by S. A. Cosby
Slice stood up and walked over to where Ike was standing. Ike towered over him but Slice didn’t seem to notice. Ike dropped his hands to his sides and spread his feet. He made a mental note of where the monster in the room was standing in relation to him and Slice. He tensed his shoulders and waited for Slice to make a move.
“He might have been your friend but he was my brother. I know what you did for us. For him. But you ain’t gonna stand there and rub it in my fucking face,” Slice said.
“I’m not. I’m just stating the facts. I’ve never asked y’all for nothing. Ever. But this one thing … Lance, he knows where this girl is that knows who killed my boy. They shot him six times. Lit him and his friend up. Then they stood over them and put two right in they face. I couldn’t even recognize my son. I didn’t know who he was. My son, Lance,” Ike said. Was he crying? He didn’t know and he didn’t care. He was tired of hiding how much it hurt to lose Isiah. If Slice and his behemoth wanted to call him a bitch, let them. Trying to hold all this agony and grief inside was like wrestling a bag of pythons. The grief was choking the life out of him.
Slice turned his gaze to the wall.
“You ain’t planning on putting paws on Tariq are you?” he asked. Ike blinked his eyes hard.
“No. He knows this girl named Tangerine. I think she knows who killed Isiah and Derek,” Ike said. He paused. He’d called Derek Isiah’s friend. That was wrong. He was his husband. He was Isiah’s husband. Ike tried to say it but his mouth just didn’t seem to be able to form the words.
“Tangerine.” Slice chuckled.
“You know her?” Ike asked.
“Nah, but with a name like that, I bet she wear clear heels,” Slice said.
“I just want to talk to her. Tariq can make that happen,” Ike said.
“Let me ask you this. If she tell you what you wanna know, then what?” Slice asked. He seemed genuinely curious.
“What you mean ‘then what’?” Ike said.
“I just don’t see you being ’bout it like that, Ike,” Slice said. Ike stepped closer to Slice, crowding his personal space.
“Then you done forgot who the fuck I am,” Ike said. Slice turned his gaze back to Ike and smiled.
“There he is. There’s the one-man Riot,” Slice said. He turned his back to Ike.
“Come back in an hour. I’ll have Tariq here,” Slice said.
“Thank you,” Ike said.
Slice walked over to his recliner and sat down. “Don’t thank me. We even now, Ike,” he said. Ike picked up the implied threat. He turned to leave. Slice’s man handed him back the knife.
“You know, I used to be jealous of you and Luther. He used to act like you was more his brother than I was. When you put that 187 on Romello, it made me hate you a little bit,” Slice said.
“You never had to be jealous of me. Luther told me to always look out for you,” Ike said. Slice laughed. It was a hollow sound.
“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.
“I ain’t trying make no excuses, but when you grow up around people—your aunts and uncles, your grandparents, your brothers and sisters, your friends—all of them saying things that you don’t even think about being wrong or right, you don’t put that title on yourself. Like you remember when they used to play The Ten Commandants on television every Easter? And there’s this part where this boy tells his granddaddy to look at the Nubians? My granddaddy on my mama’s side would always make this joke about them not being Nubians, t
hey just, well, you know what he said. And I used to laugh at that joke because it was my granddaddy saying it. I never thought, I never had to think how somebody like you would feel about that joke. Then when I got older I stopped thinking about it, because if that joke was fucked up, then what did that say about my granddaddy? What did that say about me that I laughed at it?” Buddy Lee said.
Ike downed his shot. The cognac burned in a comforting, familiar way. For a moment he was twenty-one again.
“That you ignorant as hell,” Ike said.
“Yeah, well, I guess that’s a pretty good assessment,” Buddy Lee said.
“It’s easier to keep your head in the sand than it is to try and see things from somebody else’s point of view. There’s a reason why they say ignorance is bliss,” Ike said.
“So you do think I’m racist,” Buddy Lee said.
