Right as Rain by George P. Pelecanos Page A

army,” said Richard. “What’s with those jackets, huh? Those y’all’s uniforms?”
    Strange realized for the first time that he and Quinn were both wearing black leather. Another thing for these jokers to crack on, but he didn’t care. Now that Quinn had made the mistake of joining him, he was focusing on how the two of them were going to walk away. And then he began to think about Quinn’s short fuse. And Strange thought, Maybe we ought to stay.
    “I don’t think they’re cops,” said Coles.
    “White boy’s too short to be a cop,” offered Richard.
    No, I’m not, thought Quinn.
    “Look more like bounty hunters to me,” said Richard. His voice was soft in a dangerous kind of way, and it was difficult to hear him over the wa—wa and bass pumping through the house system.
    “Kind of what I was thinking, too, Richard.” Coles looked at Strange. “That what you are, old man? A bounty hunter?”
    “Like I said,” said Strange, keeping his voice on the amiable side. “I thought you were someone else. I made a mistake.”
    “Now, why you want to lie?” said Coles.
    “’Cause he scared?” said Richard. “He does look a little scared. And
white
boy looks like he’s about to dirty his drawers. How about it, white boy, that so?”
    “How about what?” said Quinn.
    “You gonna soil your laundry, or you gonna walk away right now before you do?”
    “What’d you say?” said Quinn.
    “Was I stutterin’?” said Richard, his eyes bright and hard.
    “Let’s go,” said Strange.
    “Don’t you know,” said Richard, smiling at Quinn, “white man just
afraid
of the black man.”
    “Not this white man,” said Quinn.
    “Oh, ho—ho,” said Richard, “now Little Man Tate gonna give us some of that fire—in—the—belly stuff. That’s what you gonna do now,
bitch?”
    Strange tugged on Quinn’s sleeve. Quinn held his ground and stared at Richard. Richard laughed.
    “We’re leaving now,” said Strange.
    “What’s a matter?” said Coles, holding his wrists out and together as if he were waiting for cuffs. “Ain’t you gonna take me in?”
    “Maybe next time,” said Strange, his tone jocular. “See you fellas later, hear?”
    Coles broke the imaginary chains on his wrists, raised the snifter in a mock toast. He drank and placed the glass back down on the table.
    “When your bosses or whoever ask you why you came back empty—handed,” said Coles, “tell ’em you ran into Sherman Coles and his kid brother. Tell him it was us who punked you out.”
    Strange nodded, the light draining from his eyes.
    “We told you our names, white boy,” said Richard, his gaze on Quinn. “Ain’t you got one?”
    Strange pulled harder on Quinn’s jacket. “Come on, man, let’s go.”
    This time Quinn complied. They walked toward the stairs, the Cole brothers’ laughter on Quinn’s back like the stab of a knife.
    AT the downstairs bar, Strange signaled the bartender for his unpaid tab and yelled out over the music for the tender to bring back a receipt. Strange turned to Quinn, who stood with his back against the bar, looking out into the crowd.
    “Stupid, man. What’d I tell you about interfering with my shit?”
    “I wasn’t thinking,” said Quinn. It was the first thing he’d said since their conversation with the Coles brothers on the second floor. “What do you do now? You ever gonna take him in?”
    “Oh, I’ll take him in. Didn’t figure on Sammy Davis Jr. havin’ a baby brother looked like Dexter Manley. Gonna be real calm about it, though, and wait for the moment. It’s just work, got nothin’ to do with emotion. I had the situation under control until you stepped in, tried to get all Joe Kidd on their asses. You got to learn to eat a little humble pie now and again.”
    “Yeah,” said Quinn, watching Richard Coles come down the stairs and sidle up next to a waitress. Richard was bending forward to whisper in the girl’s ear. “I’ve got to work on that, I