“Hey, you preaching to the choir. When you wanna get started?” Buddy Lee said. His eyes shined like wet concrete. Ike opened his eyes.
“Just so we on the same page. If we gonna do this I need your head clear. You gonna have to cut back on the drinking until this is done,” Ike said.
“Hey, don’t worry, a few cold ones ain’t gonna—”
Ike cut him off. “You’re drunk right now and the sun’s still up. I’m not going to war with somebody who can’t hold their liquor.”
Buddy Lee sat back in his chair.
“That bad, huh?”
“You smell like you slept in a mason jar full of shine,” Ike said. Buddy Lee laughed.
“That sounds about right. Alright, I’ll lay off the sauce.” Buddy Lee had no idea how that was going to work, but he’d give it a try. For a little while.
“One more thing. I don’t know what the boys was into, but it was bad enough somebody killed them over it. We start poking around this then things are probably gonna get nasty. Now, I know what you was saying the other day, but I want to make sure you understand what this is. Once we start, I’m prepared to do whatever it takes to find these sons of bitches. If I gotta hurt some people, then that’s what I’ll do. If I have to punch somebody’s ticket, I’ll do it. If I gotta crawl a hundred miles over broken glass just to get my hands on these motherfuckers, then that’s what I’ll do. I’m prepared to bleed. Are you?” Ike asked.
Buddy Lee leaned his head back and stared up at the sky. The clouds danced across the horizon, taking on vaguely familiar shapes. A horse, a dog, a car, a face with a crooked smile just like Derek’s.
He lowered his head and locked eyes with Ike.
“Abso-fucking-lutely,” he said.
EIGHT
Buddy Lee parked his truck next to Ike’s in the parking lot of Ike’s shop. He started to lock it, then stopped. If anyone stole it, they would just be taking on his troubles. Ike unlocked the passenger door and Buddy Lee climbed in the cab. Ike put the truck in gear and they backed up, turned around, and merged into traffic.
“My truck gonna be okay there? I don’t want it to get in the way.”
“It’s fine. I told Jazzy it was cool.”
“Where we headed?”
“I figured we would go to Isiah’s job. The cops told me he got a death threat last year. I called my wife and she gave me the address. Good a place as any to start, I guess,” Ike said.
Buddy Lee felt the old familiar twinge working its way up from his guts but he pushed it away. He wanted a drink. Hell, he needed a drink. They drove in silence for a few miles before Buddy Lee couldn’t stand it anymore.
“Hey, can you play some music?”
Ike touched a button on the steering wheel with his thumb. The cab of the truck was filled with the angelic falsetto of the Reverend Al Green singing about the good times. Buddy Lee sat back in the passenger seat and drummed his thin fingers on his thigh.
“I don’t suppose you’re a fan of country, are you?” Buddy Lee asked.
Ike grunted. “Why, because I’m Black?”
Buddy Lee ran a hand through his wild locks. “Well, I mean, yeah. No offense or nothing. Just don’t know many of your kind that are into country.”
“You say ‘your kind’ again and I’m gonna throw you out this truck,” Ike said. He didn’t raise his voice or look at Buddy Lee.
At first Buddy Lee thought he might have misheard him. When he caught Ike’s reflection in the rearview mirror he was confident he had indeed heard him correctly. “Sorry. I didn’t mean nothing by it. Shit. Sometimes my mouth runs away from my head.”
“When you or some other white boy says ‘your kind’ it’s like I’m some fucking animal that you trying to put in a cage. I don’t like that shit. So that’s your one,” Ike said.
“My one?”
“Your one. I’m gonna let it slide because, like you said, we both might be in a weird state of mind. But the next time you say something like that I’m going to chin-check you,” Ike said.
“Hey, man, I said I’m sorry. I ain’t gonna tell you no lie and say I got a lot of Black friends, because I don’t. I know some boys that I’m cool with. But I don’t think I could call any of them if I had to bury a body,” Buddy Lee said. Ike gave him a quick glance before returning his attention to the road.
“I’m not a racist or nothing. Just don’t know a lot of Black people,” Buddy Lee stammered.