Read Online The Old Neighborhood by Bill Hillmann - Free Book Online

and a dark pool in the sink. As we passed, the guys saw it and burst into laughter. Outside, I noticed two long, skinny legs sticking out of the bushes that lined the cinderblock wall. The black combat boots attached to them crumpled inward on each other. I walked over, stooped down, and peered into the narrow crevasse.
    â€œWhat,” Rich shouted toward the bushes. “Can’t hold your liquor?” He set the amp he carried down on the stones and opened the truck’s back hatch.
    It took a second for my eyes to adjust—it was the black dude with the spiked mohawk. He sat and clutched his stomach. A smear of dark red blood covered the white Dago T. His eyes stared blankly into the bushes.
    â€œYou alright?” I asked. I reached out and touched his ankle.
    Sy walked up next to me, still chuckling at what Rich had said.
    â€œHe’s hurt,” I said, glancing up at Sy.
    Sy bent down and looked.
    â€œOh shit! Call a fuckin’ ambulance!” Sy yelled as the other guys scrambled back inside.
    â€œShit, man! You OK?” Sy crouched down. The guy looked at Sy and started to say something, then his head just slumped to the side, and he passed out. His thin torso began to slide down the wall. Sy pushed the bushes back and reached in, grabbing him and holding him up.
    â€œWhat?” Rich asked as he sauntered over.
    â€œHe’s fucking hurt, Rich!” Sy shouted. “Call an ambulance!”
    â€œOh shit,” Rich laughed. “Them skins got him.”
    â€œWake up, man,” Sy said and slapped him lightly on the cheek. The guy seized. A line of yellow ooze slid out of his lips, touched the stones, and then slurped back before just dangling from the corner of his mouth. He started to shake violently, and his legs jerked and kicked up the stones.
    â€œMan, leave that nigger where he lays,” Rich said, laughing.
    â€œWhat the fuck, Rich?” Sy yelled. “Are they calling or what?”
    â€œCome on, Joey,” Rich said as he put his arm around my shoulder and led me to the truck. The fat bouncers rushed out of the club.
    We left after the ambulance got there. I was in back, scrunched next to Sy.
    â€œThink he’s gonna die?” Rich said as he turned slowly onto Peterson. The red and blue ambulance and police strobes spun and spilt onto the crowded street.
    â€œShit, I don’t know,” Sy answered. “He looked bad, didn’t he?”
    â€œHe came to the wrong fucking place,” Rich said.
    â€œThat guy wasn’t doing nothing to nobody, man,” Sy said as he slammed his fist into the pleather headrest in front of him. “He was just slamming like the rest of ’em.”
    â€œHad the wrong skin tone is all,” Rich drawled as one of the others chortled.
    â€œRichard, would you quit that shit already?” Sy sighed. “What the hell they ever do to you?”
    â€œAhh, they hate me just as much as I hate them,” Rich laughed. I thought about Jan’n’Rose and wondered if they really did hate each other. It sure seemed like it sometimes. My mind drifted as we drove home along Peterson, and I thought of the black punker and hoped he’d be OK. Why do people hurt each other so bad? I felt the bumps along my forehead. Why can’t we get along? I closed my eyes and tried to think of nothing as the wind howled in my window. The Assyrian floated in a black haze. His eyes were closed, and his arms were folded over his chest in some ancient burial pose. Why’d you have’ta die? His mouth opened, and he whispered, “I ain’t dead,” then he smiled and vanished.
    We pulled up in front of the house, and Rich double-parked. He got out and walked me toward the house.
    â€œNow you know you can’t tell Ma or Dad or anybody what happened tonight, right?” Rich said, rubbing my shoulders. “Or else you won’t be able to go with again, OK?”
    â€œOK,” I said, and