Wonkette Presents THE SPLIT: Chapter Sixteen

In which Lorinda once again takes a swing with her little pink gun.

Two impeccably clean military-style vehicles stopped in front of the Little Harlem entranceway though which Lorinda had gone. They were painted in CCSA colors, red, white, and blue. Emblazoned on the sides were the words “Domestic Security Administration Mercedes Gelandewagen Proudly Made in Alabama CCSA.” The bright red and blue lights on top were flashing and strobing. All eight doors opened at the same time. Four large men spilled out of the rear vehicle. The driver of the front vehicle jumped out, as did Janelle Stark from the front passenger seat. Brad exited from the seat behind her as Skippy unfolded himself from the seat behind the driver.

Stark took Brad’s shirt with both hands and pulled him close. “Don’t let me down,” she said. Skippy sidled up next to Brad and loomed menacingly over him. “Don’t force me to let Skippy play with you.”

He nodded repeatedly, trying not to look at Skippy. She let go and pushed him under the welcome sign and into Little Harlem. 

“WHAT CAN I DO? I don’t have a car, I don’t have money. I have nothing.” Lorinda took another sip of her drink. So did Crystal. “Can I ask you something? What’s the story with this place. Are you stuck here? I mean in Little Harlem? Can you leave if you want to? How many people live here?”

Crystal considered how personal she was ready to get with this white stranger. “Look. When The Split happened I was in college. In the north. New York City. It was great. I was going to graduate and stay there. Be a journalist. In New York.” She had another sip. “I’m not so sure about the bitters,” she said, rolling it around on her tongue. “Anyway, my parents, they worked here at the University in Austin. Full professors, both of them. And my little sister, who was thinking of following me to New York. We had a nice house, lots of other professors in the neighborhood. Black, white. Then came The Split. They lost their jobs and were sent to this place. Along with all the other Black folk in Austin — and from all around the CCSA, too. I'm talking about the ones who didn’t get out during the Great Moratorium. I don’t know how many millions went to the USA, but at last count there was about a million of us in here.”

“A million?!”

“This is the biggest Little Harlem in the whole CCSA. You want to know something? It’s much bigger than the real Harlem in New York. Like almost ten times as many people. They should call this Big Harlem, not Little Harlem. It doesn’t look like much from over here, but it goes back for miles. The New Country threw up these buildings as fast as they could, like a giant Lego set or something. They just pop together.”

“How big is the Jewish Ghetto?”

Crystal laughed. “It’s tiny. Five hundred people? The Jews, almost all of them left during the Moratorium. ‘Lemme outta here!’ I got some regulars from there. They like it in Little Harlem cause there’s nothing to do over there on the West Side.”

“So why didn’t your parents leave?”

“It’s not so easy,” said Crystal. “What do you think about the bitters?”

Lorinda took another sip and swirled it around. “Yeah,” Lorinda said, “I see what you mean. The orange is okay, but the Angostura is a little pushy. In France they drink it, Pernod, over ice with some water in it. Pastis, they call it. It’s really popular. No bitters.”

“And it turns white. I once had someone order a pastis here,” Crystal said. “And he wasn’t even French. Anyway, my parents had friends here, relatives. My sister had friends. They were optimists. They thought maybe they’d get their jobs back. It’s not so easy to just leave your home. Even when, you know, you’re being forced into … a ghetto. I mean, it’s not bad as ghettos go, but it’s a ghetto.”

“So you came back to Texas.” 

“I came back. And look at me now. No journalism. Not that anyone does journalism here anymore. But,” she looked around proudly, “I built this great place.”

A man burst in, slammed the door behind him, and rushed toward the bar.

“What’s the hurry, Leon?” Crystal said.

“Who’s this?” the man said, glaring at Lorinda.

“This,” said Crystal, “is my friend Lorinda. We’re exchanging bartending tips. Lorinda, Leon. Leon, Lorinda.”

“Well, it’s gonna have to wait,” said Leon. “We have visitors on the way. One visitor anyway.”

“Damn,” said Crystal. “How do you know?”

“The usual. Watching our cameras. And whatcha call it? Human intelligence.”

“And what makes you think this visitor is coming here?”

“What makes me think it,” said Leon, “is this white boy, he’s asking people if anyone’s seen some white girl around here.”

“Shit,” said Lorinda, and looked to Crystal for guidance.

“Okay,” said Crystal, “we have to get you out of here. Fast.”

Lorinda mouthed the words “cameras in here?” 

Crystal shook her head. “Somehow they keep breaking down. But I’d better do this.” She bent down and reached for something under the bar. Lorinda heard two loud metallic clicks. “There,” said Crystal. “Government street cameras out front and back are off. They break down sometimes, too,” she said, winking at Lorinda. “Leon, can you call the railroad boys, see if they’re around?”

“For her?” Leon said, glaring at Lorinda with distaste.

“She’s good, Leon. I’m telling, I’m not asking. And see if you can get Jalen and Amahl in here right away.” Leon grudgingly moved down to the end of the bar, took out his phone, and started texting. “Now you,” Crystal said to Lorinda, “you go take your drink and sit down way back in that booth.”

Lorinda picked up her gun to put it back in her purse just as the front door opened and Brad timidly stepped into the bar. “That you, Lorinda?” he said, squinting as his eyes adjusted to the dim light. 

