ALL RIGH

—followed by a smear, like whoever’d written them had been interrupted. There were dribbles from both L’s and the G.

One cop turned another spotlight on the wall: all the little tongues of shadow from the tarpaper tatters swung up, then went away. Flashbulbs popped.

Parts of the letters, still wet, glistened. Parts had dried a dull rust.

“Shit,” the nigger orderly said. “That’s Harkner. Might as well get ready for another leisurely trip to the morgue.”

“Naw, man: we gotta rush.” The white orderly gave a grin like a cup of cold coffee. “I mean, you never know when we gonna have to make the next one!” I guess he didn’t like his own joke, because he scowled and shook his head. “When I went up close, I could see part of the woman through the door, when one of the cops came out. Man, she looked like a fuckin’ watermelon somebody’s taken an ice-pick to—for about an hour!” He took his hands out of his pockets, opened them, closed them, put them back. “Jesus!”

“Whyn’t they just scrape ’em into a couple of baggies and let us haul ’em in, huh?” The nigger still hadn’t really moved. “You know? Instead of makin’ us stand around like this?”

“They got measurements and pictures to take and stuff.” The white one put all his weight on one hip, shook his head again, then put it all on the other. “Besides, they’re looking for a baby.”

“A baby?” The nigger uncrossed his arms and let them drop. “Aw, man, a baby?” His dark hands hung against his white pants. Behind his round, rimless lenses, his eyes got all scrunched up.

“There was supposed to be a baby on the barge, but nobody can find it now. We’re supposed to wait around in case they got to get it to the hospital fast or something—”

“Jesus God,” the nigger said softly. He took a breath, crossed his arms again, again looked off through the crowd.

I walked on, trying to get a better look.

Police were on the garbage scow too.

Rufus stood on the deck, one wide black thumb hooked under his tanktop strap. One leg of his pants—a searchlight swung across his face and made him turn aside—was wet.

Arms out for balance, Red was climbing to the top of the highest garbage pile. He turned around to watch, back pretty much to me. There was a dark stain all down his ass.

Two cops with shovels came over to talk to Rufus. I couldn’t hear what they said. But finally Rufus shrugged, then gestured back with his chin. The cops, lifting their shoes pretty gingerly, went to the heap bottom, and started shoveling.

On top, Red shifted his weight, glanced down; his bare foot loosed a can that clanked toward the diggers.

The can bounced right in front of one of them—it startled him, and he danced to the side, looked up, shook his head, then went back to digging.