Always Outnumbered, Always Outgunned (Socrates Fortlow 1) Read Online Free PDF Page A

head.
    He regarded her for a long moment.
    “Yeah. Yeah, that’s right,” he said at last. “Now get yo’ ass home.”
    “What you gonna do to Petty?”
    “Talk to’im is all.”
    That seemed to be enough for her. She grabbed a sack purse from out of the closet and made it through the group of men to the door.
    “Close it,” Socrates said after she was gone.
    It was dark in the room, with only a few shafts of light making it through the drawn and battered Venetian blinds. Petis had stopped throwing up but he was still gasping after his breath.
    One of the men flipped the light switch. The bare bulb from the overhead fixture could hardly have been called light.
    When Socrates took a step back from Petis he noticed that the floor was sticky. He saw the bottle lying on its side. Somebody had spilled an orange soda and hadn’t cleaned up.
    The room was no larger than Socrates’ living room. The only furniture was a straightback wooden chair and slender blue-and-white-striped mattress. Socrates pulled Petis up by an arm and put him in the chair.
    Petis was young but his skin was old; gray instead of brown, loose and pocked. His eyes were dark but otherwise colorless.
    “We know what you been doin’, Petis,” Socrates said.
    “What?”
    Socrates slapped the young man so hard that he fell.
    “Get back up in the chair, boy.”
    “Don’t talk, Petis. Nobody wanna hear what you got to say. We come here to talk to you. What you got to do is listen.”
    While Petis reseated himself he looked around for an escape. When he saw that there was none he gave his attention to his bald accuser.
    “We know what you been doin’, Petis. We got a witness to you killin’ LeRoy. We had a trial too…”
    Socrates paused and grinned his most evil grin.
    Petis belched and grabbed his stomach with both hands.
    “One man wanted just to shoot you. One man wanted to go to the police. We probably should kill you, I know. But finally we decided on sumpin’ else.”
    “What?” Petis asked quietly so that he wouldn’t be hit again.
    “You got to go, boy.”
    “What you sayin’?”
    “You got to go. Get outta here. Get outta this whole neighborhood. You got to go or else we kill you.”
    “I ain’t done nuthin’,” Petis said.
    Socrates slapped him.
    “I ain’t!” Petis sobbed loudly.
    Socrates hit him again.
    “You got to be gone by six, Petis. Six or we come in here and cut yo’ th’oat wit’ yo’ own knife.” Socrates picked up the blade and shoved it in his belt.
    “Six?”
    Socrates slapped him one more time. “Now what’d I say?”
    “Okay, man. Okay. But I got to say goodbye to my mother first.”
    “I don’t think you understand—if I see you anywhere but on a bus outta Watts I’m gonna kill you. Kill you.
    “There’s twelve men behind me on this, junkie. Us four and another eight from our group. We gonna kill you if we see you. An’ yo’ momma ain’t gonna stop that.”
    Petis had begun to shake. Socrates stood there a good long while staring. He hated Petis. Hated him.
    After a while he turned and said, “Com’on. Let’s go.”
    T hey waited on the street opposite the courts, next to Howard’s Buick. When Petis came out and saw them he ran back into his apartment.
    At sunset Socrates sent his friends home.
    “What you gonna do, Socco?” Right asked.
    “Go on home to Luvia, Right. All’a you go on.”
    J ust before seven he saw Petis’s fleet shadow go toward the back of the courts. Before Socrates could react, the crackhead disappeared.
    T he apartment was empty. Socrates couldn’t tell if Petis had gone for good or not because there was no telling what he might have taken or left behind.
    So Socrates waited the night. He sat in the dark and thought about poor Clyde. The warden had Clyde transferred to a hospital for the criminally insane. He was still there even while Socrates sat in the dark, the knife haft in his grip.
    P etis didn’t show up. Nobody heard about him for over a month.