Hogg was already at the sink, though. He snatched the ten-inch skillet from its nail—the nail pulled loose, clinked on the stained aluminum drainboard, rolled into the basin—lumbered around, fast, and swung.

It gonged the left side of Big Sambo’s head. Clutching his face, Big Sambo staggered right—and right into the pan as Hogg brought it back again. This time the knife fell on the floor.

Three seconds later, so did Big Sambo.

Feet wide—the bare one in spilled coffee—Hogg rubbed at the arm from which the pan dangled. It looked like he’d wrenched it. Then the pan clanked to the floor and wobbled around with a sound like somebody swallowing it. Breathing hard, Hogg looked first at Big Sambo, then back at the mattress.

Honey-Pie sat, her cheek pressed to the wall, one wrist against her mouth, one hand spread on the wood. She was blinking at Big Sambo.

“Come on, cocksucker,” Hogg said. “Let’s get outta here ’fore somebody comes around to see about the noise.”

He wasn’t even thinking about Honey-Pie at all, now.

I got up but, as I stepped over the nigger, I looked back at her. She was staring at me … I felt my face trying to mimic hers, as though that would let me know what was going on inside her.

“Come on!” Hogg’s smack just caught my ear; it stung so hard I almost fell. If he’d caught me full in the head, he might’ve knocked me out.

I got to the door—scraped my shin against the broken table leg, but not bad—and pushed it open. I looked back at Hogg, who was rubbing his arm again. He wiped his mouth on his shoulder, kneaded his biceps, bent his elbow a couple of times, then kneaded his forearm.

Behind Hogg, taking her hand from the wall now, Honey-Pie was still looking at me.

“Go on, go on,” Hogg said.

I crossed the deck. Hogg came on behind me. I heard him laugh. “Shit, cocksucker—” I glanced back. Stuffing his meat back into his pants, immediately he gestured me to keep going—“but I sure like to beat up a nigger. Can’t beat on old Nigg too much ’cause we always on jobs together.” I heard him buckling his belt. “Beatin’ on the bikey was fun. But it ain’t like a nigger.” At the head of the gangplank, Hogg stopped me with a hand on my shoulder. “Pretty soon I may do some beatin’ on you too—just for the fun of it.”

From the deck we could see down where the police cars were still parked by the barge. The red light was off now. The van from the radio station was pulling out. Police were all up and down the dock. There was still a crowd. There were still spotlights.