Razorblade Tears

by S. A. Cosby

  God, she sounds just like him, Ike thought.

  Mya gave his shoulder a firm squeeze, then walked over to Arianna and scooped her into her arms. Ike could hear steps as she moved from the kitchen to the living room, then out the front door. Ike sipped his rum. He wouldn’t tell Mya anything else. She didn’t need to know about the bikers or this Tangerine they were going to try to find. Right now, all either one of them needed was this.

  Ike heard Mya’s car start. What that little girl needed was two people to raise her who could look her in the face without falling apart. Ike put the bottle to his lips but didn’t take a drink. Instead he got up and put the bottle back in the cabinet. Buddy Lee was an alcoholic, but at the rate Ike was going, he wasn’t far behind him.

  Ike’s phone vibrated. He took it out and checked the screen. Speak of the devil. He touched the ANSWER button.

  “Hey, hoss,” Buddy Lee said.

  “Hey, we need to talk. Face-to-face,” Ike said.

  “Okay. Is it cool to meet at your shop?”

  “No. Come by the house. I’ll text you the address,” Ike said.

  Buddy Lee coughed. “Everything alright?” he asked.

  “I’ll tell you about it when you get here,” Ike said.

  He ended the call.

  TWENTY-TWO

  Buddy Lee parked his truck next to Ike’s dually. His truck shuddered as the engine dieseled for a few seconds. Buddy Lee got out and let the truck shimmy and shake as he walked to the front door. He took a quick glimpse back at his and Ike’s trucks sitting side by side. It was like seeing a pig sitting next to a princess. He raised his hand to knock on the door, but it opened before he could touch it. Ike stood in the doorway.

  “We can talk in the kitchen,” Ike said as he stepped aside. Buddy Lee entered the house. Ike closed and locked the door.

  “Nice place,” Buddy Lee said.

  “It’s alright,” Ike said. Buddy Lee grunted.

  “I got milk crates for a coffee table. This is more than alright,” Buddy Lee said. Ike pulled out a chair and gestured for Buddy Lee to do the same.

  “You got anything to drink around here?” Buddy Lee asked.

  “I thought we said you wasn’t gonna drink while we do this,” Ike said. Buddy Lee ran a hand through his lank hair.

  “We said I’d cut back. Trust me, I’m working on it. We alone?” Buddy Lee asked.

  “Yeah. Mya took Arianna to get something to eat,” Ike said. Buddy Lee nodded his head.

  “I guess you wanna talk about Officer Friendly coming by,” Buddy Lee said. Ike leaned forward across the table on his forearms.

  “The cops came to see you?”

  “Yeah. I figured that’s what you was talking about on the phone. What, they didn’t come by and see you?” Buddy Lee asked.

  “I wasn’t here.”

  “Well, shit, now I feel discriminated against,” Buddy Lee said. Ike sat back and clucked his tongue against the roof of his mouth.

  “Anyone ever tell you that you play too much?” Ike asked.

  “Every day of the week and twice on Sunday. Wait, what was the thing you wanted to talk about?” Buddy Lee asked.

  “We’ll get to me in a minute. Tell me what the cops had to say. I know it wasn’t nothing about the boys,” Ike said. There was a hard edge to his voice that Buddy Lee had heard in the head shop when he was snapping the hipster’s finger like a breadstick. A cold flame that burned up the oxygen in the room and dropped the temperature by five degrees.

  Buddy Lee ran a hand through his hair.

  “Well, I suppose the good news is it ain’t got nothing to do with our friend from last night. And you right, it wasn’t about the boys, either. One of them little punk-ass Smith Brothers–looking fuckers from that head shop went down to the police station on his unicycle,” Buddy Lee said.

  Ike cocked his head to the side. “He say he was pressing charges?” Ike asked.

  “Nah. His two comrades are scared shitless. They ain’t backing up his story, and the place don’t have no video cameras. So we should be alright there, but Detective Egg Roll told me if he hears about us kicking any more millennial ass, he gonna put us both in a holding cell until daylight saving time is over,” Buddy Lee said.

  Ike frowned. “Why you call him Detective Egg Roll?”

  “What? It’s just a joke. Ya know, because he’s Chinese,” Buddy Lee said.

  “I don’t even think he’s Chinese. I swear you white boys got a joke for everybody, but if I said your family tree ain’t got no branches, you’d be ready to fight.”

