“That made it even worse, Ike.”
Ike went through the velvet curtains and headed for the front door of the barbershop. He was almost out the door when he stopped and walked over to the chair where Craig was sitting. Tyrone had finished dyeing Craig’s beard, and now they were just shooting the shit about who was the best rapper alive.
“And don’t say that white boy Eminem,” Craig said.
“Man, you crazy. Em a beast,” Tyrone said.
“He alright,” Craig said.
“You need hearing aids,” Tyrone said.
Ike went and stood in front of Craig. The other man scowled at him.
“Can I help you?” Craig said. Ike cocked his head to the side and looked down at him. He knew he should probably let it go but he couldn’t. He wished someone had said to him what he was about to say to Craig.
“If I snuck in your house one night and slit your son’s throat, I guarantee the last thing you would be worrying about was if he was gay or not,” Ike said.
“The fuck you say to me?” Craig said.
“You heard me. You just don’t wanna listen,” Ike said. Craig started to rise out of his chair.
“You get up out that chair, they gonna be picking pieces of you out the walls for a week. Trust me, you don’t want none of this,” Ike said. Craig started to respond, but Ike gave him his back and walked out of the barbershop.
Buddy Lee sat up straight when Ike got in the truck. His head had finally stopped spinning.
“What’s the word?” he asked. Ike pulled Buddy Lee’s knife out of his pocket and handed it back to him. He started the truck and backed out of their parking spot.
“We gotta wait an hour. They gonna bring Tariq over here,” Ike said.
“You think I got time to get a trim? Do they cut white-boy hair in there?” he asked. Ike ignored him.
“Hey, you alright?” Buddy Lee asked.
“Not even close,” Ike said.
“Place around here we can get a drink while we wait?” Buddy Lee asked. He expected Ike to cut his eyes at him again, but the big man surprised him.
“Yeah, I could use one, too,” Ike said.
THIRTY
They ended up at a squat cinder-block building that sat on the side of Beach Road near what was left of the old Swift Creek Bridge. A sign that sat on spindly metal legs with an exaggerated arrow pointing at the building let passersby know the Swift Creek Lounge was open for business. Even though it was just a little after two, the gravel parking lot was half full. Ike parked Buddy Lee’s truck and the two of them walked up to the door.
“For a guy who said he ain’t been out on the town in a decade, you sure had this place memorized,” Buddy Lee said,
“Places like this never close. It was here before either one of us was born, and it’ll be here long after we’re gone,” Ike said. The interior of the building was cast in blue-tinged shadows illuminated by the neon Coors sign hanging over the cash register. A quorum was posted up at the end of the chipped and scarred bar, loudly debating the merits of Mopar engines versus Hemis. An old jukebox sat near a pair of battered pool tables. A litany of down-home blues songs poured out of the jukebox one after another. A barroom DJ had programmed the Swift Creek Lounge soundtrack for the next hour or so. First up was “Born Under a Bad Sign” by Albert King.
Ike and Buddy Lee sat on a pair of stools near the door. Buddy Lee winced as he raised his hand to get the bartender’s attention. A slim sister in a black tank top and jeans came on over and smiled at the two of them.
“What can I get ya fellas?”
“Two shots of Henny,” Ike said.
“You got it, sugar,” the bartender said. She slipped away to get their drinks.
“What’s Henny? I mean I’m gonna drink it, but I’m just curious,” Buddy Lee said.
“You ain’t never heard of Hennessy?” Ike asked.
“I mean, I’ve heard of it, I just didn’t know it had a nickname. I guess it’s a…” Buddy Lee said. He stopped and studied the bottles behind the bar.
“It’s what? A Black thing?” Ike asked. Buddy Lee sucked at his teeth.
“You know, I bet you thinking, He keeps saying he ain’t racist but he sure saying some racist shit,” Buddy Lee said. The bartender dropped off their drinks. Ike grabbed his shot glass.
“I’ve learned to always be ready to be disappointed by white people. Doesn’t always happen, but when it does, it don’t shock me anymore. You ain’t the worst I’ve had to deal with,” Ike said. Buddy Lee ran his finger around the rim of his glass.