Right as Rain

Some of the black men down along the bar were looking at the two of them, not bothering to look away when Qui

The bartender was approaching, and Strange said to Qui

'Too early for me,' said Qui

'Give me a ginger ale,' said Strange to the bartender, who sported a damp toothpick behind his ear. 'From a bottle.'

'I'll have a Coke the same way.'

Qui

'Your soda's up,' said Strange. 'Go

Qui

'Remember this one?' said Qui

'Sure. Had that little Scottish freak in the video. That girl was delicious, man.'

'You like Prince? Just curious, seeing as how it's not your era and all that.'

'He's all right. But he's got a little too much bitch in him, you want to know the truth.'

'Hate to break it to you, but I think the little guy gets a whole lot of play.'

'Maybe so, but I listen to his music, I picture the way he's licking his fingers to smooth down his eyebrows, crawling across the floor, wearing that makeup and shit… can't get past it, I guess.'

'Racism's bad, but that kind of ism is all right.'

'Just being honest with you. You get to know me better, you'll see; I tell it straight, whether you're go

'It's black men in general who can't deal with that homosexuality thing, you ask me. If you were really honest, you'd admit it.'

'Now you're go

Strange found his snitch back in the hall that led to the kitchen and bathrooms, and returned ten minutes later. He told Qui

'What's upstairs?'

'Private lap dances, shit like that.'

'I'll come with you. Don't worry, I'm not going to get in your way.'

'Look, I'm just checking out the situation. Might not be the right time and place to try and bring him in.'

'Understood.' Qui

'What's that?'

'Your receipt.'

Strange inspected it: a playing card showing a photograph of a bare-breasted woman on its face. Across her breasts was written, 'In receipt of seven-dollar cover charge, for strip bar, Toot Sweet.'

'Fu

'You told him to be creative.'

'My accountant's go

They walked up a red-carpeted set of stairs. A guy was coming down, and he moved aside to let them pass, not looking them in the eye. There was an oval spot of wetness high on the front of the man's jeans, just below the crotch.

'You see that?' said Strange, as they hit the top of the stairs. 'Man must have spilled something on his self.'

'Yeah,' said Qui

'Bible says you're not supposed to do that.'

'Probably on his way to confession right now.'

'I was him, I wouldn't be wearing those blue jeans into church.'

Up on the second floor, the lamps were conical and dimmed, and smoke hung in their light. Another bar ran along the wall, and there were tables spread around the bulk of the room, some in darkness, some barely lit. At the tables, a few guys were getting lap-danced by girls wearing G-strings, nothing else. The girls used their crotches, breasts, and backsides to rub one off for the customers, who were sitting low in chrome-armed chairs, languid smiles on their faces. The music up here was slow and funky, heavy on the wa-wa pedal, with a deep, silky male vocal in the mix.

Strange and Qui

'This here's more like it,' said Strange. 'Joy, by Isaac Hayes. I had the vinyl on this one, too. You could hear the champagne bubbles rising when you listened to the record on a nice box. But on the CD the sound quality just doesn't make it.' He nodded to a light-ski

'Can I get you gentlemen a drink?' asked the girl as she arrived.

'Waitin' on a third party to join us,' said Strange, who was squinting, not looking directly at the girl, looking around the room. He pulled the Coles photograph from his jacket pocket, along with the Coles papers he had taken from the file box in the trunk. He studied the photograph until the girl spoke again.

'How about a private dance?'

'Maybe later, baby.'

'We've got a special on champagne.'

'Later, hear?'

She gave him a look, then gave Qui

Strange said, 'They're selling some bullshit off-brand, two steps down from cold duck, for fifty dollars a bottle to these poor suckers in here. Guys making minimum wage, taking home one hundred and sixty a week, come in here on a Friday night and spend it all in an hour. Walk out of here after a hard week of work with nothin' to show for it but a headache and a big old stain on the front of their drawers.'

'You some kind of expert?'

Strange looked over Qui

'Need some company?'

'Been doin' this for a long time. I think I'll just go ahead and handle it myself.'

'Fine. I'll be back in the bathroom, taking a leak.'

Qui

The man wants to be left alone, thought Qui

Strange was walking toward the table where Sherman Coles was sitting, and had gotten to within a few yards of it, when another man emerged from out of the shadows. He was a very big man, with wide shoulders and hard, chiseled features. The cut of his biceps showed beneath his shiny shirt.

Strange stopped walking just as the man flanked Coles. He could have averted his eyes, kept going past the table, but they had watched his approach all the way and would say something or stop him if he tried the dodge. He knew his shot at Coles was over for today. Any way he looked at it, he was burned. It made no sense for him to turn his back on them, though, or walk past them, anything else. He had to stop and let it play out. And he was curious to know what Coles had to say.