Free Brood by Chase Novak Page B

fixin’s jus’ the way ye always liked it. Keep away. We’s havin us no idea who doing this mischief. Maybe a man, maybe a mommy. Could be cops, CIA, FBI, DEA, NSA.”
    â€œCould be PETA!” a voice from the back calls out. And the laughter that it causes is even louder.
    Rodolfo laughs too while gesturing for everyone to keep it down, keep it down.
    â€œIf you in the bidness, know this, brothers and sisters, the danger be ten times more,” he says with his hand over his heart, a look of the gravest concern on his face. “They want us’s blood, they want to feel what we’s feel, so big, so money, so fast and alive. But we’s got to be a million carefuls. Of the pigs, go without saying. But we’s got to remember how this runs. If we’s sell the wrong blood, the bidness is fucked. Not all of us’s carrying blood we’s wanting to sell. We’s been through this many times, brothers and sisters. Me’s thought we’s all clear on this.”
    Rodolfo drops to a squat, dangles his folded hands between his knees.
    â€œIf ye smooth gots no desire to be doing terrible tings, if ye like your meat cooked, if ye know how to read, then come see me’s and we’s look you over and you can be a supplier. Suppliers get a bigger share, they do, but everywe gets something, and in the end we’s all gonna be rich and life is going to be sweet. Okay? But if we’s start selling hot blood and we’s customers start getting heart attacks or hairy asses…”
    A ripple of nervous laughter, like a sudden smudge of phosphorescent light in dark water.
    â€œThen we’s all going to lose. The bidness will be over. These rich people, they not fools. They be talking to each other. One gets in trouble and they alls run away.”
    Rodolfo stands again and holds up three fingers.
    â€œ ’Nother ting,” he whispers. “Sex.” He puts his finger over his lips, shakes his head. He doesn’t want to risk any excitement, any noise. “We’s all like what our bodies do. No problem there, brothers and sisters. But we’s must be careful. Use a condom; use two if you be fucking one of we’s. We’s not going to reproduce.”
    â€œWhy not?” whispers someone in the crowd, and the question is delivered to Rodolfo row by row.
    â€œWhy not? I’ll show you. Shulamith and Kevin. Now, we’s all know Shulamith and Kevin, they be together forever, since the days we’s eating squirrels and living in the Brambles. They love each other. And we’s loving them.” He gestures and two figures rise from a bench outside the playground.
    Shulamith is a lean, dark-haired girl with a narrow face and full lips. Kevin is broad-shouldered with a low center of gravity; his facial expression at rest is both merry and secretive. Shulamith carries a swaddled infant in her arms, and those who have gathered in the Diana Ross Playground move to the side to make a path for them as they walk toward Rodolfo. With no more effort than a normal person would expend to move on a flat surface, they quickly walk up the corkscrew slide and stand next to Rodolfo.
    Rodolfo says something private to them and then commands, “Tell everyone how old this baby be.”
    â€œGort is seventeen weeks old,” Shulamith says, forgetting to whisper.
    â€œAnd?” Rodolfo asks.
    â€œHe’s a very good baby,” Shulamith says.
    â€œAnd?”
    â€œAnd we’s love him.”
    â€œAnything else, Shulamith?”
    The teenage girl hesitates for a moment—but the decision to do this was made hours ago. She slowly unwraps the blanket from her child and lets the blue cotton square fall to the ground. The child has been sleeping, and the sudden touch of the night air, even on this steaming summer night, awakens him. He lets out a peevish peep.
    Shulamith turns him around and touches her nose against her baby’s little nose. And