Mojo (Page 77)

Then she fed him phony clues about who killed Hector. Maybe it was someone from Hector’s school or some South Side gang. Then she’d change and say she suspected her father or an old boyfriend or one of the Hollister gangs. She even pushed him to meet up with her brother and get himself invited to Gangland.

“She seemed so real,” he said, bowing his head. “But now I can look back and see she was just using me, right down to the day she gave herself that black eye and handcuffed herself in my bathroom.”

“Damn uppity-ups,” I said. “You never can trust them.”

When our food came, we let go of Ashton Browning and her wicked ways and turned to what we were going to do now. Beto said he was swearing off women for six months, but after that they better look out because he’d be back on the town. Randy said the women better look out right now because he was already on the town, and Audrey and Trix said they’d let those other women take care of themselves because they’d already found who they wanted. Me, I had my book to write, and if there were any ladies out there who didn’t mind a writer who drove around in a used mom-and-dad car, then that’d be all right too.

The Number 11 never tasted better. I didn’t leave a crumb on my plate. We kicked back, finished our drinks, told jokes, and laughed about things that wouldn’t be funny if they weren’t already over. Our group was just herding to the front door when who came in but Corman Rogers and his two black-clad best buddies, their silver chains jingling from their belt loops.

“Well, look who it is,” said Corman. “It’s Body Bag and the Body Baguettes.”

Beto looked at me. “You want me to punch this dude?”

“No,” I said. “Don’t waste your energy.”

“Hey,” Corman said. “Do you think you’re some kind of hero now? Because we sure don’t.”

I stopped and looked him in the eyes. “You know what, Corman? I’m not like you. I don’t need somebody to tell me what I am.”

His eyes darted back and forth as he tried to think of a response, but he came up empty.

“Yeah,” I said. “That’s what I thought.”

Outside, the sky was a perfect blue, but the air was a little chilly for my new Andromeda Man T-shirt. We threw some change into Rockin’ Rhonda’s cup, and she nodded her appreciation.

“Keep on rockin’, Rhonda,” I said.

And as we headed toward the parking lot, she cranked up her new guitar and started her mighty wail. “Mr. Mojo risin’. Mr. Mojo risin’, risin’, risin’, risin’.”