“I was fixin’ to call you and straighten it all out.”

“When?”

“Look here, Mario, you gonna let me talk?”

He was nodding his head quickly and his eyes flared. It was comical to her, high as she was, watchin’ him act all overdramatic, like he was in one of those old silent movies. She bit down on her lip, but she guessed that her eyes showed that she was amused.

“Somethin’ funny?”

“Nah, it’s just… Look, I shouldn’t have left up on you like I did. I’m sorry for that. But it wasn’t workin’ between us, you know this. You know this, Mario.”

He was still nodding his head, trying to act hard, but Olivia noticed that the flame had gone out of him. She had wounded him now.

“Mark,” said Olivia, “he’s funny about having men around our house, and you got to understand, I put my son above everything else. I knew you wouldn’t understand. I didn’t know how to talk to you about it, so I just booked and came over here.”

“What about the hydro?”

“I didn’t steal it, that’s what you mean.”

“Explain what you did, then.”

“I gave it to this dude I knew, said he could sell it for a good price, only take a little off the top. He was a friend of a good friend, so I knew he wouldn’t do me dirt. And he didn’t. The herb got sold.”

“And you were gonna do what with the money?”

“Give half to you, the way we talked about.”

“Uh-huh. So you got the money now?”

“It’s coming,” said Olivia, folding her arms across her chest.

He knew it was a lie. She could see it in his eyes, the way they’d got hot again. ’Cause on top of what she’d done to him, stole from him and shamed him to his brother, now she was telling these stories to him, too.

“So the money’s comin’,” he said.

“Yeah.”

“When?”

“Soon.”

“Bullshit.”

And now what? she thought. More of these one-word sentences, prob’ly, and then he’d just flare his eyes some more and turn around and leave. Get his brother, but not tonight, which would give her time to book, gather up Mark and her personal shit and move on to something else. Wasn’t gonna be no fun, but then she’d known what she was getting into from the start. The important thing was, nothing was gonna happen tonight. You got down to it, what was this little man right here gonna do on his own, for real?

She looked down at his shoes and laughed. She didn’t mean to, but the chronic, it had fucked with her head. And this really was one sorry motherfucker right here. Couldn’t even afford no Jordans, had pair of “ordans” on his feet. And then he looked down and knew right away what she was laughing at. And he got this funny look on. Not acting mad anymore but mad for real.

He slapped her square across the face.

It stung her and surprised her. It surprised him. For a moment, Durham looked at his hand, the one that had slapped her. He had never hit a woman before. He had never hit a man. But when she had laughed, it was like it was all those people on the bus and everyone else who’d ever cracked on him was standing there before him, laughing. All of them, not just her. Well, he damn sure did have her attention now.

No one had ever looked at him before the way she was looking at him this minute. She was showing fear, and something else: respect.

She touched at the spot that had already reddened. Then, slowly, she stood straight and cocked up her chin. That look of fear, it had passed as quickly as it had come.

“That’s all you got?” said Olivia.

“I’ll give you more, you want it.”

“You dare take a hand to me?”

“Bitch, I will close my hand next time, you don’t mind your mouth.”

She chuckled and looked him over. “Oh, shit. Now Steve Urkel gonna act all rough and tough, huh?”

“Olivia, I’m warning you, you are fuckin’ with the wrong man.”

“Man?” She looked him over and moved in a step so that her face was close to his. “I don’t see no man. You see a man in this room, point him out.”

“I’m about to -”

“You about to what? Slap me again?” Her eyes caught fire. “Motherfuck you, punk.”

Spittle flew from her mouth as she spoke those words, and she raised her hand to strike him. Durham grabbed her wrist. She drew her free hand back and he grabbed that wrist, too. He pushed her away, releasing his hold on her, and she backpedaled and hit the couch. She charged him then.

He stepped in as she neared him. Her arms were spread and she was open in her middle, and he punched her in the stomach with all he had. He was trying to stop her, but he realized as his fist sank into her doughy flesh that he had caught her good. He felt a power then that he had never known before.

Olivia hinged forward at the waist. Her sour breath hit him as it was expelled. Her eyes bulged in pain and surprise. And as she jacked forward he drove his fist up into her jaw, putting everything into it. The uppercut lifted her off her feet. The noise it made was like a branch snapping off a tree.

Olivia staggered and found her feet. She lowered her head and put her hands on her knees. She retched and spit out blood. She spit out a tooth. A thread of mucus ran from her nose and hung in the air.

“Oh, sweet God,” she said.

The revolver from the pocket of his Tommys appeared in his hand. He gripped it by its barrel.

She looked up at him, at the gun, and her eyes went wide, humble and afraid. He liked the way it made him feel. He was strong, handsome, and tall, everything he had never been before. He wished Dewayne were here to see him now.

“Nah,” said Olivia, standing out of her crouch, unsteady on her feet. A glaze came to her eyes and she spread her hands. She wanted to plead to him but couldn’t get the words. She was thinking of her son.

The gun in his hand was electric, and he swung it like a hammer. The butt of it connected to her face. She turned her face and a sprinkle of blood jumped in the same direction, and while she tried to keep her feet he whipped her there again, harder this time. Her body spun. She tumbled over the couch. Her legs dangled off the arm of it and one of her sandals dropped to the floor.

Olivia wasn’t making any kind of noise now. The music was still playing, and so was the television. But it seemed real quiet in the room.

Durham walked around to the front of the couch and looked down at her. Her face was all fucked up. The socket was caved in around one of her eyes, where he guessed the gun had connected. It was a mess, but through the blood and bone he could see that the eye had popped out some and was layin’ down low. It seemed the way the eye was pointed that she was lookin’ off to the side. The eye was an inch or so lower than where it should have been, and it was exposed nearly all the way around. Nerves and muscles and shit was the only thing still holdin’ it on her face. Her jaw had turned color and was set off to the side kinda funny, and it had already swelled up, too. Her hands were bent at the wrists in the center of her chest, like she had arthritis or sumshit like that. If she was breathing, he couldn’t tell.

I guess I killed her, thought Durham. I just murdered the fuck out of that bitch.

He dropped the gun back in his pocket.

He walked around the apartment for a little while. How long, he didn’t know. He searched her room and took her keys off her nightstand. He searched the room where her son slept. He looked under the boy’s bed and through his drawers. The usual kid shit was thrown around the room: CD cases and game cases and wires and controllers coming from the PlayStation he had hooked up to a small TV. Ticket stubs from a Wizards game. He had a Rock poster and a magazine picture of Iverson taped up on his wall, too. But no chronic and no money. He went to the kitchen and then the bathroom and searched through the cabinets and all but found not one thing. In the bathroom mirror he saw his face and noticed the dirt tracks on it. His forehead had sweat bullets across it and his eyes were bright.