Invisible man - Ralph Ellison [198]
"And Rine," Barrelhouse said, "don't go try to pull no pistol neither, 'cause this here one is loaded and I got a permit."
I backed to the door, my scalp prickling, watching them both.
"Next time don't ask no questions you don't want answered," Maceo called. "An' if you ever want to finish this argument I be right here."
I felt the outside air explode around me and I stood just beyond the door laughing with the sudden relief of the joke restored, looking back at the defiant old man in his long-billed cap and the confounded eyes of the crowd. Rinehart, Rinehart, I thought, what kind of man is Rinehart?
I was still chuckling when, in the next block, I waited for the traffic lights near a group of men who stood on the corner passing a bottle of cheap wine between them as they discussed Clifton's murder.
"What we need is some guns," one of them said. "An eye for an eye."
"Hell yes, machine guns. Pass me the sneakypete, Muckleroy."
"Wasn't for that Sullivan Law this here New York wouldn't be nothing but a shooting gallery," another man said.
"Here's the sneakypete, and don't try to find no home in that bottle."
"It's the only home I got, Muckleroy. You want to take that away from me?"
"Man, drink up and pass the damn bottle."
I started around them, hearing one of them say, "What you saying, Mr. Rinehart, how's your hammer hanging?"
Even up here, I thought, beginning to hurry. "Heavy, man," I said, knowing the answer to that one, "very heavy." They laughed.
"Well, it'll be lighter by morning."
"Say, look ahere, Mr. Rinehart, how about giving me a job?" one of them said, approaching me, and I waved and crossed the street, walking rapidly down Eighth toward the next bus stop.
The shops and groceries were dark now, and children were running and yelling along the walks, dodging in and out among the adults. I walked, struck by the merging fluidity of forms seen through the lenses. Could this be the way the world appeared to Rinehart? All the dark-glass boys? "For now we see as through a glass darkly but then -- but then --" I couldn't remember the rest.
She was carrying a shopping bag and moved gingerly on her feet. Until she touched my arm I thought that she was talking to herself.
"I say, pardon me, son, look like you trying to pass on by me tonight. What's the final figger?"
"Figure? What figure?"
"Now you know what I mean," she said, her voice rising as she put her hands on her hips and looked forward. "I mean today's last number. Ain't you Rine the runner?"
"Rine the runner?"
"Yas, Rinehart the number man. Who you trying to fool?"
"But that's not my name, madame," I said, speaking as precisely as I could and stepping away from her. "You've made a mistake."
Her mouth fell wide. "You ain't? Well, why you look so much like him?" she said with hot doubt in her voice. "Now, ain't this here something. Let me get on home; if my dream come out, I'm-a have to go look that rascal up. And here I needs that money too."
"I hope you won," I said, straining to see her clearly, "and I hope he pays off."
"Thanks, son, but he'll pay off all right. I can see you ain't Rinehart now though. I'm sorry for stopping you."
"It's all right," I said.
"If I'd looked at your shoes I woulda known --"
"Why?"
" 'Cause Rine the runner is known for them knobtoed kind."
I watched her limp away, rocking like the Old Ship of Zion. No wonder everyone knows him, I thought, in that racket you have to get around. I was aware of my black-and-white shoes for the first time since the day of Clifton's shooting.
When the squad car veered close to the curb and rolled along slowly beside me I knew what was coming before the cop opened his mouth.
"That you, Rinehart, my man?" the cop who was not driving said. He was white. I could see the shield gleaming on his cap but the number was vague.
"Not this time, officer," I said.
"The hell you say; what're you trying to pull? Is this a holdout?"
"You're making a mistake," I said. "I'm not Rinehart."
The car stopped, a flashlight beamed in my green-lensed eyes. He spat into the street.