I nodded once, and there it was again.

The ghost of brother Robert.

Jason was hungover when I pulled to the curb. He sat with his boots crossed in the gutter and a bottle of beer pressed against his forehead.

“You’re late.”

I killed the engine, but didn’t get out. The top was down, sun beating in. Jason took a long swallow, and got to his feet. The house behind him was small and littered with trash, his clothes as dark and worn as a country road. In spite of it all, Jason looked ready for anything, the smile ironic, the rest of him long and lean and coiled. He drained the bottle, tossed the empty, and hefted a cooler into the back seat. “You had breakfast?” I shook my head, and he opened the door. “All right, then. I’m buying.” He named a place, and guided me across town to a diner that served a mix of soul food and Korean. “But the chicken and biscuits,” he said. “You have no idea.”

He was right about that. I didn’t.

“Good, huh?” He took off the dark glasses, and his eyes were surprisingly clear.

“You come here a lot?” I asked.

He pointed at the cook behind the counter, a wiry black man with gray in his beard. “Nathaniel Washington,” he said. “I knew his son in basic training. Darzell.”

“Did he … you know. The war?”

“What? Die?” The same ironic smile. “He drives a cab downtown. Good guy. He introduced me to this place before we shipped out. Don’t have much use for the Korean food, but the rest of it…”

He gestured, as if to take in the smell of chicken and collards, fatback and ham hocks. Spread out in the booth, he seemed relaxed. The quiet gaze. The easy smile. We finished breakfast and ordered sandwiches for the road. “Tell me about the girls,” I said.

“Girls?”

“Yeah, you said—”

“Ah, the girls. Well, women, really. You been laid yet?”

I looked away, embarrassed. Girls were a mystery wrapped in sweetness and cruelty. They generally terrified me.

“Don’t worry about it,” he said. “These girls are nice. You’ll like them.”

After that, he watched the city beyond the glass. Shadows deepened in alleyways across the street, and bright light etched the pedestrians, the homeless, the big cars with chrome fenders. I was drawn by his lazy confidence, his stillness, the way he held his cigarette.

“What?”

He caught me watching, but I had no easy answer. People said we looked alike, but he was exotic to me. “How many people did you kill?”

It was not a fair question so early in the morning. He gave me a long look, neither upset nor giving.

“Not today, little brother.”

My disappointment was hard to hide. Sex. Death. Experience. These were the things that made him a man and me something less.