A Hole in the Universe - Mary McGarry Morris [146]
“So how much did you get?” she asked as they cut through back alleys.
“Some scratch tickets, that’s all.” He pulled the strip from his pocket. “I mean, the guy was being such an asshole, I couldn’t help it.”
“You got a gun?”
“No! Musta been the Ice in my pockets, the cans.”
Legs outstretched, she leaned back on his cousin Antawan’s steps while Thurman got his head shaved inside. He came out wearing a black shirt and baggy mesh basketball shorts. She’d never seen his legs before. They were hairy and thick as a man’s.
“Smooth as a baby’s ass.” He kept rubbing the back of his head.
She laughed and rubbed it, too. “Smoother even.”
They stopped behind the drugstore and took turns scratching off the little metallic squares on the tickets with a quarter. Her heart pounded with each one. She liked this new-looking Thurman, dark eyed and menacing.
“This is it!” he promised, quarter poised over the last one, the million-dollar card. First thing he’d do was buy a red Corvette, then drive someplace where it was hot all the time. “That’s a fucking rip!” Eleven cards and no winner, not even a free card.
When they came to the Nash Street Market, Thurman asked again who the father was if it wasn’t Polie. She began to tell him about this rich guy from Miami. “He flies his own plane, and when he comes up he’s got a condo over in that new place that used to be the old shirt mill. His name’s Lenny. Roth,” she continued, spotting the Roth bread truck by the Market door. “He’s like really handsome and he always wears purple shirts, white silk boxers—”
“White silk boxers!” Thurman howled. “How do you know?”
“Jesus . . .” She sighed and rolled her eyes. “I thought you wanted to hear. The diamond on his pinky finger cost fifty thousand dollars, and right after the baby’s born he’s taking us on a trip, all four of us.”
“Where to?”
“Disney World.” Her first ride would be Space Mountain. That was her favorite part of Inez’s video.
“Hey! Fucking assholes!” Thurman banged on the Market window. The grimy plate glass rattled, and he hit it again. The cashiers looked back in shock as he pounded the glass with both fists. Jada gave them the finger, and the bitch with the tubes shouted toward the office. The door flew open and Neil Dubbin burst out screaming and swearing at Thurman. They ran through the parking lot, almost blinded by the glitter of smashed bottles, then escaped into the woods behind the store. Neither one spoke as they pushed past spindly branches and wild grapevines that snared the treetops together like an enormous cobweb. Ahead in the clearing was a kind of shelter made from rusting grocery carts that had been covered with flattened cardboard boxes. From inside came a painful whimper. As they crept closer, it grew to a frail bark.
“Leonardo!” She sprang into the clearing. A dog’s apricot-colored head rose weakly in the shadows, his hind legs splayed. Each attempt to drag himself forward came with a sharp cry. “Cootie’s dog, he can’t move!” she gasped, tearing the cardboard roof onto the ground. “Where is he? Where’s Cootie?”
“Dead. They found him last week. Downtown, out back of some bar.”
“C’mere. C’mere, doggie,” she whispered, but every time she came near, the dog bared his pitted yellow fangs and snarled.
“Jesus Christ, it stinks in here.” Thurman held his nose. “C’mon, let’s go. I gotta get outta here before I puke.”
Looking around, she saw nothing but rusted cans and the charred ends of sticks. “He’s starving. He doesn’t have any food. There’s not even any water.”
“Yeah? And what’re we supposed to do?” Thurman held his nose and backed away.
“Give me a coupla bucks. You said you had money. I’ll pay you back, I swear I will. I just wanna go get him some dog food or something.”
“Fuck, no! He’s almost dead. Look at him.” Flies swarmed over the dog’s haunches.
“Please,