  “Shit, nah. I got an uncle who’s my cousin,” Buddy Lee said. Ike rolled his eyes. “I’m joking. Everybody too damn sensitive these days.”

  “We ain’t sensitive. Back in the day nobody could say shit or one of your uncles would’ve tried to hang ’em from a tree. Now I can tell you to kiss my entire ass,” Ike said. Buddy Lee scratched at his chin as he considered Ike’s abbreviated history lesson.

  “Alright, I’ll give you that. But let me ask you this: You extending that courtesy to people like Isiah and Derek, too? Could they have told you to kiss their ass?” Buddy Lee said. Ike shifted in his chair and crossed his arms. He didn’t answer Buddy Lee’s question.

  “Be careful you don’t hurt yourself falling off that high horse there, Ike,” Buddy Lee said. He let out a long braying laugh that didn’t stop until he started hacking. Ike got up and got a bottle of water from the fridge. He tossed it to Buddy Lee, who despite coughing like a ’73 Gremlin with a bad valve, caught it deftly with one hand. Buddy Lee killed the water in two gulps and tossed the empty bottle back to Ike. Ike tossed it in the trash and sat down again. He rubbed the palms of his callused hands together before placing them flat on the table.

  “Tell me what you know about this Rare Breed,” Ike said.

  Buddy Lee frowned. “Why the fuck you asking about them crazy motherfuckers?”

  “About five of them came by the shop today. They were asking about a friend of theirs. They were packing pipes and sawed-off pool cues to jog my memory. Now, who do you think their friend was? I’ll give you three guesses and the first two don’t count,” Ike said.

  Buddy Lee let out a low long whistle.

  “Shit. He’s in that compost pile from last night, ain’t he? Goddamn, I really could use that drink,” Buddy Lee said.

  “Yeah.”

  Buddy Lee rubbed his face before he answered Ike’s question.

  “They one-percenters. Got chapters all up and down the East Coast. They mainly run guns and meth through their clubhouses and out at truck stops. I used to run with some boys that did a little business with them. Moving guns around. Handling some of their meth. They serious operators. They say you can’t get a full patch unless you can prove you done some wet work for the club. They not skinheads, but they ain’t big fans of people who look like you or live like Isiah and Derek. You sure it was the Breed?” Buddy Lee asked.

  “I got a good look at the patch on one of them when I put a machete to his throat,” Ike said. Buddy Lee leaned back in his chair until the front legs came off the floor. When all four legs were on the ground again he exhaled. It had a moist tone.

  “A fucking machete. Jesus Christ. You really are crazier than an outhouse rat, ain’t ya? I wish I’d been there to see it. Yeah, I used to party with some of them boys. They ain’t the type to let that shit go. How you think they got a line on you, anyways?” Buddy Lee asked.

  “The other one from last night must have noticed my truck. We shouldn’t have parked so close to the goddamn house. That was a simp move,” Ike said.

  “Yeah, I didn’t think about that, either. I guess we been out the game a long time.”

  “Too long,” Ike said. Buddy Lee drummed his fingers on the table.

  “From now on we use my truck. It’s got four bald tires and I’m holding the door on with baling wire, but it’ll get us where we need to go,” Buddy Lee said.

  “And where’s that? What you th
ink we should do next?” Ike asked. He had his own idea, but he wanted to see where Buddy Lee’s head was at.

  “Hell, if I know. I’m still trying to get my mind right. I can’t for the life of me see how the Rare Breed fit into this,” Buddy Lee said. He sat back in his chair. Ike turned and stared out the window over his sink. He could see the boxwoods that formed a hedgerow that separated his house from the empty mobile home next door. It would have been nice if he could pretend that he and Isiah had planted those together in a Hallmark movie moment. Nice but a lie. The day he’d put them in, Isiah had come by to see Mya to tell her about his new job. Ike had stayed outside taking his time with the shrubs. At a certain point in their relationship, all their interactions had started ending in either arguments or evasion.

  “You know how they fucking fit into this. They killed our boys. I don’t know why, and right now I don’t even care. One of them motherfuckers from that club stood over Isiah and Derek and blew their fucking heads off,” Ike said. Saying it felt cathartic. At last there was a target in his crosshairs. A face he could put on the bogeyman that stalked Isiah in Ike’s nightmares.

