“What if this married guy who dumped her wasn’t a part of the club?” Ike said.
“I don’t follow,” Buddy Lee said.
“Come on, we both knew guys from these clubs inside and on the street. They do a lot of freelancing. What if the guy who dumped her put them on her and the boys? He was married and he didn’t want it to get out, so he put a greenlight on all three of them,” Ike said.
“Fuck me. I never even thought about that. Goddamn liquor done pickled my brain. They definitely have taken some outside work before. Shit, they done a fair bit for Chuly,” Buddy Lee said.
“One of them pulled the trigger, but somebody else gave the word,” Ike said.
“Yeah, I’d say that about sums it up,” Buddy Lee said. For a few moments whatever words they thought about speaking evaporated in their mouths. The ambient hums and groans of the house filled the spaces between them.
“They won’t never my friends. Not really. Back when I used to go for bad, I’d fuck around with them. Hang out at their clubhouse. They always had a lot of women around, and I’ve always been a fool for a pretty smile and flexible morals. We had a lot of fun with them boys. That don’t matter none now. I find the ones who put our boys down and I’ll paint the inside of their clubhouse with their brains,” Buddy Lee said. His watery blue eyes seemed to glow.
Ike knew what gave Buddy Lee’s eyes that murderous sheen. It was the rage coursing through his veins. A poison that killed off certain parts of yourself. The parts that made you weak. It was coursing through Ike’s veins, too. It was powerful but deadly. It made you determined but reckless. It gave you an edge that could turn against you and slit your own throat.
“The way I see it, there’s only one way to go on this,” Ike said.
“What you thinking?”
“We have to find Tangerine before the Rare Breed does. Because whoever put the paper on her put the same paper on the boys. If they find her first, they all get away. I want them, but I want the one who gave the order, too. I want to see his face,” Ike said.
“I can get behind that. Find the girl, find the one who made the call,” Buddy Lee said. Ike nodded and checked his watch.
“It’s almost seven. Let me go change and then we head back to the city and find this bar,” Ike said.
“That’ll work. Shit, I should call your wife and tell her to bring me something. I’m starving,” Buddy Lee said. Ike gave him a look, but Buddy Lee could’ve sworn there was the hint of a smile around the corners of his mouth.
“We got some leftovers from the repast in the freezer. Or some lunch meat and cheese in the fridge if you wanna make a sandwich,” Ike said.
“You still got food left from the repast?” Buddy Lee asked.
“You ain’t never been to a Black funeral, have you? When my granddaddy passed we ate baked ham for a month. Bread’s in the box next to the microwave,” Ike said. He moved past Buddy Lee and across the living room to the stairs. His shoulder brushed against Buddy Lee’s. It was like a glancing blow from an anvil.
“He wound up tighter than a goddamned duck’s ass,” Buddy Lee mumbled. He went to the bread box and pulled out two wheat slices. He moved to the fridge and grabbed some sliced ham, sliced cheese, and a jar of mayo. As he constructed his sandwich he thought about what Ike had said about people not being afraid to tell you to fuck off these days. Derek wasn’t the type to tell you to fuck off. He just cut you off like you never existed. Erase you like you were a math problem on a blackboard. The last time they had talked was when he had called Buddy Lee to tell him he and Isiah were getting married.
“So, which one of y’all gonna be the wife?” Buddy Lee had said. He’d been sitting in his delivery truck taking a break between drops. To say that the line had gone silent was an understatement. It was more like it had ceased to be. Like God had snapped his fingers and everything on the other end of the line had winked out of existence.
“Hello? Hello? D-Man, I’m just fucking with you,” Buddy Lee had said. He had heard Derek suck his teeth.
“My name is Derek. I’m never gonna be a D-Man. I’m just Derek, your gay, classically trained culinary artist of a son,” Derek had said.
“Alright, alright. Damn, you really gotta drive that home, don’t ya?” Buddy Lee said.
“What? That I’m gay? It’s a part of who I am, Dad. Just like being allergic to cats or having green eyes,” Derek had said.