No one spoke for what felt like minutes. Ike decided to jump in the deep end.
“Do you know a girl named Tangerine? We’re trying to find her. She might know who killed our sons,” Ike said. The man in the tracksuit, who Ike assumed was Tariq, didn’t seem to register his question. He pulled a small joint out of his pocket and stuck it in his mouth. The security guard closest to him lit it for him with a gold cigarette lighter. Tariq took a long drag, held it, and let the smoke flow out his nostrils. Buddy Lee jumped into the conversation.
“We ain’t looking to jam her up. We just want to know what happened,” Buddy Lee said. Tariq still kept his cards close to the vest.
“Look, somebody stood over my son and pumped two bullets in his head. I just want to find out who did it, and I … we … think Tangerine can help.”
Nothing.
“Do you speak English?” Buddy Lee said. He didn’t try to hide his frustration. Tariq took another long puff on the joint. He plucked it from his lips and used it as a pointer as he talked.
“Here’s the deal, Salt and Pepper. You gonna stop trying to find Tangerine. You gonna go back home and leave this the fuck alone. You gonna leave Tangy alone. This is a onetime, nonnegotiable offer. You are gonna accept the terms of this agreement, or I’m gonna have my fellas here fold you up, put you in an envelope, and mail you back to wherever the fuck you came from,” Tariq said.
Buddy Lee caught Ike’s eye. Ike stared back. After a few seconds he turned his attention back to Tariq.
“I told you we don’t want to hurt her. We just wanna talk,” Ike said. He pronounced each word with a measured caution. The four security guards had taken positions at his eleven, one, five, and eight o’clock. The air around them was charged like a thunderstorm was approaching. Tariq was still standing near the stone-carved front steps.
“You don’t listen too well, do you, fam?” Tariq said. He made a shooting gesture with his joint.
“Well, shit,” Buddy Lee whispered.
The guards advanced on them. Two for Buddy Lee, two for Ike. The pair that locked on Ike came at him with short, precise movements. Their punches were specific and targeted and full of bad intentions. Ike took a kidney shot from one of the bodyguards, a light-skinned brother with a flattop, which nearly made his legs buckle. Ike trapped the man’s right arm with his left and jammed his thumb into the man’s Adam’s apple.
The light-skinned man stumbled backward grabbing his throat, just as his partner, a brother with a mini-Afro, clocked Ike on the side of the head with a fist roughly the size of a Smithfield ham. Ike tried to tuck his chin into his chest but he still got the brunt of the blow. As he tried to steady himself, Mini-Afro executed a spinning heel kick that should have violated the laws of physics for a man his size.
It caught Ike in the solar plexus, and he felt a spasm ripple through his midsection like he’d been tased. He fell back against the truck. Light-Skinned had recovered somewhat and was advancing on him from the left. Acting purely on instinct honed from hundreds of throwdowns, inside and on the street, Ike grabbed the passenger door, opened it with deft fingers, and slammed it into Light-Skinned. The bottom of the door caught him in the shin, and he immediately dropped to one knee like he was about to propose.
Mini-Afro caught Ike in the chin with a two-piece combo. Black stars twinkled in front of Ike’s eyes. Grunting, he launched himself at Mini-Afro. They collided like a pair of mountain goats. Ike hooked the other man’s leg with his own as he executed a tangled pirouette. They fell to the ground in a twisted conflagration of arms and legs and fists. Light-Skinned was back to his feet, and this time he was holding a collapsible baton.
Ike ended up on top of Mini-Afro. Ike hit him with a right cross, then a right elbow strike. Mini-Afro’s nose flattened against his face like a jellyfish. Blood flowed unfettered from both his nostrils and into his mouth. Ike doubled up on him. Two fast brutal punches that closed the man’s left eye like a curtain. Then Ike’s world exploded in a nuclear flash of white light and searing pain so intense he thought he was going to vomit.
Light-Skinned reared back and struck him in the back with the baton again. Ike sloughed off Mini-Afro like an old coat. Light-Skinned stepped on his partner’s kneecap in his haste to get to Ike. Ike saw the big man bearing down on him with a long black baton. It resembled the ones favored by the corrections officers in Coldwater.
Ike was flat on his back. He could feel the heat from the asphalt through his T-shirt. The pain in his neck was like a pair of pliers pinching his second and third vertebrae.