived notions about what I do,” he said, playfully slapping me across the back of my head. From inside the bus, a girl in the window was frantically waving to get his attention.
“A friend?” I asked as I looked at the girl with high cheekbones and long, straight hair like she had some Indian in her family. She looked to be younger than me.
“Yeah. You might say that,” he replied, offering up a mouthful of teeth and a disingenuous wave to appease her. “She on her way down to Tallahassee. Parents back in Philly can’t manage her no mo’. Goin’ to live with her grandma is what she said. I actually thought she was quite manageable. Especially when we stopped back ’round South Carolina. Pussy so good it needs its own name—first, middle, and last.”
“Uh-huh. Watch you wind up in jail over something you can’t talk your way outta. That girl is what? Sixteen?” I said, shaking my head.
“Nah. She’s seventeen and a half, and a damn good half too. And I’ll leave jail to Larry. For somebody who lies so well to all these women he’s juggling, he sure hasn’t figured out how to use it with the law,” he said with a hearty laugh, referring to our brother, the middle one.
I joined in on that, knowing it was true. Larry was one unlucky motherfucker, and quick to blame it on someone else when the world came crashing in like it always did.
The bus driver, following his list, pulled out a large, olive-green Army duffle bag and a Samsonite suitcase for which Lou produced his claim ticket. Knowing Lou, neither his bus ticket nor his ID was in his real name.
“Here. Let me get one of those,” I requested as I reached for my brother’s duffle bag.
“Nah. I got it, scrawny. You tryin’ to be as skinny as JJ on Good Times?” he clowned, stepping in front of me. “Take the Samsonite. Don’t want you catching a hernia, boy.”
Out in the open, I knew better than to question Lou about the contents of the duffle bag in front of the driver, especially since I wasn’t going to like the answer. Let’s just say that Lou preferred to take chances with his freedom and had no problem carrying drugs across state lines. I did, so I just took the Samsonite like he told me, and we walked to the van waiting across the street.