R.C., the bartender, Janie, the pool players and the delivery guys were all staring out the window now. The games had been suspended. R.C.'s interest in Janie had shriveled.
"Not safe, man. Gimme a vodka and Coke."
"Out. I'm not telling you again."
"You don't think I can pay you. I got fucking money here. What you call this?"
The man's odor had wafted throughout the bar. It was repulsive.
Sometimes you burn to death . . .
"The wire man, the wire man . . ."
"Get the fuck out. Somebody's going to steal your fucking grocery cart."
"I ain't going out there. You can't make me go. I ain't getting burnt up."
"Out."
"No!" The disgusting asshole slammed his fist down on the bar. "You ain't service . . . you ain't serving me," he corrected, " 'cause I'm black."
R.C. saw a flash on the street. He gasped. Then he relaxed. It was just a reflection off the windshield of a passing car. Getting spooked like that made him all the angrier. "We ain't servicing you 'cause you stink and you're a prick. Out."
The man had assembled all his wet bills and sticky coins. He must've had twenty dollars. He muttered, "You the prick. You throwing me out and I'll go out there and get burnt up."
"Just take your money and get out." Stipp picked up the bat and displayed it.
The man didn't care. "You throw me out I'ma tell ever'body what goes on here. I know what goes on here, you think I don't? I seen you looking at Miss Titty over there. An', shame on you, you got a wedding ring on. Whatta Mrs. Prick think 'bout--"
R.C. grabbed the guy's disgusting jacket with both hands.
When the black guy winced in panic and cried, "Don' hit me! I'm a, you know, a cop! I'm a agent!"
"You're no fucking law." R.C. drew back for a head butt.
In a fraction of a second the FBI ID appeared in his face, and the Glock wasn't far behind.
"Oh, fuck me," R.C. muttered.
One of the two white guys who'd come in just before him said, "Duly witnessed, Fred. He attempted to cause bodily harm after you identified yourself as a law enforcement officer. We get back to work now?"
"Thanks, gentlemen. I'll take it from here."
Chapter 66
IN THE CORNER of the pool parlor, Fred Dellray sat on a wobbly chair, the back turned around, facing the youngster. It was a little less intimidating--the back of the chair in between them--but that was okay because the agent didn't need R.C. to be so afraid he couldn't think straight.
Though he needed him to be a little afraid.
"You know what I am, R.C.?"
The sigh shook the skinny kid's entire body. "No, I mean, I know you're an FBI agent and you're undercover. But I don't know why you're hassling me."
Dellray kept right on going, "What I am is a walking lie detector. I been in the business so long I can look at a girl and hear her say, 'Let's go home and we can fuck,' and I know she's thinking, He'll be so drunk by the time we get there I can just get some sleep."
"I was just protecting myself. You were intimidating me."
"Fuck, yes, I was intimidating you. And you can just close your lips and not say a word and wait for a lawyer to come by and hold your hand. You can even call the federal building and complain about me. But, e