“It’s our manifesto,” Bryce said.
“I’m not here for your manifesto. I want to ask you about Isiah Randolph and Derek Jenkins,” Ike said. He had his arms crossed over his chest.
“Who?” Terry, the one with the monocle, asked. Ike stepped forward. Bryce sat back down on his stool.
“Isiah Randolph. You sent him a death threat last year for a report on your pep club,” Ike said. Bryce stood back up defiantly.
“Oh, you mean the guy who tried to ruin our reputation? It wasn’t a death threat. It was a redress of grievances for his vitriolic comments,” Bryce said.
“Jesus, you got any change for them ten-dollar words?” Buddy Lee asked.
“He’s dead. He was my son and he’s dead, and I wanna know whether or not your little punk-ass crew had anything to do with it,” Ike said. A chime went off and a couple walked in the store. They must have felt something in the air, because they turned around and walked out.
“Look, I’m sorry your son is dead, but we didn’t have anything to do with that. But I’m not surprised. He was just a tool of the corporate industrial complex. People are waking up, man. They aren’t going to stand by and let the media lapdogs create a false narrative of what is going on in the world. Get woke, man,” Bryce said. Ike cocked his head to the left. Buddy Lee watched his hands clench and unclench like bear traps opening and closing.
“What did you say about my son?” Ike asked. Bryce ran his tongue over his upper lip.
“I’m just saying—”
Ike’s arm shot out as quick as a cobra. He grabbed Bryce by his beard and in one brutal movement yanked his head down until his forehead slammed into the glass counter. Ike grabbed Bryce’s right hand with his left and twisted Bryce’s arm until it felt like it might snap. Terry jumped up off his stool, but Buddy Lee pulled out his jackknife and flicked the blade open.
“Slow your roll, Panama Jack,” he said as he pointed the knife at Terry’s chest.
Ike bent forward until his mouth was inches from Bryce’s ear.
“I’m going to ask you some questions about what you know about my son. Every time I don’t like an answer I’m gonna break one of your fingers,” he said. Madison began to cry.
“Hush, baby girl. We ain’t gonna hurt you. We just wanna ask some questions,” Buddy Lee said as he flashed the girl a smile. She cried harder.
“Now, did you have anything to do with what happened to our boys?” Ike asked.
“Oh my God, I’m bleeding!” Bryce mumbled against the top of the display desk.
“I don’t like that answer.” Ike said. He grabbed Bryce’s pinky with his left hand. Holding the younger man down with his right hand, he pulled on the pinky with a brutal backward motion. A wet snap. Madison slipped from her stool and quietly vomited on the floor.
“Let’s try this again. Do you know who killed my boy?” Ike asked. He didn’t recognize his own voice. He realized Ike Randolph was taking a back seat to the action. This was Riot speaking.
“Jesus, fuck no. We … just … we just wrote him a nasty letter,” Bryce cried. Buddy Lee heard the pitter-patter of water hitting the laminated floor.
“Ike. I think he telling the truth. He just pissed himself,” Buddy Lee said.
“You know how many suspect motherfuckers I’ve seen piss themselves when they got caught?” Ike said.
“Yeah, but man, look at him. He couldn’t bust a grape in a fruit fight,” Buddy Lee said. Ike did what Buddy Lee suggested. Blood had pooled around Bryce’s forehead. It was also spilling across the countertop onto the floor. Ike could see one of his eyes. It rolled around in his socket like a ball bearing. Ike wanted to let him go, but Riot wanted to break a few more of his fingers on general principles. Amelia was right. These kids weren’t killers. They were just a bunch of overly idealistic children. Somewhere a mother or a father was mildly disappointed in them. Ike took a deep breath and let it out through his teeth.
He pushed Bryce off the top of the display case. The young man fell into his stool before sliding to the floor clutching his right arm. Madison went to his side. Her mouth was stained with orange and red vomit. Ike took a step back from the counter.
“If I find out you lying, I’m coming back and breaking the rest of your fingers,” Ike said. He turned his back on them and walked out of the shop.
“Y’all should probably keep this to yourself. Just saying. Might be healthier that way,” Buddy Lee said. He folded the jackknife and put it in his back pocket.