Alligator Bayou - Donna Jo Napoli [3]
“They could twist the law.”
“You know what the Negroes would think of us if we told them to stand out back? Never! We do business with everyone. Good business. It’s bad business to treat any customer without respect.” Francesco’s holding that shotgun high as he talks. “That Willy Rogers isn’t our boss. We stop his mouth right now. If he calls us criminals in front of people, he’ll dishonor us. Even people like Dr. Hodge will think bad of us. Then I’ll have to shoot for real.”
Carlo steps toward Francesco, shaking his head. “A foolish boy could take a warning shot the wrong way. He could shoot back—and aim.”
“Bah!” Francesco opens the door.
“I’m still your big brother!” Carlo stamps his foot so hard the floor jumps. “Don’t you turn your back on me!”
Francesco faces him. “I’d rather have my head shot off than have to hang it in shame.”
“Have you ever known a fool to hold his tongue? You can just bet everyone knows all about your fight last night.” Carlo sighs loudly. “Walk into town with that gun and you won’t make it halfway to the Rogers house.”
“I’m not going there. I’m going to wait by the railroad tracks outside town, where he always passes. If he apologizes…”
“When have you seen a white man apologize to a Sicilian?”
“I’m just saying, if he does, then one thing happens. If he doesn’t…It’s his choice.”
Carlo twists his kitchen towel so hard, I think it will rip. “We’re strong, Francesco. We’re strong inside. Let this pass. We need you running the grocery store, not out by the tracks.”
“Don’t worry about the grocery. It’s all taken care of.” Francesco leaves. He doesn’t slam the door; he closes it quietly. That feels more ominous.
Carlo grabs my arm. “Go find that tutor of yours, that boy Frank Raymond.”
Frank Raymond is eighteen. He’s no more a boy than Willy Rogers is. “What’s Frank Raymond got to do with this?”
“Nothing. But he’s the only white person who seems to like us.”
“Dr. Hodge likes us. He treated Rosario’s cut a few months back.”
“Bah. We paid him. It was a job. You go to Frank Raymond.”
A quick shiver runs up my neck. “Do I bring him here?”
“No, tell him to get word to Willy Rogers not to go near the train tracks today. Anything—anything but crossing the train tracks. Hurry.”
I snatch my hat.
“Tell Frank Raymond not to let anyone know the message came from us.” Carlo drops heavily onto a bench. “And don’t say a word about any of this to your uncles. Especially not Giuseppe, that hothead.”
“I’ll be late to work at the stand. Rosario will ask where I’ve been.”
“What’s the point of you getting all that tutoring?” Carlo shakes his head in disgust. “A fourteen-year-old who can’t come up with a good lie in an emergency is a sorry sight.”
I touch my lips. “I’ve got a whole pack of lies.”
“Thank the Lord.” Carlo closes his eyes. He makes the sign of the cross and ends with prayer hands shaking toward the ceiling. When he opens his eyes again, they’re wet and bright. “I’m counting on you. Understand?”
“I understand.” I walk backward fast through the door and fall over Giada, the baby goat. We both go flying.
Francesco’s still in sight, halfway across the field. I take off running.
I pass the Rogers house, the second biggest in town. Francesco has picked a fight with their son!
Frank Raymond lives above Blander’s barbershop on Depot Street. As I dash past the open barbershop door, Blander calls to me, “Hey you, boy! Where y’all going so fast? Looking for Mr. Raymond?”
I stop and catch my breath. I’m in a hurry; still, it’s important to show respect. Blander knows I speak English. Besides, he’s always nice to me. “Yes, sir.”
He leans against the door frame. “You don’t show your face hereabouts except on Sundays. You’re acting like someone done something to you. That the case?”
“No, sir.”
“My mamma didn’t raise no idiots. What’s wrong, boy?”
“Nothing’s wrong, sir.”
One side of his mouth turns down. “State your business, then.