Free Midnight Taxi Tango by Daniel José Older Page A

stretch muscles cramped and tight from flinching against a long, hard winter. They smile as I pass, turn to each other and wonder who gonna get it tonight and how, what unaccountable tragedy will strike which corner of the park, and why . . . They shake their old heads, jowls dangling, eyes squinting in the streetlights, and wonder.
    I stand in the center of Von King Park and let the whole universe of it spiral around me. Little kids swarm the brightly lit playground in the southeast corner. Dog walkers stroll along in small clumps. In the field behind me, a baseball game wraps up. I’ll say this for the community: the recurring traumas have not deterred people’s impulse to commune. Who can resist the first night of spring? The thaw has come early, and knowing New York’s tempestuous temptress ways, tomorrow will see another frost.
    â€œMass random disasters be damned, huh,” Riley says, appearing next to me.
    â€œI was just thinking the same thing.”
    â€œThe people gonna have their park.”
    â€œAin’t mad. It’s a beautiful night.” I’m sweating into this damn overcoat.
    â€œGame plan?”
    â€œBell’s at the southwest entrance.” I nod toward the Marcy Ave. gate at the far end of the field. “Posted some’a her soulcatchers at the northeast end; the rest are scattered along the edges. You take the northwest.”
    â€œWhere the little doggy park is? Man, fuck dogs.”
    â€œYou have no soul.”
    â€œAll I am is soul, brother.”
    â€œI’ma be over at southeast. Kia got a friend that watches some kids there. Gonna see if I can rustle up any information.”
    â€œKia, as in Baba Eddie’s little botánica badass?”
    â€œUh-huh.”
    â€œAlrighty. You worried? You look worried.”
    â€œThat’s my face, man.”
    Riley shakes his head and moves out to the edge of the park with long ghostly strides.
    â€¢Â â€¢Â â€¢
    Am I worried? No. Not worried, but a growing unease rumbles through my core. I don’t have a name for it, can’t trace its roots. It’s been there for the past couple days, I realize, unnamed and rising. I’m just getting myself together when I see Kia sitting next to her friend on the bench. One of Kia’s eyes is swollen and blue. The unease erupts into a full-blown swath of rage.
    â€œThe fuck happened?” I say, quickening my pace as I cross the playground. “Who I gotta kill?”
    Before Kia can answer, her friend is up in my face. “The fuck are you, homeboy?”
    â€œI . . .”
    â€œYou gonna back up off my friend ’fore I—”
    Kia’s hand lands on her shoulder. “Karina, it’s cool, girl. That’s Carlos. He’s my people.”
    Karina glares up at me for a solid three seconds before backing off. She has a shock of blue hair pulled back in a ponytail and glittery lipstick. Her eyes say she’ll kill me if she has to and I believe them. I smile—not to seem condescending; I’m just relieved Kia has someone else around, someone her age, who will throw herself in the line of fire to protect her. I know I would.
    â€œKarina, Carlos, Carlos, Karina.”
    I nod at the girl, and she appraises me with a squint.
    â€œYa hair
laid
, Carlos,” Karina says.
    â€œWhat?”
    Kia puts her hand over her face and groans.
    Karina is undeterred. “What you put in it though?”
    â€œI mean, shampoo.”
    â€œUgh! I hate men! Y’all so simple!”
    â€œWhat happened to your eye?” I ask Kia.
    â€œIt’s fine. It was an accident, is all.”
    Did the disaster ghost strike already? Seems there are no accidents these days . . . “Here?”
    â€œNah, man. At the rec center. Capoeira-related injury.”
    â€œWhat is this capoeira of which you keep speaking?”
    â€œIt’s an Afro-Brazilian martial art. They came up with it