Blacktop Wasteland(56)

“What can I get you?” the bartender asked.

“Four Royal Flushes.”

“Coming right up.”

“A Royal Flush is the hardest hand to get in poker. Almost never happens,” a man sitting to Beauregard’s right said. Beauregard turned and gave him a nod.

“Yeah, that’s what they say,” he remarked. He wasn’t sure that was what they said or not, he was just making conversation.

“Yeah, the Dead Man’s Hand is more common,” the man said. He moved his hair out of his face. Beauregard saw he was scarred worse than the bar top.

“What?”

The man smiled at Beauregard.

“Aces and eights. The Dead Man’s Hand. Wild Bill Hickok was holding that when somebody snuck up behind him and blew his head off,” the man said.

“Oh yeah, that’s right,” Beauregard said. The bartender returned with the shots. He placed them in front of Beauregard and slipped away. Beauregard gathered up the four shot glasses and started to leave.

“Personally, I wouldn’t never sneak up behind a fella. If I was going to kill you, I’d just pull up and put two in your face. That’s how they taught us in Iraq. Double tap,” the man said.

Beauregard stopped and studied the man’s ruined face. The man was still smiling. “Uh huh. Well, you have a nice night,” Beauregard said. He gathered the shots and returned to the table. A new song came on the jukebox and some couples made their way back to the dance floor. Beauregard handed everyone their shots.

“Woohoo. I felt that in my toes,” Kelvin said. His friend laughed and leaned into him.

“Damn, you trying to get me drunk and take advantage of me, Bug?” Kia asked. Her skin shimmered under a patina of sweat and glitter makeup. Beauregard tickled her chin.

“It ain’t taking advantage, if you want it,” he said. Kelvin burst out in high peals of laughter.

“Smart-ass,” Kia said but then she leaned in and kissed him again. Beauregard kissed her back, then surreptitiously peered over her shoulder. The man with the scarred face was staring at him.

Beauregard dropped his eyes. He hugged his wife, then gave the bar a quick once-over. He recognized most of the patrons or had an idea who they were save for the man at the bar and two men sitting at a table near the far-right wall. They were both Beauregard’s height but considerably wider. They were wearing blue blazers and black T-shirts. They both had a mug of beer in front of them, but they had barely touched them.

Beauregard studied their faces. They were exceptionally unremarkable. Flat doughy visages with a narrow slash for a mouth. The only thing that stood out about them were their eyes. Dead brown eyes like pennies that had been buried in the dirt.

Red Hill County was not a place that strangers visited often. It wasn’t at the crossroads of any major highways. The interstate on-ramp was mainly an escape route for the locals. Unfamiliar faces were a rarity. Beauregard watched the two men at the table. They stared straight ahead or occasionally up at the ceiling. They never once turned their heads toward the bar. They never looked in the direction of the scarred man.

“Listen to your gut. The day you don’t, it’s going to be a shitty situation.”

He’d overheard his father say that dozens of times. A crude saying but also an accurate one. His gut was talking to him now. Whispering to him that there was something up with the three unfamiliar faces.

Beauregard pulled out his phone and sent Kelvin a text.

Take the girls outside.

Kelvin picked up his phone. He read the message and typed a response.

What’s up?

Beauregard’s fingers flew over the screen.

Guys at the table and the bar. I need to check them out.

Kelvin sent back a long response.

You want me to send them home?

Not going to leave you.

3 on 2 is better than 3 on 1.

“Who you texting?” Kia asked. She reached for his phone. Beauregard grabbed her wrist and pulled her hand to his mouth and kissed it. She rolled her eyes and pulled her hand away. “Everybody you know is here,” she said. She was grinning like a mad clown.

“Jamal bringing a car to the shop. I gotta go down there and open up.”

Kia slipped out of her chair and into Beauregard’s lap. She threw her arms around his neck.

“Noooo, you can’t leave. We just getting started.” She kissed Beauregard on the neck, but he thought she was aiming for his cheek.

“You drunk, boo. I’m gonna get Kelvin to take y’all home. It’s midnight and we gotta get the boys. K, you mind taking them home and picking up Darren and Javon?” Beauregard asked.

“You sure?” Kelvin asked. The jocularity that had been in his voice earlier had evaporated.

“Yeah, I’m sure. I’ll call you tomorrow.”

“Bug, I’ll ride with you,” Kia said.

“Baby, you need to go home. You gotta work tomorrow. Go with Kelvin and them. I’ll be home after a while,” he said.

“What’s wrong?” Kia asked.

“Nothing. Just gotta go open up for Jamal. One day I’m gonna get my own wrecker truck and we won’t have this problem,” he said. He tickled her chin again, but her face was slack.

“NO, something’s wrong.” she slurred. The last shot was hitting her. It had also apparently improved her lie-detecting skills.