“Nah, but why don’t y’all just stay here? I have a few people I need to speak to anyway,” she was saying.
Horace and Stan took their places at the small table. When they looked up to find Alex watching them stonily, they exchanged knowing smiles.
“Sorry for the intrusion, kid,” Stan said as he grinned.
Alex only waved. “I just can’t get over how many of my boys know this woman and I only met her yesterday.”
Horace shrugged. “Hell, man, you been caught up with that paper and stuff, you know?”
The reminder brought a tight grimace to Alex’s mouth. “So what’s up?” he asked, clenching a fist in hopes of warding off unwelcome thoughts.
The partners turned serious. “We had an interesting conversation ’bout two weeks ago,” Stan explained, “with a guy who owns one of the other businesses on the block.”
“The brotha had dropped a few hints that he was thinkin’ of sellin’ despite the fact that business was good,” Horace continued. “Our side of town is a prime spot and the man was only in business lil’ over six months.”
Alex appeared disinterested. “What’s strange about that? Maybe after six months he’d already grown tired of the grind.”
“A week after that conversation, he sold,” Stan announced. “Then we talked to another guy on the block who was speakin’ the same stuff.”
“He sold the following week,” Horace explained. “And we’d just attended a party for him to celebrate his fortieth year in the family business.”
Stan leaned forward. “The place had been passed down to all the firstborns or somethin’,” he saw fit to add.
Alex shrugged. “I still don’t see what’s so strange. Maybe those cats got offers they couldn’t refuse.”
“We don’t buy it,” Horace and Stan said in unison.
“Look, Xan,” Horace called, tapping on the table, “some fool’s been sniffin’ around our offices, askin’ our people all kinds of crap. It’s all been real laid-back, nothin’ too involved. They just recently approached us.”
Alex’s easy expression slowly adopted its usually guarded appearance. “Why y’all comin’ to me with this?”
“You know why.”
“I hope not,” Alex retorted, his gaze shifting out across the room.
Horace and Stan exchanged uneasy looks.
“Xan,” Stan called, waiting for Alex to look his way, “we believe our neighbors were forced to sell. When we set a time to meet with this guy, we want you there so he knows he ain’t dealin’ with a couple of saps.”
Alex muttered a fierce obscenity, clearly disapproving of his friend’s reasoning. “Rice Securities is no more. I don’t resort to that heavy crap no more. Y’all know that.”
“We know that, man. We know,” Horace soothed, stretching his hands across the table in a pleading gesture. “You don’t have to say a damn thing. We just want you there for intimidation purposes.”
Alex couldn’t help but laugh then, his sour mood suddenly lightening. He groaned, massaging his temple while shaking his head. “Just tell me when you need me there, all right?”
The partners grinned broadly as they stood. Both shook hands with Alex and promised they would be in touch when they knew more.
“You think we should tell Topaz about this?” Horace asked when they were leaving the table.
Stan thought it over, then shook his head. “I really don’t think it’s gonna be necessary once Marlon Sanders meets us.”
Horace glanced across his shoulder. “Hmph, once he meets Alex Rice,” he clarified.
At his table, Alex was thinking about the way he was still perceived—even by his closest friends. His infamous background began with a job he’d acquired as a bouncer at the age of nineteen. Soon, he began to accompany the club’s owner on matters pertaining to the man’s side business, which was loan sharking. Alex’s new responsibilities included collecting on his boss’s accounts.
Alex groaned as his mind clouded with memories of broken arms, legs, hands, etc. He had been determined, doggedly so, to push those acts as far from the forefront of his mind as possible. He hated the person—the animal—he had been in those days. The only payoff—if it could be called that—was the respect. People would always respect him. Of course, with the wisdom that comes with age, he now wondered if the respect people held for him was actually fear.
A throat being cleared nearby pulled him back into the present. He found Topaz standing next to the table. Beside her was the waiter with their drinks.
“Let me get that,” he sighed, reaching into his pocket for a few bills, which he placed on the waiter’s square tray.
“Thank you, sir,” the young man gushed, knowing the wad of bills meant a hefty tip was included. After setting the drinks down he bade them a good evening and headed off.
“You okay?” Topaz asked once they were alone. She’d reclaimed her seat and leaned back to watch him closely. “Horace and Stan didn’t say anything to get on your bad side, did they?” she teased.
Alex only chuckled.
“Things looked pretty serious over here a minute ago.” This time, Alex shrugged. “If you know Horace and Stan, then you know how uptight they can be. Sometimes it wears off on you.”
Topaz raised her hand. “Say no more. I know what you mean.”
“Good,” he said, taking a sip of the scotch and soda he’d ordered. “Plus, I rather discuss whether or not you’re going out with me.”
Topaz followed the line of her index finger as she traced the rim of her margarita glass with a nail. “If you recall, we never got around to discussing what you had in mind.”
