This I remember in the moment it takes me to realize that Jinx is up the stairs and out. Gone. Shit. Back to the phone. I punch up Two Hand’s number. He takes it on the first ring. Yeah, what? I’m coming up, I tell him. Have you seen Jinx? Who? he says. The Yellow Nigger, I tell him. No, he says, and then: He’s with you. No, I tell him. He’s not with me, and that’s a problem. A big problem. Our problem. Keep your eyes open. Call Jeffers and tell him. I’ll be right with you. The van revs up with a tired dog growl, and I stand there staring until I catch the eye of Mr. Branch Manager. I don’t like what I see. The guy didn’t even check the back of the van. I don’t like it at all. I’m through the door to the stairs and up and back out on the street. No one on the sidewalk, no one in sight. Jinx and Mr. Branch Manager’s spear-carriers are gone. Across from the entrance to the garage, through the gauntlet of light Sunday morning traffic, Two Hand is standing at the window of the deli.
