Read Online Mucho Mojo by Joe R. Lansdale - Free Book Online Page B

unmarked cop cars. Leonard had called the police about an hour back.
    Next door, the crack house was up early, surprised it wasn’t them being paid a visit. They sat and stood on their porch and watched. Mohawk called to one of the plainclothes cops in the yard—a fat guy with a bad toupee—by name. The fat cop waved back.
    An old black woman on a walker came out of the house across the street and stood on the porch and looked at us. It was the first time I’d seen her. She reminded me of an ancient, oversized cricket. Above her, on a high line, a crow cawed as if it needed a throat lozenge.
    Leonard and I were on his front porch, sitting in the glider. Leonard looked to have shrunk during the night. His complexion had grayed.
    A big black detective, fiftyish and hard looking, wearing a loose blue suit coat, was hunkered down by the glider asking us questions, while a white detective in a green Kmart suit like I had wanted to buy took notes and did battle with a fly that kept trying to light on his sweaty, balding head.
    “Goddamn fly,” he said.
    “They go straight for shit,” the black cop said.
    “Yeah,” said the white cop. “Guess they’re gonna be all over you.”
    The big black cop didn’t look at the white cop. You got the idea they did that kind of dull banter all the time, just to keep themselves awake. The black cop got a turd-colored cigar out of the inside of his coat and put it in his mouth and chewed it. He didn’t light it. He said, “That’s about it for now. The both of you will have to talk again. Maybe come down to the station.”
    Inside, we could hear boards being ripped up. A couple of guys in jeans and T-shirts went by us, carrying shovels into the house.
    “My name’s Lt. Marvin Hanson,” said the black cop. “I guess I should have already told you that. My manners are short. You two might want to hang somewhere else for a while. They’re gonna be digging and looking for a time. . . . You fellas want to go with me and have lunch? I’ll make the city pay.”
    “Thanks,” Leonard said. “We’ll do that. OK, Hap? I wouldn’t mind getting out of here.”
    “Yeah. Sure.”
    “What about me?” said the white cop.
    “Blow it out your ass, Charlie,” Hanson said.
    Charlie chuckled and slipped his notepad inside his coat. Hanson stood up and I heard his knees pop.
    “Be a minute,” he said.
    He went in the house and we stayed put. Charlie didn’t say anything. He didn’t look at us. He just leaned on the porch post and did battle with his fly.
    Over at the crack house, a pizza delivery truck pulled up at the curb and a nervous black kid wearing a cockeyed paper cap got out and carried half a dozen large pizza boxes up to the porch.
    Some jive talk and some dollars were passed around. The kid got off the porch without his paper hat. I noticed Mohawk was wearing it. It was too small and made him look like a black Zippy the Pinhead. Charlie looked over and saw him. He yelled, “Give it back, asshole.”
    “Ah, man,” Mohawk said.
    “Give it back.”
    “That’s all right,” the pizza kid said, one foot in the truck, one foot out. “They got another one they can give me.”
    “Naw,” Charlie said. “You look good in that one.”
    “Whatch y’all got over there?” Mohawk said. “Dead people?”
    “Butane leak. Give him the cap back.”
    “Yeah, sure,” Mohawk said. “Come get it, kid.”
    “Naw,” said Charlie. “You take it down to him. And be polite. Or we might have to look your place over. See if you got any illegal substances behind the commode.”
    “You got to have some cause,” Mohawk said.
    “A stolen paper pizza hat.”
    “I didn’t steal it. I borrowed it.” Mohawk looked around at his porch buddies and smiled, and they all smiled with him. Parade Float came out of the house and let the screen door slam like he meant some kind of business.
    “That’s right, ain’t it, kid?” Parade Float yelled to the kid. “My man just borrowed that hat,