  “Yeah. That was the first thing popped in my mind when you said they came by your place. I just…” Buddy Lee let the end of the sentence float between them.

  “What?” Ike said.

  “It just don’t make no sense. If Isiah was working on a story about some guy Tangerine was seeing, what’s that got to do with the Breed? Why would Derek be pissed off about that?”

  “Maybe she’s one of their old ladies and she saw some shit she shouldn’t have seen. Maybe she was talking to Isiah about flipping on them,” Ike said.

  “You don’t know these girls. Old ladies don’t snitch. Even if they get dumped. Them MC’s are a like a cult. Their Kool-Aid would make Jim Jones jealous,” Buddy Lee said. Ike shifted in his chair and crossed his legs.

  “You sound like you can’t believe your buddies shot our kids,” Ike said. Buddy Lee narrowed his eyes until they were nearly slits.

  “They ain’t my goddamn buddies. But I know them and I can’t see them killing Derek and Isiah over a story for a gay website that maybe fifteen people have ever heard of. Plenty of magazines and newspapers and shit have done write-ups on the Breed. Hell, they got some of the headlines framed in their clubhouses. I just can’t see Derek getting all bent out of shape because a biker’s old lady got dumped,” Buddy Lee said. Ike put his forefinger to his lip.

  “What if this married guy who dumped her wasn’t a part of the club?” Ike said.

  “I don’t follow,” Buddy Lee said.

  “Come on, we both knew guys from these clubs inside and on the street. They do a lot of freelancing. What if the guy who dumped her put them on her and the boys? He was married and he didn’t want it to get out, so he put a greenlight on all three of them,” Ike said.

  “Fuck me. I never even thought about that. Goddamn liquor done pickled my brain. They definitely have taken some outside work before. Shit, they done a fair bit for Chuly,” Buddy Lee said.

  “One of them pulled the trigger, but somebody else gave the word,” Ike said.

  “Yeah, I’d say that about sums it up,” Buddy Lee said. For a few moments whatever words they thought about speaking evaporated in their mouths. The ambient hums and groans of the house filled the spaces between them.

  “They won’t never my friends. Not really. Back when I used to go for bad, I’d fuck around with them. Hang out at their clubhouse. They always had a lot of women around, and I’ve always been a fool for a pretty smile and flexible morals. We had a lot of fun with them boys. That don’t matter none now. I find the ones who put our boys down and I’ll paint the inside of their clubhouse with their brains,” Buddy Lee said. His watery blue eyes seemed to glow.

  Ike knew what gave Buddy Lee’s eyes that murderous sheen. It was the rage coursing through his veins. A poison that killed off certain parts of yourself. The parts that made you weak. It was coursing through Ike’s veins, too. It was powerful but deadly. It made you determined but reckless. It gave you an edge that could turn against you and slit your own throat.

  “The way I see it, there’s only one way to go on this,” Ike said.

  “What you thinking?”

  “We have to find Tangerine before the Rare Breed does. Because whoever put the paper on her put the same paper on the boys. If they find her first, they all get away. I want them, but I want the one who gave the order, too. I want to see his face,” Ike said.

  “I can get behind that. Find the girl, find the one who made the call,” Buddy Lee said. Ike nodded and checked his watch.

  “It’s almost seven. Let me go change and then we head back to the city and find this bar,” Ike said.

  “That’ll work. Shit, I should call your wife and tell her to bring me something. I’m starving,” Buddy Lee said. Ike gave him a look, but Buddy Lee could’ve sworn there was the hint of a smile around the corners of his mouth.

  “We got some leftovers from the repast in the freezer. Or some lunch meat and cheese in the fridge if you wanna make a sandwich,” Ike said.

  “You still got food left from the repast?” Buddy Lee asked.

  “You ain’t never been to a Black funeral, have you? When my granddaddy passed we ate baked ham for a month. Bread’s in the box next to the microwave,” Ike said. He moved past Buddy Lee and across the living room to the stairs. His shoulder brushed against Buddy Lee’s. It was like a glancing blow from an anvil.

