Free The Last Days of Louisiana Red by Ishmael Reed Page A

their presence there is the thick odor of cat feces in the air. One fellow sits in the corner, his vomit splattered all over his jacket. He is napping. A girl is being walked up and down the room with friends who are helping her crash. Minnie’s brother, Street, sits in a huge hollow wooden throne. He glowers as he holds an archaic weapon in each fist.)
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    STREET: I’m beginning to like this Gimmie over here. This is like the Big Gimmie they only dream about back home. Twenty rooms for everyone; limousines at my beck and call; a view of the sea and lots of discussion. My radio broadcasts are big with the populace, and so now many are beginning to envy my power. Who knows? James Brown is real big over here now. They like Americans. What new influences from us will they be desiring next? My host, the President, has nothing going for him. Always attending parties given by Europeans, without his wife. Always handkissing and talking about London. London this, London that. Said he was a Fabian socialist after the manner of George Bernard Shaw. Clown. And that car he drives. The joke of the embassies. A city-block long with gold and ivory trimmings. In the back seat a bathtub purchased with a tenth of the country’s treasury; a real gaudy number. Had it shipped over .
    (Street’s thoughts are interrupted by one of his seven bodyguards, Hog Maw.)
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    HOG MAW: Man, Street. The States were nothing like this. You gets all the pussy over here your belly needs. Don’t even have to take it. Here man, drop some of these.
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    STREET: Don’t mind if I do. (Street takes a handful of colored pills and gulps them down. He gives the signal for the revelry to cease. A “rock” record is turned off.) You bitches over there, shut your asses. I just got some cans of films from the States from the Gimmie underground over there. Let’s all go into the projection room and see them. They’re about a Black superhero named “Dong.” He has it out with the mob and stays up all night playing cards. Plus, he is a real pool shark!
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    1ST. ARGIVIAN: Fantastic!
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    2ND. ARGIVIAN: What a groove. I mean zow, what a groove.
    (They exit to the projection room. Street remains behind. He turns to see a man standing in the doorway. The man is wearing a pith helmet, safari outfit, elephant boots. He carries a lion tamer’s whip.)

CHAPTER 18
    â€œWho you?” Street said, eyeing Max Kasavubu suspiciously, stroking his chin and shutting one eye. “O yeah, I know. Yous the dude used to hang out with Minnie, my sister. You one of them Moochers, ain’t you?”
    â€œI’m glad you recognize me, brother. It makes things easier.”
    â€œEasier?” Street stepped down from the stairs leading to his throne, wrapping his superfly cape about his shoulders and making loud noises with his funkadelic boots.
    â€œMy task, Street. I have been authorized by the committee to offer you a proposal. In exchange you’ll be brought back to the States.”
    â€œWell, you wastin your breath, buddy. I ain’t never going back there. Jiveass fascist Amerika. No good.”
    â€œThat’s why we need you, Street.”
    â€œNeed me for what?”
    â€œLook, Street, don’t you understand that the place hasn’t been the same since you left? Folks really miss you. Remember how you used to come and beat up people at rallies? How you and your gang would come in and wipe us out? Obliterate our refreshments and run off with the liquor? People miss that. Now they say, where’s Street? There’s nobody to rip us off any more. Professors from Queens are writing papers on you. Missing you.”
    â€œWriting papers on me? Why would they be writing papers on me? Why would they be spending their time writing papers on me and the boys?”
    â€œBecause, Street. In these times when things are so structured, so sterile, people need someone to remind them of the power of