“I think maybe for the first time in your life you’re seeing what the world looks like for people that don’t look like you. I mean you still ignorant as hell, but you learning. But then, so am I. We both learning. We both done said and did shit that we wish we could take back. I think if you figure out at one point in your life you was a terrible person, you can start getting better. Start treating people better. Like as long as you wouldn’t laugh at that joke now, I think you on the right road. Same as if the next time I get offered a drink I don’t go the hell off and just walk away, instead of jacking somebody up because they had the nerve to think I was in a gay bar to meet somebody,” Ike said. He held his shot glass up and motioned for the bartender.
Buddy Lee downed his shot, too. He gasped as he sat the glass down on the bar.
“Goddamn that shit will take the paint off a ball hitch. I guess you’re right. Feels like we waited pretty late in the day to start learning shit,” Buddy Lee said. The bartender brought them two more shots.
“Day ain’t over yet,” Ike said.
* * *
Ike drove them back to the barbershop. The parking lot was virtually deserted. There was a black Jaguar parked near the barbershop. The only other vehicle in the parking lot was Buddy Lee’s truck. Ike shut off the truck.
“Look like everyone went home early,” Buddy Lee said.
“Slice probably sent everybody home. Mr. Get Down is hometown royalty. Fools would be all up in his grill asking for autographs and shit,” Ike said.
“He can shut down the whole strip mall?” Buddy Lee asked.
“He owns the strip mall,” Ike said.
* * *
When they entered the barbershop Tariq was sitting in the last chair near the curtains. He had his hand in his lap like he was sitting for an old daguerreotype photo. His eyes were shining and bestial. Slice was sitting in a metal folding chair near the entrance to the adjoining restaurant. His bodyguard was standing behind Tariq as if he were about to give him a trim.
“You got fifteen minutes,” Slice said. Ike took a step toward Tariq.
“You can’t touch him. Ask your questions,” Slice said. Ike stepped back. Buddy Lee scratched his chin.
“We know you know where Tangerine is. Like we said, we ain’t trying to hurt her. We just need to talk to her,” Buddy Lee said. Tariq’s chest rose and fell in rapid succession.
“We can’t touch you now. But you have to leave eventually,” Ike said. Tariq flinched.
“I’m with Slice. You heard what he said,” Tariq said. His previous formidability was gone. He sounded like a kid asserting his allegiance to the biggest bully on the playground. Ike nodded at Buddy Lee.
“His son is dead. Mine, too. Do you really think I give a fuck who you with? You tell us where Tangerine is and you never have to wonder if that noise outside your window is me coming for you with a pair of pliers and an ice pick,” Ike said. Tariq considered his hands as if this were the first time he’d ever noticed them. If Slice was perturbed by the threat, he was keeping his feelings to himself as he scrolled through his phone.
“Look, we trying to help her. Because the people who killed our boys are still looking for her, and they ain’t gonna stop. Wherever she went, it ain’t fucking far enough,” Buddy Lee said.
“I told her to just stay with me, but she said she didn’t want to pull me into it. Said she was gonna go where no one would ever think to look for her. Go to where the ghosts are,” Tariq said. The swagger of Mr. Get Down was all gone. All that was left behind was heartbreak.
“Where’s that?” Buddy Lee asked. Tariq raised his head.
“She said the people chasing her were killers,” Tariq said.
“So are we,” Ike said. Tariq leaned his head back.
“Look, what happened this morning. I was trying to protect Tangy, ya know?” Tariq said.
“You tell us where she is and all is forgiven,” Ike said. Buddy Lee snorted. Ike shot him a look. Buddy Lee shrugged. He was getting used to Ike’s looks. Tariq slumped in the chair.
“She told me I talked a good game but I was just a shook one. That I was a social media gangster. And she was right. Mr. Get Down is just a nerd from Huguenot High School who learned how to work a drum machine and a keyboard. Y’all the real thing,” Tariq said. Ike didn’t respond.
