“You guys let me know if you want anything else,” Tex said. He turned and walked to the other end of the bar.
“Damn, he dropped the Martin Luther King card on your ass. I think he won that round, Grasshopper,” Buddy Lee said.
Ike didn’t respond.
“I’m fucking around. I don’t think he knows shit. But I bet you some of these folks do,” Buddy Lee said as he gestured to the patrons scattered around the bar.
“Uh-huh,” Ike said. He grabbed his water and chugged it down in one big gulp. He slammed his empty glass down on the bar.
Ike felt like a vise was squeezing his rib cage. The two young white men who had been holding hands were now dancing in slow languid circles with their arms draped around each other’s neck. One of the brothers at the end of the bar was stroking his friend’s cheek. They had made their martinis disappear like a magic trick. The three women on the love seat were playfully pulling at each other’s hair.
“Think we should split up? Maybe we’ll be less intimidating that way,” Buddy Lee said.
“Yeah, I guess. We can work like when you in the yard trying to pick grapes,” Ike said. Buddy Lee chuckled.
“I ain’t heard that in a while. We used to call it ‘getting pony express’ up in Red Onion. I don’t know why we just didn’t call it gossip.”
“I need to stop talking like a convict. I fall back into that shit too damn easy,” Ike said.
“I still have nightmares about Red Onion. I be dreaming I’m still inside. I’m out, but I’ve never stopped feeling like a convict,” Buddy Lee said.
“I heard Red Onion is a dungeon,” Ike said.
Buddy Lee gazed lovingly at the bottle of Jack Daniel’s sitting by itself like an exalted king on the glass shelf. “It is that. It’d make the devil find religion,” he said. He got Tex’s attention and pantomimed taking a shot. Tex dropped off his shot without a word. Buddy Lee downed it in one gulp.
“Hey, what’d I say about drinking?” Ike asked.
“I got it, okay? I’ll take the girls on the couch. You wanna start on this side?” Buddy Lee said. His face became flushed as the whiskey hit the bottom of his stomach.
“Go ahead,” Ike said. Buddy Lee slid off the stool and made for the love seats and beanbag section of the bar. Ike took a deep breath. He spun around on the stool and took stock of the room. He had a choice between the brothers at the end of the bar, the two men still slow-dancing, or the clean-cut older guys in the booth. Using a purely demographic equation, he decided to hit the brothers first.
“Hey, excuse me,” Ike said. The larger of the two was about Ike’s size with a luxuriant beard that covered most of his face. He took his attention away from his companion just long enough for Ike to see the irritation in his face.
“Yes?”
“Hey, um … I’m looking for this girl—”
“I think you in the wrong place,” the bearded man’s companion said. He was clean-shaven with a tight fade.
“Nah, it’s not like that,” Ike said.
“What can we do for you?” the bearded man asked. Ike could see he was going from irritated to angry. Ike forced himself to calm down and speak clearly.
“I’m looking for a girl named Tangerine. She used to hang out here sometimes. I think she a friend of my son’s. I just want to talk to her.”
“About what?” Fade asked.
“What?”
“What do you want to talk to her about? Are you some ex-boyfriend trying to track her down?” Fade asked.
“Huh? No, I need to talk to her about my son,” Ike said.
“Is your son her ex?” Bearded Man asked.
“Look, my son is fucking dead and she might be able to help me find out who killed him. Now can we cut the shit? Do you know her or not?” Ike said. Bearded Man and Mini-Afro spun around on their stools until all he saw was the back of their heads.
“We don’t know her, man,” Bearded Man said. He and his companion turned their backs on him. Ike took a deep breath so violently his nose burned.
Ike felt like he was rooted to the floor. His skin was tingling all over like he had stepped on a live wire. The real estate between him and the two men seemed to fill with dangerously charged energy. They had turned their backs on him. Inside that was a sign of disrespect so egregious it might get you sent to the farm just on general principles. Ike’s right hand was a fist before he realized he had curled his fingers. He stared down at it, and through a sheer force of will he made himself unfurl his fist. He had to be smart. He didn’t need the cops throwing him in a deep dark hole. At least not until he finished this.