“I’m sorry,” Ike mumbled. He knew his words wouldn’t be heard over the commotion in the bar, but he still wanted to say them.
Jeff shook his head and looked away.
After forty-five minutes of silence on the interstate, Buddy Lee pulled into Ike’s driveway and put the truck in park. The engine coughed and gasped as the truck idled. Ike reached for the door handle.
“What was all that about? At the bar?” Buddy Lee asked. Ike opened the door. A warm breeze slipped past Ike into the truck. A few errant straw wrappers and empty chewing-gum sleeves stirred around Buddy Lee’s feet.
“I told him don’t touch me. He touched me,” Ike said.
“Okay,” Buddy Lee said. His voice had a light lilt at the end of the statement.
“What is that supposed to mean?” Ike asked.
“Nothing. Just I was watching you while I was talking to them ladies. Looked like he just touched your arm.”
“What difference do it make? You tell somebody not to touch you, they ain’t supposed to touch you. If we was inside and he did that he’d end up staring up at the lights bleeding like a stuck pig,” Ike said. Buddy Lee flexed his fingers. Ike looked out the window. His shoulders slid down ever so slightly.
But we ain’t inside, are we? Ike thought. The idea was his but he heard it in Isiah’s voice. Buddy Lee drummed his fingers on the steering wheel.
“Did he ask you for your number?”
“Leave it alone,” Ike said. Buddy Lee made a noise halfway between a laugh and a sigh.
“Alright. Did you find out anything about Tangerine before you snatched up Samuel L. Jackson, Sr.?” Buddy Lee asked. Ike shifted in his seat so he could look Buddy Lee in the face.
“Yeah. She might be hanging out with a music producer who calls himself Mr. Get Down,” Ike said. Buddy Lee laughed.
“I know that ain’t on his driver’s license. Well, when we going to talk to Mr. Get Down?” Buddy Lee asked.
“I’ll call you tomorrow. I need some sleep,” Ike said.
“Okay. You sure you don’t want to talk about—”
“I said I need some sleep,” Ike said. He climbed out of the truck and slammed the door.
“Yeah, you need a hug and a nap, ya big baby,” Buddy Lee said in a barely audible voice. He backed out of the driveway, then turned left and headed out of the cul-de-sac. He did a rolling stop at the end of the road and turned right. Humming, he turned on the radio and an old classic by Waylon Jennings came warbling out of the truck’s speakers. Buddy Lee sang along as he passed an abandoned bait-and-tackle shop on Route 634. He didn’t pay any attention to the old Chevrolet Caprice in the desiccated parking lot. Seconds later two heads popped up in the front seat.
“You think he saw us?” Cheddar asked.
“Nah. Too dark. Let me call Grayson,” Dome said. He pulled out his cell.
“Yeah,” Grayson answered.
“The white guy just dropped the Black guy off. What you want us to do now?” Dome asked.
“Stay there. See where he goes in the morning,” Grayson said.
“You want us to stay here all night? It’s like a little bit after eleven,” Dome said.
“Did I fucking stutter? We need to find this girl. Like yesterday, and he gonna lead us right to her,” Grayson said. Dome didn’t respond.
“What? You got a problem with that?” Grayson said.
“Nah, but what about Andy?”
“That’s all gonna get handled when we find this cunt,” Grayson said. “And Dome.”
“Yeah.”
“Don’t let him get by you or y’all gonna have to be dealt with, too,” Grayson said.
He hung up the phone.
TWENTY-FIVE
Ike knew he was dreaming.
It was a dream that danced at the corners of his remembrance. Isiah is standing next to him in the backyard as Ike mans the grill. It’s the cookout after Isiah’s graduation from college. Folks from both sides of Mya and Ike’s family are there. Friends from Mya’s job. A few friends Ike has made since he got out of prison. Mostly other landscapers. A few suppliers. A couple of guys from the Y. No one from his old crew, the North River Boys are in attendance. Isiah is trying to talk to Ike, but Ike isn’t listening because he knows what Isiah is trying to say and he doesn’t want to hear. He never wants to hear it.
Derek is there in the dream, which is a memory in technicolor. They are holding hands. Isiah is saying that Derek isn’t just his friend. He tells Ike that Derek is important to him. Ike is concentrating on the burgers and hot dogs. He focuses on the red glow of the coals. The unhurried dripping of the grease from the burgers as it falls and sizzles on the charcoal. Anything to keep his mind off what his only son is saying. When he says it, Ike watches as he responds the only way he knows how to respond. No, that’s not really true. He responds in the way that’s easiest for him. He flips the grill. Coals fly everywhere like fiery confetti. A piece lands on Isiah’s arm. It will leave a light scar that resembles a birthmark. The scene fades to black.