Minetta Lane

Chapter 6: Snake Eyes

Chapter 6

Snake Eyes

THE NEXT MORNING wasn’t as welcoming as the last. Juba stood by the kitchen table, staring out the window at the brick wall of the neighboring building. She sighed, banged her mug against the tabletop, and headed back into her room. Bodee guessed she had second thoughts about giving him time to find work. She turned to him, grimaced, and returned to her room. Better find something fast, he thought.

Bodee left the apartment with no definite destination in mind. He recalled the warning about wandering around Minetta Lane, but felt comfortable in his new surroundings. The same g**g of criminals who hid in the shadows during his first encounter with the neighborhood acknowledged his presence, or perhaps his connection with Juba, with a nod. He wondered why her supposed Voudou powers generated such tremendous respect.

Blood sipped his coffee by the stairs to Juba’s tenement. “Word is you need to find work.”

“Yeah, no luck yesterday.”

“Something in an office doing paperwork, right?”

Bodee didn’t understand the reason for Blood’s sudden interest in his job search, but understood he and Juba were close. “Yeah, bookkeeping and general office work.”

“Oh, so you’re a numbers man. Might be something right here on the lane. Did you hear about a bar called Snake Eyes?”

“Yeah.”

“They want to hire some kind of clerk. Opens up around noon. Ask for Silvy. Tell him I sent you.”

“Thanks, Blood.” Bodee appreciated the lead, but worried about both the source and the fact that his potential place of employment held a prominent spot on Juba’s list of off-limits establishments.

Bodee assumed most bars appeared better in the dim evening lighting. Snake Eyes, however, would require utter darkness to be presentable. The gaps in the ceiling, combined with several missing floorboards, created a certain inside/out-side look. Given the early lunchtime hour, the only person present was a Black man with gray hair who stood behind the bar.

“Hey, you Silvy? Blood said you might need a bookkeeper.”

“Yeah. How you know Blood?”

“He friends with my Grandma Juba.”

“Blood ain’t friends with nobody, son. Don’t get confused, you better start wondering why he’s so interested in you. Not his style. But I do need help with the books and ordering during the day before I open. You think you can handle those things?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Stop this sir bullshit. You in the Bend, boy. Pick up the stack of bills on the table and tell me what you make of them.”

Bodee glanced at the papers. “You got statements from your whiskey and beer supplier and they’ll give you ten percent off if you pay by the first of the month. Also a note from a*****e sayin’ if you don’t settle up with them by the end of the day today, they’ll come back for their table.”

“Not bad. You think you can figure out ten percent off?”

“Yes, sir, I mean, Silvy.”

“Next thing . . . I want you to take this here copy of the Tribune and tell me the headline and what the first story says.”

Bodee spent the next five minutes explaining the major story featured in the paper. “How did I do? You thought I couldn’t read?”

Silvy laughed. “No, boy, I’m the one who don’t read so fast! Takes me all day to read the front page, so this will be our deal—you come in here every day around this time. Take care of the bills and explain the stories to me and I’ll give you a few dollars. Don’t want you in here after four—things change later in the day. Not the kind of place where you want to be. Deal?”

“Works for me.”

“All right, you take this money over to the furniture store. The address is at the top of the paper. Bring the bill back to me tomorrow, marked paid. We’ll have a problem if those folks come by later sayin’ they want their table—you understand me?”

“I do. Thanks for the job.”

Bodee started a long, slow walk across town to make the payment, holding the envelope with the cash along with his pepper shaker buried deep in his left front pocket. He passed a small cafe and noted the sign in the window, Juniors, and remembered one of his few trips as a child into the city with his mother.

“Son, listen to me. Today we in New York. This ain’t Weeksville and you got to keep your eyes open and make sure you not gettin’ yourself into no trouble. We’re going to eat at a place with the best pie anywhere. I used to come here all the time. Next block over. The red sign says Juniors.”

“I can’t read yet.”

“I know, tellin’ you the name is all.”

Four-year-old Bodee walked holding his mama’s hand and spotted a woman on the other side of the street smiling and waving at him. His mother followed the direction of her son’s return wave, became incensed, and scooped him up as she rushed across the street.

“How you know I’d be here? I done told you to leave me and my boy alone. You done enough damage.”

The woman waved again at Bodee and blew him a kiss. Akua intervened. “You leave my boy be. You nothin’ but a damn witch! How you know I’d be here? I asked you this question twice now, and I want an answer!”

“Didn’t know you be here today. Just felt like soon and I knew it be ’round this time.”

“You stay away from me and my boy. Stay away!”

Akua had lost her appetite and headed straight back to the ferry for the return trip to Brooklyn. After she calmed down, Bodee asked, “Who that woman who got you so mad?”

“My mother. They call her Juba, but she bad, through and through, and you got to stay away from her. You understand?”

“No. Why she bad?”

“Never you mind, Bodee—you too young to understand. Swear to me that if you ever see her again, you’ll stay away.”

“Swear?”

“Means you going to do what you say.”

“Not going to swear then, Mama. That my grandma.”

“Who do you think you talkin’ to? You nothing but a little child and don’t know what’s best. Do what I say, Bodee. Remember, I’m your mama.”

“Ain’t Grandma Juba your mama?”

“I’m not going to tell you again. You keep coming back and coming back, but this over. Do what I say and stop all of this nonsense. The child don’t tell the parent what to do.”

“So why you tell your mama to stay away. She my Grandma Juba!”

Whack. Bodee received his first slap that day and then his second, when he asked his mother to swear she’d never do it again. The third and fourth came later that night and by the end of the week, Bodee stopped counting. He also stopped trying.

Bodee realized he’d been standing in front of Juniors the entire time he relived his childhood memory. The waitress came out and asked, “You okay? You lost or something?”

“I’m fine. Thanks for asking. I heard you got the best pie in New York and I can’t decide between the apple or the blueberry.”

“How about I give you a little of both? You look like you could put some meat on those bones.”

“Sounds good to me!”

Bodee had his fill and thanked the waitress on his way out. He realized his mama was right about the pie, but wrong about a whole lot else.