“My mama told me when she was pregnant she prayed for a boy. Then once I was born she prayed for discernment,” Buddy Lee said with a rueful smile. Ike thought there was a lot of hurt behind that smile, but he wasn’t the one to pull it out of Buddy Lee.
“Say, you think you gonna need more than that piece of rebar around here? Because my half brother Chet can get us some pieces.”
Ike frowned. “I can get a gun if I need to. This is Virginia. They damn near sell them at Seven-Eleven.”
“Hey, Ike, no offense, but the Rare Breed ain’t a social club. You gonna need more than farm tools if they decide to come back and light this house up,” Buddy said.
“Do you get a commission or something?” Ike asked.
“Alright, alright, it was just a suggestion. I guess the next time they come by you can throw a pitchfork at them. Anyway, how we gonna get to this producer fella? If he’s as big-time as you say, I don’t reckon we can walk up to his front door,” Buddy Lee said.
“I googled him last night. Can’t find his address nowhere. Looked up articles on the newspaper website. It just says he resides in the Richmond Metro area.”
“Shit,” Buddy Lee said.
“Yeah,” Ike said. Buddy Lee tapped his foot. The sound reverberated across the kitchen.
“Wait a minute. Didn’t that boy at the cake shop say they had done a job for the producer?” Ike asked.
“Yeah. I’m figuring that’s where Derek met Tangerine,” Buddy Lee said.
“Okay. So, they would have the address, right?” Ike asked.
“Yeah, but they ain’t gonna hand it over to us. We went in there breaking cakes and shit,” Buddy Lee said.
“That was all you,” Ike said. Buddy Lee snickered.
“Whatever, point being we ain’t high on their list of friends these days,” Buddy Lee said.
“We don’t have to be. I got an idea,” Ike said. He pulled out his cell phone and called Essential Events Bakery. The phone only rang twice before a pleasant-sounding woman answered it.
“Essential Events, Carrie speaking. How may I make your day wonderful?” she said.
Ike deepened his voice and stretched out his enunciation. Mya called it his “talking to rich white people voice.” He used it when he had to arrange a bid on a huge, ostentatious estate or condominium down by the river.
“Hello, I’m Jason Krueger and I’m an associate of Tariq Matthews. You may know him better as Mr. Get Down? Well, a few months ago your firm handled a party for us at Mr. Matthews’s home, and he was so impressed he’d like to hire you again for an upcoming event. However, he is very pressed for time and he would like to discuss the menu with one of your associates. Today, if that’s at all possible,” Ike said.
Buddy Lee covered his mouth with his forearm and stifled a laugh.
“Oh my, today? We are really swamped. Could we possibly do it tomorrow? I’d be more than willing to drive out there myself,” Carrie said. Ike took a deep breath and let out a long and hopefully frustrated sounding sigh.
“Tomorrow is fine, I suppose. Could you make it around one? And do you still have the address?” Ike said. Ike could hear the hollow sound of plastic keys clicking.
“Yes, we do,” Carrie said.
“Could you read it back to me, please? I want to make sure you have it correct,” Ike said.
“Of course: 2359 Lafayette Lane, Richmond, Virginia, correct?” Carrie asked.
“You got it,” Ike said. He hit end.
“That was almost too easy,” Buddy Lee said.
“The hard part comes next. Trying to get to him,” Ike said.
“What’s our play if this don’t work?” Buddy Lee asked.
“I got another idea but it’s some DEFCON-5 type shit. Let’s try this first,” Ike said.
Ten minutes later they were in Buddy Lee’s truck heading down the highway.
TWENTY-EIGHT
Buddy Lee turned down Lafayette Lane and eased to a stop. There was a guardhouse in the middle of a two-lane driveway that led into a larger subdivision. Actually, “subdivision” was a bit of a misnomer. Buddy Lee could see beyond the guardhouse there were only six houses visible. Each one had a back-and front yard the size of half a football field.
“Flying buttresses,” Ike said.
“What?” Buddy Lee said.
“The third house on the left. The big-ass one. It’s got flying buttresses.”
“What the fuck are flying buttresses?” Buddy Lee asked.