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By Root 562 0

all had prison–faces. The older guy had a regular haircut and was wearing a dark sportcoat over a white shirt, sunglasses hiding his eyes. The other two were much bigger men, flanking the guy in the sunglasses like they were used to standing that way. One was blond, the other dark, both with longish hair, wearing white T–shirts over jeans and boots. The blond had tattoos on both arms—in case anyone could miss where he got them, he had chains tattooed on both wrists. Black leather gloves on his hands. The dark one had calm eyes; he stood with his hands in front of him, right hand holding his left wrist. On the back of his right hand were the crossed lightning bolts—the mark of the Real Brotherhood.

I stopped a few feet short of the triangle. Pansy immediately came to a sitting position just in front of me. Her eyes pinned the blond—she knew.

Bobby stepped into the space between us, speaking to the older guy in the middle.

"This is Burke. The guy I told you about."

The older guy nodded to me. I nodded back. He waved his hand back toward himself, telling me to come closer. I stepped forward. So did Pansy.

The blond rolled his shoulders, watching Pansy, talking to me.

"The dog do any tricks?" he asked.

The hair on the back of Pansy's neck stood up. I patted her head to keep her calm.

"Like what?" I asked him.

The blond had a nice voice—half snarl, half sneer. "I don't fucking know…like, shake hands?"

"She'll shake anything she gets in her mouth," I told him, a smile on my face to say I wasn't threatening him.

The older guy laughed. "My brother says you're okay. If we can help you, we will."

"I appreciate it," I said. "And I'm willing to pay my way.

"Good enough," he said. "What do you need?" "I know you," the blond suddenly blurted out. I looked at his face—I'd never seen him before. "I don't know you," I said, my voice neutral. "You were in Auburn, right? Nineteen seventy–five?" I nodded agreement.

"I was there too. Saw you on the yard." I shrugged. Auburn wasn't an exclusive club.

"You mixed with niggers," the blond said. It wasn't a question.

"I mixed with my friends," I said, voice quiet, measured. "Like you did."

"I said niggers!"

"I heard what you said," I told him. "You hear what I said?"

The blond rolled his shoulders again, cracking the knuckles of one gloved hand in the fist he made of the other.

"B.T., I told you what Burke did for me," Bobby put in, no anxiety in his voice, just setting the record straight.

The blond looked at me. "Maybe you just had a personal beef with those niggers?"

"Maybe I did. So what?"

"Maybe you like niggers?" It wasn't a question—an accusation.

No point keeping my voice neutral any longer—he'd take it for fear.

"What's your problem?" I asked him. That wasn't a question either.

The blond looked at me, watching my face. "I lost money on you, he said.

"What?"

"I fucking lost money on you. I remember now. You was a fighter, right? You fought that niggerI forget his name…the one that was a pro light–heavy?"

I remembered that fight. The black guy had been a real hammer in the ring before he beat a guy to death over a traffic accident. I don't remember how it got started, but it ended up with a bet that I couldn't go three rounds with him. I remember sitting on the stool in my corner waiting for the bell to start the first round, the Prof whispering in my ear. "Send the fool to school, Burke," he was saying, reminding me how we had it worked out. I was a good fifteen pounds lighter than the black guy, and quite a bit faster. Everybody betting on whether I could last the three rounds was expecting me to keep a jab in his face, bicycle backward, use the whole ring. Make him catch me. That's what he expected too.

When the bell sounded, he came off his stool like he was jet–propelled. I threw a pillow–soft jab in his general direction and started back–pedaling to the ropes. The black guy didn't waste any time countering my little jabs—he pulled his right hand all the way down to his hip, trying for one killer punch that would end it all. That was the opening. I stepped