Black Buck(77)

22





When we pulled up to my apartment on night two, I saw Brian sitting on the steps, shivering and looking over his shoulder like he was going to get in trouble just for being there. In all honesty, I wouldn’t have been surprised if one of my neighbors had called the cops on a “suspicious individual.”

“Yerrr!” I shouted from the Tesla. The bass from Kendrick Lamar’s “Swimming Pools” shook the car. Brian squinted, confused. I let the chorus play on, deciding if my plan for the night was a good one.

“Turn it down, Chauncey!” I screamed over the song. “Yo, Brian. Get the fuck in, man. Can’t you tell it’s me?”

He looked up and walked down the steps toward the car. “No, yeah, I knew it was you. It just looked like you were having fun, that’s all.”

“I was, and we’re about to have even more. Get in before Chauncey hops out and tries to open the door for you. You must be colder than Jeffrey Dahmer’s freezer.”

Reluctantly, he got in and sat next to me.

“Hello,” Chauncey said, greeting Brian with his big ivory smile. “Pleased to meet you.”

“Nice to meet you too. I gotta say”—he laughed—“this is the nicest Uber I’ve ever seen.”

“It’s because it’s not an Uber,” I said, patting Chauncey’s shoulder. We started toward Third Avenue.

“So,” Chauncey said, looking in the rearview. “Where to, sir?”

“The Belfry, please. It’s on Fourteenth between Second and Third.”

“Yes, sir.”

I grabbed Brian’s thigh and he flinched. “Relax, man. How was your day? Any crazy shenanigans at Starbucks?”

“The usual,” he said. His black eye somehow had gotten blacker and shined like a recently polished bowling ball. “What’s the Belfry? I thought we were going to continue with the sales training.”

“We are. But not at my place. The whole ‘Good Will Hunting dry-erase board’ routine wasn’t working, and even though you got a nice shiner last night,” I said, poking the lumpy bag under his eye, “the hands-on experience was effective.”

He looked forward, gripping his knees, and his Adam’s apple bobbed in his throat.

When we arrived, I hopped out and held the door open for Brian, who was still glued to his seat. “After you.”

“This looks like a bar,” he said.

“An astute observation, Brian. If you keep this up, you’ll be a master salesman in no time.”

“Why—why are we at a bar, Darren?”

“Come and you’ll find out. And stop calling me Darren, man. It’s Buck now.”

He stared at me like a trapped animal, wide eyes laced with fear. Like any good villain in one of those PETA propaganda videos, I reached in and violently dragged him out, causing him to trip and fall on the sidewalk.

As Chauncey drove away, Brian’s eyes followed the Tesla with obvious sadness. “Get up,” I said, and offered my hand.

The bar had an old-time saloon feel to it. It was dimly lit, with low circular wooden tables, flickering candles, exposed brick, and lanterns that stretched across the ceiling all the way to the back, where neo-yuppies gorged themselves on pickles, craft beer, and the possibility of getting laid.

“Why are we here?” Brian looked around as if he’d never been in a bar before.

“Relax, man. We’re just going to get a drink and kick it. The stiffer you are, the worse this will all be. Two Delirium Tremens,” I said to the thick Asian woman behind the bar.

She glanced at Brian, who looked like he was about to throw up, then at me, and asked, “You sure?”

“Sure as steel.”

“Darren, I mean Buck, please tell me why we’re here. It feels like I’m gonna get punched in the face again.”

“First,” I said, smiling at him and raising my beer. “Cheers.”

We clinked glasses and I drained half of mine in one gulp. Brian took a tiny sip and set it back down on the cork coaster, his hand shaking like he needed a fix.

“We are here,” I said, scanning the room with my finger, “forrrrrrrrr . . . her.” I settled on a racially ambiguous girl with high cheekbones, a nice smile, frizzy hair, and olive skin that glowed in the candlelight. She was, without a doubt, a solid ten. And she was sitting alone.

Brian turned to me and took a heavy gulp of his beer. “Uh, is that a friend of yours?”

I laughed and shook my head.

“Someone you’re looking to do business with?”

I shook my head again.

“This isn’t what I think it is, is it, Buck?”

I took my eyes off her and turned to him, placing a hand on his shoulder. “It is, Brian. You’re going to pick her up.”

The guy just stared at me like I had said something in a foreign language and he didn’t know if I was complimenting him on his looks or cursing out his mother. After a second, he decided it was the latter. “No. No way. I’m not going to embarrass myself, Buck.”

“You’re right, you won’t. As long as you follow the plan.”

He threw his arms out to the side. “Plan? Look at me. Take a good look at me. I’m wearing an old hoodie, faded jeans, a ripped T-shirt, and dirty Converses.”