“We’re not open, sir,” Crystal said sternly.

“Believe me, I‘m not here to drink,” he said. As Brad walked warily toward the bar, Leon finished texting, set down his phone, and edged closer to Lorinda and Crystal. “You heard the woman,” Leon said in a calm, menacing voice. “Place is closed.”

Brad replied with a look of mock-concern. “That’s not very polite,” he said. “For a tourist attraction.”

“What are you doing here?” Lorinda said. “How did you get here? How did you find me? Are you working with them now?”

He took few small steps closer. “After you hit Janelle Stark —”

“You followed me to Austin, didn’t you? I can’t believe what a dickhole you are.” Lorinda thought for a moment. “The black pickup truck. That’s you.”

“Lorinda,” he pleaded, “I just want to be with you, that’s all. Janelle Stark told me you’re —"  He suddenly stopped and leaned toward her. “Do we have to talk about this here? In front of … these people?”

Crystal gave Lorinda a look of utter disbelief. “Him?” 

“Everybody makes mistakes,” Lorinda said, still glaring at Brad. “She’s alive?”

“Janelle Stark? Yeah. I mean she’s all bandaged up —”

“Get out of here, Brad.”

“Don’t say that, Lorinda. We should be together, have a family. That’s my baby you’re carrying. They’re here to get you, to get us …” 

“Who’s here?” demanded Lorinda.

“Janelle. And her people.”

“Where they at?” Leon said.

“Out there, by the front gate. They said I had fifteen minutes —”

“They can’t come into Little Harlem,” said Leon. “That’s the rules. Unless for national security.”

“Janelle said fifteen minutes. She’s nice, Lorinda. She sent me as a courtesy to you —”

“Courtesy!” said Lorinda and Crystal in unison.

Brad moved closer to Lorinda and reached out. Leon took a big step in his direction.

“Stay back, Brad,” Lorinda said firmly.

“Look. Lorinda. That’s my baby. Legally. And you’re my girl. What are you gonna do,” he said with a smirking glance at Crystal and Leon, “move in with your new … friends here? I’m offering you marriage. Our baby’s going to have a Mom and a Dad.” He moved forward, then made a clumsy lunge to put his arms around her.

Her hand still clutching the gun, Lorinda took a big forehand swing. The stroke connected with his nose. He went down like a building imploding. 

For what seemed like a long time the room was silent, with three pairs of eyes on the inert young man on the floor.

Finally, Crystal spoke: “That’ll teach him.”

“I never hit anyone in my life before today,” Lorinda said to no one in particular. 

“Here,” said Crystal, tossing Leon a couple of bar towels. “Try to keep the blood off the floor. We gotta get him out of here.” 

The front door banged open and two large Black men charged in. They took in the scene and moved quickly to Leon’s side. “A couple G-Wagens full of Confeds out there, outside the entrance,” one of them blurted. 

“Okay,” said Crystal calmly. “Amahl, Jalen, get him out of here, please. Don’t worry, I don’t think he’s dead. Bring him out near the G-Wagens. Say you found him in the street, must have tripped, fell on his face. Tell them they can get him to a hospital faster than an ambulance. He was never in this bar. Got it?” The two men nodded, picked up Brad by the arms and legs, and carried him out. 

“Leon,” Crystal said, “take her downstairs. Did you get hold of the white boys?”

Leon checked his phone. “Yeah,” he said. “Be out back in fifteen, twenty minutes.”

“Good,” Crystal said. “Tell them cameras are off, they can pick her up behind Sharon’s place. I’ll tell her to dig up some kind of disguise for this one,” nodding toward Lorinda.

“Thank you,” Lorinda said to Crystal. 

“You know, I like you just fine,” Crystal said, “but I’m helping you ‘cause I hate them. And believe me, this ain’t over yet.”

“Well, thanks anyway,” Lorinda laughed. She and Crystal shook hands again across the bar. Lorinda used the end of one of the towels in Leon’s hand to wipe the butt of her gun, dropped the gun in her purse, and slipped off the stool. 

“This way,” said Leon, dropping the towels and steering Lorinda across the room to a door bearing a small STAFF ONLY sign. He opened the door, flicked on a light switch, and went downstairs. 

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PREVIOUSLY in THE SPLIT!

Chapter One. In which we meet our heroine and her dainty little gun.

Chapter Two. In which Lorinda demonstrates her bartending virtuosity.

Chapter Three. In which our heroine receives a promotion and prepares to celebrate.

Chapter Four. In which our heroine proves herself an immoral citizen of the CCSA.

Chapter Five. In which our heroine goes to church.

Chapter Six. In which Lorinda contemplates her future, ignores Pastor Doug, and gets something unexpected from Emmie.

Chapter Seven. In which Lorinda learns something that threatens her big dream.

Chapter Eight. In which our heroine freaks out.

Chapter Nine. In which our heroine says the forbidden word as an unwelcome visitor arrives.

Chapter Ten. In which two unpleasant men perturb our heroine.

Chapter Eleven. In which our heroine seems to have found a solution to her problem.

Chapter Twelve. In which that black truck follows our heroine all the way to Austin.

Chapter Thirteen. In which Lorinda lashes out.

Chapter Fourteen. In which our heroine gets a taste of life in the big city.

Chapter Fifteen. In which our heroine meets a fellow bartender and has a drink.

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