I say, “Ray seems really nice.”
“He is.”
Carlos leans his arms on his knees, looking a bit more serious.
“There’s certain stuff I don’t talk about at the bar,” he says. “Stuff like my home life.”
“Or your car.”
“Especially not my car.”
I pause for a minute, trying to phrase the question right.
“Do you think anyone is going to judge you? I mean, especially the crowd at Bamboo House?”
He leans back in the easy chair and nods thoughtfully. Then smiles faintly.
“Easy for you to say, Mr. Can Beat Up Five Guys at Once and Not Break a Sweat. When someone bashes me—and they have—I go to the hospital and have to close the bar for days.” He shakes his head. “It’s not worth it.”
I lean in a little closer.
“You know I’ll fucking destroy anyone who tries that, right?”
He nods as Ray comes in with the coffee.
“I appreciate the thought,” says Carlos. “But you’re not always around. Especially lately. Which brings us to why you’re here, so let’s just focus on that, okay?”
He looks at Ray and slaps him on the leg.
“I had a feeling this was more than a random social visit,” Ray says.
“That it is,” says Carlos.
I reach for the coffee.
“You need cream or sugar?” says Ray, but Carlos waves a dismissive hand at me.
“He drinks it black, like some kind of animal. You could probably serve him tar and he wouldn’t notice.”
“Carlos is right,” I say. “Not about the tar. The other part.”
Ray takes a sip of his coffee and sets down the cup on the delta table. I drink mine too. I can’t taste anything, but I want to be polite.
“Why don’t you tell me about why you’re here?” says Ray.
Before I can answer, Carlos says. “Despite appearances, Stark here is dead.”
Ray cocks his head and looks at me.
“I wouldn’t have guessed,” says Ray. “You wear death well.”
I pick up my coffee but don’t drink it.
“It’s not quite as bad as Carlos says. I’m only half-dead.”
Carlos says, “He didn’t exactly say it, but I’m guessing he pissed off a necromancer who was supposed to make him all the way alive.”
“That’s pretty much it,” I say.