“Cousin, you ain’t got no idea. Now where this girl at?” Buddy Lee said. Tariq put his face in his hands.
“If you find her, take care of her, okay? Promise that.”
“We got her,” Ike said. Tariq nodded.
“She went home. Back to Adam’s Road. Back to Bowling Green,” Tariq said.
“What’s her real name? I know Tangerine ain’t on her driver’s license,” Buddy Lee said.
“I don’t know. All I ever knew was Tangerine,” Tariq said. His face shuddered like he had bitten into a lemon.
“You lying. You know her name. You done come this far; don’t hold back now,” Buddy Lee said.
“Pliers and ice picks,” Ike said. Tariq’s eyes went from bestial to haunted.
“Uh … I … shit. Her name really is Tangerine. Tangerine Fredrickson. Are we cool now?” Tariq pleaded. Ike rolled his shoulders. They were still sore.
“We good,” Ike said.
“If it was up to me I’d feed you your hand until you shit fingers, but I guess we good,” Buddy Lee said. Ike shook his head.
“Let’s go,” Ike said. They turned and headed for the door.
“We even now. Remember that. All debts are paid,” Slice said. Ike stopped and glanced over his shoulder. Slice was still scrolling through his phone.
“Sure,” Ike said.
* * *
“Bowling Green is about an hour away if we take 301,” Buddy Lee said once they had gotten back in the truck.
“Yeah. You think he was telling the truth?” Ike said.
“I kinda believe he was. He got one of the worst tells I ever seen in my life. I hope he don’t play poker. Besides, he scared shitless of your friend. He ain’t lying,” Buddy Lee said.
Ike started the truck. “He ain’t my friend, and he should be terrified of him.”
* * *
“See, that wasn’t so bad. Riot must have put the fear of God in you the way you was going on,” Slice said.
“Those guys, they not gonna hurt her, are they? They not gonna hurt me, either, right? I mean we partners. They know that,” Tariq asked. Slice raised his head from his phone.
“Devonte, take this baby back to its crib.” Devonte grabbed Tariq by the arm and half carried him, half dragged him out of the barbershop. Slice touched the home screen on his phone. His call was answered on the second ring.
“You calling to pick up them MAC-10s?” Grayson asked.
“My mans told you they too hot right now. Can’t move those things nowhere,” Slice said.
“Then to what do I owe the pleasure?” Grayson said. Slice waited a beat before answering.
“Remember about a month ago when you was sweating everybody and they mama about a girl named Tangerine?” Slice said. Grayson breathed deeply but didn’t speak.
“Oh, I got yo
ur attention now, Sons of Anarchy?” Slice said.
“You got my interest. You tell me something I can use, you’ll get my attention,” Grayson said. Slice laughed.
“First, let’s lay down what this piece of information is worth,” Slice said.
“How much blood I gotta lose to get this info?” Grayson asked.
“Not enough for you to miss it. I’m looking to diversify one of my revenue streams,” Slice said.
“Aw, shit,” Grayson said.
“What’s that about?” Slice asked.
“Nothing, you just sound like somebody I know. Get to the point,” Grayson said.
“You got a connect to a good cooker for ice. I want to get me a meet with him. I may be willing to take a few kilos off his hands,” Slice said.
“I hope to God you on a burner,” Grayson said.
“I have a phone for every day of the week. Now, can you set it up?” Slice asked.
“I can, but I can’t make no promises. That boy twitchy,” Grayson said.
“I can handle twitchy. A bag full of hundreds can do wonders for your anxiety.”
“Alright. What you got?”
“Damn, you rush your lady like this? Shit,” Slice said.
“You got something or not, man?” Grayson said.
“Yeah, I got something for you. I heard from a little birdie that she staying out near a place called Adam’s Road in Bowling Green. If you leave right now, you might beat the two dudes looking for her,” Slice said.