Hunting in Harlem Read Online Free PDF Page A

capacity
     for witty banter."
    "Why not just be yourself?" Snowden smiled, shrugged to him.
    "Because that is a cliché," Bobby sighed. "Look, this is no . . . 'round-the-way-girl whose affections can be bought with
     a howyadoin' and a Pepsi. Piper Goines is clearly a person of refinement. A woman of sophistication and substantial beauty," Bobby said
     back to him.
    "The boy's right, Snowball. You should see the ass on this bitch," Horus declared coming up from behind. Snowden turned to
     catch Bobby's reaction, but the skinny man had disappeared deeper into the truck behind the stacks of furniture.
    "Straight up dog, I'm about to get me some of that!" Horus continued. "I'm going to be all up in that booty, you watch me.
     I'm going to bang it hard. I'm going to bang it greasy? Horus crinkled his nose above his smile as if even he was somewhat disgusted by the image. After he'd hoisted a bookshelf
     onto his back, Horus trudged off again, cursing in delight with every step. Snowden turned around and grabbed the teddy bear
     with the intention of following him into the house, and Bobby was standing exactly where he was before, same footing and everything.
    "Dear God you have to stop him." Bobby's face had lost so much blood Snowden imagined it tingled.
    "Me? What's this got to do with me?"
    "If that animal goes in there and starts slobbering over her, he won't just ruin my chances, he'll disgrace the honor of Horizon
     Realty itself! Besides, he'll listen to you. He respects you more than he respects me," Bobby insisted.
    "Now why the hell would you think that?" Snowden asked incredulously.
    "You know. Because you killed someone."
    Piper Goines was moving into the condo on the third floor of the brownstone. The couple who owned the rest of the townhouse
     stood on the main floor guarding their domain, entwined at the bottom of the steps like dried vines, wearing matching sweatshirts
     and overalls as if they were doing the lifting. Behind them this place, Snowden walked slowly just to get a better look at
     it. Most of the brownstones they refilled were shells, houses scraped out and abandoned, cut into single-room-occupancy flophouses
     decades ago. Places of construction, dust and drywall, their architectural details hidden or stolen or replaced with modern
     finishings by the returning middle class. But this townhouse was how they all were supposed to be: intricate woodwork angling
     through the double doors, spinning lattice icicles above the archways, fireplaces snug in tile, cake-tin moldings along the
     ceiling above, the stained-glass mosaic of the back window, and all of it original. Snowden the agnostic saw it and couldn't
     help but think for a second of God. That God had made them build mansions for millionaires who never came, so that there was
     no one but their slaves to fill them. That this was his reparation. That Harlem was God's gift to black people.
    Snowden walked up the ornate stairway with the stuffed bear in both hands, Bobby straining behind him with his arms wrapped
     around a narrow armoire. The wall going up was lined with paintings and Snowden was admiring them when he heard their owners
     yelling up from below.
    "They're originals. Including the frames. Why don't I just get those out of your way." The brown and blessed, moneyed and
     mobile, Snowden couldn't remember if he'd moved this couple in or just so many of their type he could no longer see individuals.
     The female of the breed sprang into the narrow space alongside him, started taking the artwork off the wall before they could
     even get by.
    "Negroes get a couple Henry Ossawa Tanners, think they running the Met," Bobby offered when they finally made it to the apartment,
     closed the door behind them. This was Bobby Finley: If the people they were moving had more blue-collar tastes, Bobby would
     make fun of their prints and assembly line African sculptures. If their possessions were more sophisticated, Bobby would attack
     them for their