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As he pulled open the door, a cloud of cigarette smoke enveloped him, and if he thought the inside might be an improvement on the outside, he was sorely mistaken. The few windows in the place were covered in inch-thick grime that made Henri hope this place didn’t serve food, and the lighting overhead—if you could call it that—was a couple light bulbs here and there, screwed into stained-glass shades from the seventies.
This place was in direct contrast to The Popped Cherry, and was empty save for a guy watching the horses on a relic TV mounted in one corner, and another shooting pool on his own at the far end of the room. A beat-up bar was the centerpiece of the dump, and perched on one of the stools, talking with a burly, bald man with tattoos instead of sleeves, was Detective Dick.
As the door closed behind Henri, the four men in the place all looked in his direction. When Detective Dick’s eyes found his, he looked at his watch, implying Henri was late. Asshole.
“’Bout time you showed up,” Dick said, as he headed across the seen-better-days floor. “You get lost or something?”
“Well, it’s not like this place showed up on my fucking GPS. You mind if we take this outside? I’d like to make sure all the parts of my car are still there once we’re done.”
Dick grunted, picked up the glass in front of him, downed it in one gulp, then got to his feet.
“Yeah, yeah, calm your tits, Boudreaux. Let’s go.” Dick tossed a couple bills on the bar and then walked past Henri to push open the door.
When they came to a stop at the trunk of the car, Dick said, “This work better for you?”
Yeah, it fucking did, but Henri wasn’t about to give the detective the satisfaction of knowing that.
“I got in contact with one of my guys this morning. He’s reliable, well liked around the area, does a little bit of everything—including dealing some H. I thought he might be able to point me in this rAz’s direction.”
“And did he?”
Henri shoved his hands in his pockets and shrugged. “Not exactly, but he gave me the name of the guy he gets his product from. Says he’s heard him talking about someone who goes by that name.”
“Fucking hell, Boudreaux.” Dick sighed and ran a hand through his thick hair. “I thought you were bringing me something solid tonight. All I’m hearing is a whole lot of ‘he gave me the name of someone, who might know someone else, who could tell us something, maybe.’ Which is nothing solid.”
“Hey, you know what? Fuck you,” Henri said, glaring. He’d had a really good day up until this moment, and he’d be damned if he let this asshole ruin it. “I got you one step closer than you’ve been, so back the hell off. The next step is to track down the seller and get a face-to-face with this rAz guy. But if you have a better plan, or can come up with a quicker way to do all of that, by all means, tell me so I can stop looking forward to these little one-on-ones.”
When Henri was done with his outburst, the detective looked him over. “What crawled up your ass tonight?”
“Not a fucking thing. But I was having a good day and you just shit all over it.”
“Oh, I’m so sorry.”
“Yeah, I can tell. By the way, you look like shit.” And while he wouldn’t usually point that out, Henri figured it would piss the detective off—and, well, it was true. Dick’s suit was crumpled, his eyes were bloodshot, and he had at least two days of stubble on his stubborn chin.
“Watch yourself, Boudreaux.”
“Just pointing out the facts. You look like you need a week of sleep.”
“And now you sound like my fucking brother.” Henri again found himself wondering if this Bailey and his Bailey were related. “Give it a rest. How about you focus on why we’re here. What’s the seller’s name?”
“Ricky G.”
“Okay, and you’re gonna talk to him when?”
“As soon as fucking possible. Good enough?”
“That’s perfect,” Dick said, as his phone went off in his pocket. After a quick look at who was calling, the detective silenced the cell. “I gotta go. As soon as you know something, call me. And do not go to see this rAz guy without checking in and telling me where and when, you hear me?”
“Loud and clear, sir.”
“Very good. Now fuck off. I’ve got to go make this call.”
Henri didn’t need to be told twice; he was ready to get the hell out of there. As he climbed in the car and turned the key, he glanced in the rearview mirror and thought if his hot cop and Detective Dick here were related, that was going to make things very, very interesting.
