The Black Death by Aric Davis Page A

“enough jibber-jawing. How much Bucky say you needed to take to Sally’s?”
    When Luther mentioned Bucky, he gave Matt a sideways glance that Matt just caught. He was being tested, and instead of doing what Luther would have expected of a snitch, Matt was looking over his shoulder, at the pipe.
    “We’ll get to that. You head on outside with Matt, Danimal,” said Free. “Luther and I got to discuss a couple of things.”
    Matt followed Danimal outside, unable to help but wonder what in the world Free was concerned about letting him hear when he was already included in a drug deal. Matt followed Danimal to the van, and when they were back inside, he sat with his bag on his lap.
    “Don’t take it the wrong way,” said Danimal from the front seat, his eyes in the rearview mirror and locked on Matt’s. “There’s a bunch of talk I don’t get to hear, neither, and I’ve knownsome of these dudes my whole life. Bet yer ass I know what they’re talking about, though—Randy freaking out. That’s been happening a lot, and not always to dudes that burn all the time, sometimes to first-timers. Bucky says that everything like this has risks. I just wonder how much he’s putting on his rep. After all, once your eyes go black, you’re done. They don’t get right again.”
    “Was Randy sick before?”
    “No, man,” said Danimal. “He was fine, way fine. Liked to party, fuck, and fight. He was a good dude. The black just did him in.”
    ***
    Free met them in the van a few minutes later. He had a package under his arm and looked stressed-out about something. Seeing that at least Danimal had noticed the worry on his face, Free gave them both a smile that looked almost like a wince.
    “We’re going to come up here one of these times, and he’s going to be turned,” said Danimal. “I know it. Just like Randy and Big Mike and Dolan—”
    “Cut the shit,” said Free in a voice that was instantly less amiable than the one he’d had in Luther’s. “Luther is doing fine. He’s always been a little off.”
    “You saw where he was standing, and you know what that means,” said Danimal. “He was up there giving a little sermon, and the only reason he stopped is ’cause Bucky told him that preaching to all them cats would be bad for business if word got out. Not to mention, did you see those little fuckers run from him? If a cat knows you’re going nuts, that’s a whole new level—”
    “I said cut the shit. Drive to Sally’s so we can drop off the skag and get out of there.”
    “You don’t want to stop and party?”
    “No. Just drive.”
    Matt stayed quiet through the exchange. Whatever balance this little Redneck Mafia might have had, it was coming off the wheels, and quickly. He felt sure that Free was regretting taking him along on the trip. It had been the idea of a high man who had been brought back down to earth, and Matt had no doubt that Free was concerned about what the still-mysterious Bucky might have to say about the situation. He tried not to think about it as they crossed through more back roads, finally pulling onto a two-track that slowly turned into a field. At its center was a huge and ancient motor home, and floating in the air around it like drunken fireflies were the cherries of a dozen cigarettes.
    “You can’t smoke inside,” offered Danimal as an explanation, “at least not tobacco. Buck—” A sideways look from Free changed his words, and Danimal continued. “Some of the guys don’t like the way it makes the girls smell. They say it’s bad for business.”
    “Not that it much matters how they smell,” said Free, grinning, “bunch of whores barely need to be awake to show you a good time, and I’ve had myself some damn good times with some that weren’t with it at all.”
    “Why the trailer?” Matt asked it in a way that he hoped wouldn’t come off as too interested, just conversation.
    “So they can move it every so often,” said Free. “Keeps things that much