New Jersey Noir by Joyce Carol Oates

out. She took a breath in the bright sunshine and walked around the block the other direction.
    The boy standing in her way on this side wasn’t C-4 himself. Miss Crawford supposed that meant he was off somewhere doing his drug-dealer business, which was the only time Bigmouth cleared off his square of sidewalk too. This boy here, she didn’t know what his momma called him but on these blocks his name was Late Nite. He stepped aside after the tiniest little look at her, like she wasn’t worth his worry. But she stopped in front of him and tilted her head up—he was a tall one—and she said, “Yo, son. You work for that ugly boy, call himself all letters and numbers?”
    Late Nite drew his eyebrows together. “Say what?”
    “C-4,” she said impatiently. “Came over here to talk to him.”
    “He’s busy.” Late Nite looked like something was funny.
    “Don’t you mock me, boy. He hiding out already?”
    The snicker stopped. “What?”
    “I say, is he hiding out? ’Cause that ain’t gonna help him Friday.”
    “Friday? What’s that?”
    “It’s the day at the end of the week. The day Bigmouth and his crew from over there—” she jerked her chin “—say he gonna come over and clean his clock.”
    “What clock? What you talking about, clock ?”
    Miss Crawford regarded the young man. “I don’t like that Bigmouth none,” she finally said, “but Lord Almighty, at least his crew ain’t stupid. Maybe I was wrong. Never you mind.” She turned to leave.
    “Wait, old lady. Just wait. What the hell you saying?” He stepped around in front of her.
    “Watch your tongue, boy. Don’t no one curse at me.”
    Late Nite rolled his eyes. “Yeah, yo, sorry. But lady, what you saying?”
    “Not sure I should tell you now. Like I say, maybe I was wrong.”
    He made a fist, though he didn’t raise it to her. “If you got something you think C-4 oughta know …”
    Miss Crawford took a quick step back, eyeing the clenched hand. She didn’t take her eyes from it as she swallowed and said, “Why I’m here, I was studying on it, and I decided, if one boy gonna be running both blocks, might better be C-4 than Bigmouth.”
    “Running both blocks? Who say?”
    “Bigmouth. Starting Friday. High noon, he be here, like this was some stupid movie. That’s what started me thinking. C-4, he mean and ugly, but he run a business. He don’t be playing no games over here. If we gotta choose between a clown and a hard case, maybe best we have a hard case. I imagine, C-4 make a deal, probably he stick to it.”
    “That’s for sure.” The young man waved it aside. “You telling me Bigmouth and his crew coming here Friday, to get up in C-4’s grille?”
    “How many times I gotta say it before it sink through your thick skull? Bigmouth, he’s thinking this the time to do it, because of the amnesty.”
    “Amnesty? What the—what do that mean?”
    She gave a sigh. “The police amnesty, you natural fool. All them cops C-4 be paying to watch his backside, they getting amnesty this week if they sign a paper says they ain’t gonna protect you all anymore. The mayor, he wanted them to have to tell all about you too, but that got negotiated. You know that word?”
    “Course I know that word,” Late Nite snapped. “You mean—”
    “Yes, young man, I mean you on your own now. You tell C-4, he see any of ’em coming for their payoff, he better run, because from now on they gonna be ratting on anybody tries to offer them money. That was part of the negotiation.” She looked to see was he following her, then added, “Of course, Bigmouth, he on his own too.”
    He stared at her. “Old lady, how come you telling me this?”
    “’Cause you say C-4 too busy to talk to me.”
    “That ain’t what I mean. I—”
    “Oh, I know what you mean, boy. I come over here because next week or the week after, new cops is gonna be asking to be paid off by you punks. Things don’t never change. But like I say, C-4 a better bet