Page 17 of Domino
“Good thing. I didn’t bring one,” Poe says.
Cosmo looks at him incredulously. “How in the hell can you roll into a situation like this and not come strapped?”
“Not lookin’ to shoot anybody today. My experience is when a man’s got a gun on him, he tends to use it.”
He says the last and casts a critical eye at both Derek and me. We both grimace and pull our pieces, locking them away in our saddlebags. Poe gives us both a satisfied nod. Cosmo, on the other hand, is looking at us like we’re idiots.
“You guys are idiots,” he says, confirming what he was thinking.
“We don’t need a gun to do what we need to do here, bro,” Poe replies. “At least we shouldn’t. If we can’t take down one little crackhead with our hands, we shouldn’t be in the business of taking down crackheads. Especially, not within city limits. Besides, I don’t think Mike wants us shootin’ up his bar.”
Cosmo concedes the point with a nod. “All the same to you, I’m still goin’ in strapped. These crackheads always seem to have a gun on ’em.”
Nobody refutes the point because it’s true. Doesn’t matter though. We can’t get caught with a gun, and we certainly can’t shoot anybody. Not in town. Although our relationship with Sheriff Singer improved after we saved his daughter—Monk’s old lady—there’s only so much he’s willing to do for us. Covering it up if we kill somebody, even an asshole slinging dope in town limits, would most definitely not be one of those things.
Most of the people know we help keep the peace in Blue Rock. The shop owners all seem to appreciate that we deal with the troublemakers who haven’t gotten the memo and will call us when somebody steps out of line. That’s why we’re at Ruby’s. Mike gave us a call to let us know there’s a guy who’s been coming into his bar for the last week, quietly slinging dope, and asked us to handle it.
“Okay, we go in and observe first. We’re just four guys havin’ a beer until I say otherwise,” Cosmo tells us. “We want to make sure we have the right guy, and that he’s actually doing what Mike thinks he is. Not that I doubt him, but I want verification. We clear?”
The three of us nod in unison and it feels like we’re back in the military, getting our orders before an op. Our mission discipline kicks in and that familiar adrenaline rush starts to take over. I don’t know a single person who doesn’t get amped up before an op. And while this may not be the same as kicking in doors searching for Taliban fighters, there may be a very real threat beyond the doors to the bar all the same.
“Okay, let’s go.”
We follow Cosmo into the bar, and I let the door swing shut behind us. The bar is dim, likely to hide the fact that Mike doesn’t do a great job of sanitizing the place. The feel of something sticky on the bottom of my boots only reinforces that point as I walk to the bar. The wood-paneled walls are covered with old concert posters, American flags, and stickers from all over the country. There’s one wall that’s nothing but license plates from other states, and an old-fashioned juke box in the corner… although it’s routed through speakers that are inconspicuously hidden around the bar.Journeyis currently playing to the half-filled bar.
There’s a long bar set against the wall to our right that’s chipped and nicked and usually gets a new coat of lacquer once every six months or so. Booths line the other three walls, and round tables that look a lot like the bar, are spread throughout the middle of the room. A doorway in the wall opposite the bar leads to a room with some pool tables and video games. I catch sight of the guy we’re looking for as he moves past the door. Giving Poe a nudge, I nod to the doorway.
“Target’s in the billiard room,” I say.
He nods and whispers to Cosmo. The four of us take a seat on the tall stools that front the bar and one of Mike’s girls, Jessie, a brunette wearing a halter top that accentuates her prodigious rack, drops bottles of beer in front of us. Mike is at the other end of the bar, on the phone, and gives us a nod.
“You boys are drinkin’ free today,” Jessie says.
Cosmo flashes her a grin. “We always drink free in here, darlin’.”
She gives him a wink and heads down to the other end of the bar. I take a long swallow of my beer and look over at Cosmo.
“So, how do we play this?” I ask.
He and Poe exchange a glance, some silent bit of communication passing between them. Both of them are wearing grins on their faces and turn back to me.
“Go try to score,” Poe says.
“Me?”
“We need to verify that he’s dealing. Best way to do that is to score from him,” Cosmo tells me.
“And we want to see how you perform under pressure,” Poe adds.
“What, you haven’t seen enough from me yet?” I ask.
Poe shrugs. “Life is always testing us in different ways. Consider this as us testing you in a different way as well.”
I roll my eyes. “Fine.”
“You’ll finally be able to put those theater classes you took in high school to use,” Derek says.
“Shut the fuck up, Prospect.”
