He released Augur, who sunk back onto his chair, sliding his palm up and down the crease in his vest.

“One last thing afore I depart.”

“Make it damn short,” said Little Brother. “You can talk the hind leg off an ass.”

Augur slowly stood and finished off his friends’ whiskey, then pulled on the last of his baccy stick and crushed the butt with forefinger and thumb.

“Would y’all be interested in seekin’ my assistance on yer inadvisable journey?”

“No need. We’re fixed fine, thanks,” I said, hoping to quell the unease.

“Well . . . much obliged fer the Red Eye, and good luck, boys.”

Augur saluted us, then laughed so hard he lost his balance and fell face first against the table. We thought he’d cracked his skull and died, which he had.

* * *

“Go ahead, Marcus, you’re twelve years today. I’ll stay here and imagine the smile awaitin’ your face.”

“You coming, Brother? It’s your birthday, too.”

“I been there plenty.”

“Sure you have.”

“’Sides, all I got is this one coin,” he said. “Hard earned at that.”

He slapped the coin into my palm, then spun me around so I faced the red whorehouse. I was met at the entrance and led to a parlor decorated with portraits of plump and rosy women. The prettiest ladies I ever saw sat on a sofa, as if they’d stepped out of those paintings. The room grew silent when a short gussied up man entered puffing a cigar.

“Whad’ya got in mind to do with that?” he said, pointing to the coin.

I cleared my throat. “Buy me a woman, sir.”

“Hear that, ladies?”

Tender laughter filled the red room. He snatched the coin from my hand.

“On your way, boy. You still got milk on your lips.”

He slipped the copper coin into his vest pocket.

“Don’t know what you mean.”

“Come back when you’re growed up. Now, scoot!”

I ran from the whorehouse, tears welling up inside. Little Brother waited in the shade of a tree not far from the entrance.

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