So this, this, is why these niggers feel super.

—Champ

Security at the shack shakes me down at the front and turns an aphasic tower till I ask where I can find Mister. He nods towards the steps at the end of an unlit hall, steps that announce my weight all the way down. From down here you can see Mister through an archway among an ambit of gamblers, hustlers fatmouthing with fat stacks in their fists and piles of bills underfoot, an august vision when you’ve lost what I lost: thousands, in one whop! I stand by while they bicker over who’s next on the dice, who hit what point, who made what side bet, stall with no clue of what the fuck I’ll say. Mister gets his turn on the dice, and that’s when, trepid as shit, I slug inside. Mister nods. He’s got a knot of bills in his grip, money flapping out his pockets too. One of the old heads asks if I’m shooting and I shake my head no. The old head who asked about me playing ain’t the only one of them I’ve seen before, and I’m wondering which one, if any, knows what happened last night? What happened to me last night is the kind of news that travels at Mach speed, light speed, motherfucking god speed. It’s called the wire. And it’s the same kind of wire that turned these dice games into legends.

You hear of fools losing new car money in a night, losing that much and returning the next day, hear of games going all night and through the morning, shoot-outs that start with bet the dub and end with two men standing and heaps of cash. And if the games are legends, Mister’s (it’s almost impossible to beat the inexhaustible bank) the hero, mythic for winning big, for never getting duped by a scheme nor jerked on a debt.

Mister smooths his tie, brushes dust off his knee, gives Red, who’s holding his sport coat, a clutch of wrinkled hundreds. He blows on the dice and shakes them near his head. Taking all bets, gentlemen, he says. Tonight’s a good night. Tonight could be your night. His first roll shows four and five, and he scoops the dice and rubs them together. Who else wants a shot at the bank? he says, and taunts the reluctant into wary side bets. Mister kisses the dice and shoots. He shoots and shoots and shoots. You could fall out and die waiting for him to hit his point or crap out, and, shit, I almost do. But he does—he hits it and sends Red around to collect the loot.

The hope, a foolish hope, fleets that his mood is such he might forgive what I owe. We (the we being anyone with even a toe in the streets) all know if you owe this man a cent, you pay this man that cent, or else.

Don’t leave, gentlemen. Please, he says. He gives the dice to an old head and signals me and I follow him into a room cordoned by a dingy curtain and stacked with dusty crushed boxes. The room is either twice as hot as anyplace or else the day’s long dread is a flame in my gut.

It’s about last night, I say.

Mister throws up his hand. So I hear, he says.

You heard? I say.

A long shadow flits past the curtain. The dice game kicks into a next round.

He moves closer and rolls his shoulders.

Did I ever tell you how well Red could swim? he says. Did I ever tell you how strong he was, how fast? Back home, we never lived more than a bike ride from the beach. We lived that close and my brother was always there, always in the water. Don’t know why, but this one day I decided to go with him. Not too long after we got to the beach, we started woofing about who could do what, and who was the best and biggest and strongest. The woofing ended with a bet to see who could swim out the farthest. On the face the bet was a no-win for me. Anyone who’d ever seen us near water knew Red was twice the swimmer I was. Red knew he was twice the swimmer I was, but I knew what he didn’t. We both dove in and right off Red was Red, out front going fast and strong, while I lagged stroking slow and steady. I kept the same pace until I passed the buoys, until I couldn’t see my brother swimming beside or ahead of me. I swam till I was out so far that the current was tugging me where it wanted. Got out that far and swam farther, swam as a matter of fact until I thought I might die. That’s when I turned and headed back. It took every ounce of me to make it to shore, Mister says. And collapsed as soon as I touched the sand. The next thing I knew, Red was standing over me shaking his head, calling me crazy, asking me how I did what I did, claiming it must’ve been a trick. He hovered until I caught my breath. He asked again and I told him yes, it was a trick. And the trick was, he swam worried the whole way whether he’d make it back to shore, but making it back was never the bet.

Mister walks over, parts a crack in the dirty curtain, and shows me his brother ghosting over the game, mute and thoughtless, a sport coat (Mister’s coat) draped over an arm. Look, Mister says. I love him, but he and I are not the same. Mister eclipses the space between us and turns to me. But the question is, which one of us are you?

Mister unbuttons his cuffs and rolls his sleeves and gapes at me and my one safe resort is to look away.

Hold tight, he says, and saunters into the gambling room. I can feel myself shrink while he’s gone, hear broken parts in the unfit machinery of me. If I were braver, I’d mention my plans to buy the house and ask/beg for tolerance. That’s what I would do if my nuts weren’t, right this very second, the size of mustard seeds.

Mister returns carrying a strap in plain view, its barrel facing the floor. He hands it to me by the grip. It’s black and sleek, with its serial number scratched off, and feels lighter than you’d imagined it would.

So this, this, is why these niggers feel super. Held this shit for all of a nanotick and now, this very instant, I’m as gallant as a nigger with nothing whatsoever under the sun of value to him to lose.

They take from you. They take from me. And we can’t have that problem, mister says. You don’t want that problem, he says. With them or with me.

I’m going to get you what I owe, I say. All of it.

Mister slaps me on a trapezium and smirks a smirk to melt my face. Sure you will, he says. Sure you will, and soon. That’s the way this works.