Quinn knew Strange had warned him to stay off, and he considered this while he continued on, and then he was standing next to Strange, thinking, I'm here, I can't change that now. He spread his stance close to the table, looked down on Sherman Coles, and affected his cop posture. It was the way he used to dominate, standing outside the driver's-side window of a car he'd stopped out on the street.
'Here go your backup,' said Coles. 'What you think, Richard? This salt-and-pepper team we got here, they cops?'
'Look more like the Orkin 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 Coles 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 guess.'
'Damn right you do,' said Strange, glancing back to see the subject of Quinn's attention.
Strange saw Quinn watch Richard Coles as he headed off down the hall past the end of the bar.
'Here you go, man,' said Strange, paying the bartender, taking his receipt.
'Appreciate it,' said the bartender, and Quinn turned and read the man's name, Dante, which was printed on a tag he wore pinned to his white shirt.
'You ready?' said Strange to Quinn.
'Gotta take a leak.'
'Another one? You just ran some water through it five minutes ago.'
'The upstairs head was out of order. I'll see you out at the car.'
Strange said, 'Right,' and walked from the bar. Quinn waited until he was gone and then headed down the hall.
On his way out, Strange told the doorman he'd be right back. He walked quickly to his car and pulled a set of handcuffs and a sap from the trunk, sliding the sap in to the breast pocket of his jacket, then went back into the club. He took the steps up to the second floor two at a time and moved through the table area to the four-top where Sherman Coles still sat.
Coles's eyes widened, watching Strange moving in his direction, purpose in his step. Coles's neck jerked, birdlike, as he looked around the bar, searching frantically for a familiar face.
'Right here, Sherman,' said Strange, and he kicked the table into Coles, sending him to the floor in a shower of drink and live ashes.
Strange got Coles up to his feet, turned him, and yanked his arms up, forcing Coles to his knees. Strange put his own knee to Coles's back while he cuffed him, and then he pulled Coles to his feet.
Strange drew his wallet, flipped it open, and showed his license to the room in general.
'Investigator!' shouted Strange. 'Don't no one interfere and everything's gonna be all right!'
He did this in situations like this one, and nearly every time it worked. It wasn't a lie and to most people, 'investigator' meant cop. The waitresses and patrons and the men who were being lap-danced all stopped what they were doing, but no one came near him and no one interfered.
Strange kept his wallet open, holding it out for all to see, as he pushed Coles along towards the stairs.
'Where my brother at, man?' said Coles.
'That white man I was with, he's talking to him, I expect.'
'Richard'll kill him.'
'Keep walkin', man.'
On the stairs, Coles lost his footing. Strange pulled him back upright with a jerk to his arms.
Coles looked over his shoulder and said, 'Bounty hunter, like I thought.'
'They call us bail agents now, Sherman.'
'Knew you'd be back,' mumbled Coles. 'You had that look in your eye.'
'Yeah,' said Strange. 'But you didn't know I'd be back so soon.'
Quinn walked down the hall, shakily singing along under his breath to another Prince tune that was playing now in the main portion of the club. There were small speakers hung in the hall, but their sound was trebly, not bass heavy like out near the stages, and this thin, shrill tone made his blood jump, as did the thought of what he was about to do.
'Gonna be a beautiful night, gonna be a beautiful night…'
Quinn went straight back to the end of the hall, pushed on a swinging door, and went through the frame into a fluorescent-lit, dirty kitchen. The light came up bright off the steel prep tables that were spread about the room.
'Amigo,' said Quinn to a small Salvadorian with a thin mustache, wearing a stained white apron, leaning against a prep table near the back of the kitchen and smoking a cigarette.