  “He wound up tighter than a goddamned duck’s ass,” Buddy Lee mumbled. He went to the bread box and pulled out two wheat slices. He moved to the fridge and grabbed some sliced ham, sliced cheese, and a jar of mayo. As he constructed his sandwich he thought about what Ike had said about people not being afraid to tell you to fuck off these days. Derek wasn’t the type to tell you to fuck off. He just cut you off like you never existed. Erase you like you were a math problem on a blackboard. The last time they had talked was when he had called Buddy Lee to tell him he and Isiah were getting married.

  “So, which one of y’all gonna be the wife?” Buddy Lee had said. He’d been sitting in his delivery truck taking a break between drops. To say that the line had gone silent was an understatement. It was more like it had ceased to be. Like God had snapped his fingers and everything on the other end of the line had winked out of existence.

  “Hello? Hello? D-Man, I’m just fucking with you,” Buddy Lee had said. He had heard Derek suck his teeth.

  “My name is Derek. I’m never gonna be a D-Man. I’m just Derek, your gay, classically trained culinary artist of a son,” Derek had said.

  “Alright, alright. Damn, you really gotta drive that home, don’t ya?” Buddy Lee said.

  “What? That I’m gay? It’s a part of who I am, Dad. Just like being allergic to cats or having green eyes,” Derek had said.

  “Yeah, yeah. I just don’t know why you gotta rub it in my face, that’s all I’m saying,” Buddy Lee had yelled into the phone. He hadn’t meant to yell but he couldn’t help himself. There was an ugly part of him that pulsed and festered whenever Derek brought up his sexuality. It made him say things he couldn’t take back in ways that couldn’t be forgotten.

  “Isiah asked me to invite you, but you know what? Forget it. It’s going to be the happiest day of my life, but I wouldn’t want to rub it in your face,” Derek said.

  “Hey, hey now—” But Derek had cut him off like a meat cleaver.

  “I’d expect this from Mom and Gerald, but for some reason I thought you might be different. I thought you might at least pretend to be happy for me. Stupid, right?” Derek had said. His voice didn’t crack, but Buddy Lee knew by the way his cadence had taken on a stilted tone he was crying.

  “Just so you know, you’re missing out. Arianna is going to be a beautiful flower girl,” Derek had said. Then the line had gone dead. A few months later, after walking down the aisle with his husband, so was Derek.

  “Oh, fuck me,” Buddy L
ee said. His eyes began to sting.

  The familiar sound of a key being inserted into a lock broke him out of his reverie. He wiped his face with the back of his hand. He was trying to decide if he should sit down or keep standing when a slim Black woman with a crown of brown braids stepped through the doorway.

  “Hello,” she said. She had a fast-food bag tucked under her right arm. Her left arm was trailing behind her. A little girl with skin the color of honey was holding on to the woman’s left hand.

  “Uh, hey. I’m Buddy Lee. Derek’s daddy.”

  “Yeah, I remember you from the…”

  “When we all was down there when they, uh…”

  “Yeah. Well, I’m Mya. And this little ball of trouble here is Arianna. I don’t mean this in a rude way, but why are you in my house, Buddy Lee?” the woman asked.

  “Oh, I’m … I was, uh … I was here to see Ike but he went upstairs.” The little girl peeped at Buddy Lee from behind Mya’s leg. Buddy Lee gave her a two-finger salute. He felt the blood rush to his face.

  “How you doing, Miss Little Bit?” Buddy Lee asked.

  “Arianna, can you say hi? This your granddaddy, too,” Mya said. Buddy Lee heard the hollow cheeriness in her voice. Arianna hid her face in Mya’s thigh.

  “I met you a long time ago. Derek … your daddy, brought you to see me, but you probably don’t remember,” Buddy Lee said. Arianna hummed into Mya’s leg.

  “She bashful sometimes,” Mya said.

  “It’s alright. I wouldn’t want to talk to me, either,” Buddy Lee said with a crooked smile.

  “I’d offer you something to eat but it looks like you already made yourself at home,” Mya said. Buddy Lee was suddenly aware of the sandwich in his hand.

  “Oh shit. I mean shoot. Ike said it was okay,” Buddy Lee said. Arianna peeped around Mya’s leg at him. He winked at her and she giggled.

  “It is okay. He’s a guest, right?” Ike said. He was standing behind Mya. Buddy Lee hadn’t noticed him come back down the stairs. He was wearing a black T-shirt, blue jeans, and a pair of Timberland boots.