Page 108 of Tito

Tito’s nose wrinkled in opposition. “No whiskey or anything?”

“What’s wrong with your ears?” Hap asked. “I could hear Braxton’s smart mouth from across the street. You can’t hear me and you’re only five feet away. I said I’ve got wine. That’s what I’ve got. Wine.”

“What kind?” I asked.

“I don’t know,” Hap responded. “Some kind of red wine.”

Braxton reached into his pocket and retrieved a coin. “Heads, we’ll start drinking wine. Tails, I’ll go the liquor store and get more beer.” He flipped a coin high in the air and caught it. He slapped it against the back of his hand. “Call it, Old Man.”

Hap peered the length of the porch. His eyes thinned.

Braxton looked Hap up and down. His eyebrows raised. “Did you have a stroke?”

“Why the fuck would you ask something like that?” Hap growled. “You’re an insensitive prick.”

“Well, you were just standing there staring at me. I thought maybe you suffered a stroke.”

Hap looked down his nose at Braxton. “Fuck you, Son. I was thinking.”

“There are two available options, Old Man,” Braxton said, sounding frustrated. “Heads or tails. Call it.”

Hap nodded toward Braxton’s hand. “Heads, asshole.”

Braxton lifted his hand. “Tails. Looks like you’re drinking wine.”

“Son-of-a-bitch!” Hap said through clenched teeth. “Two out of three. Flip it again.”

“What’s in it for me?” Braxton asked. “I’m fine with wine. You’re not. I just won. You lost. Why would I want to chance losing on a two out of three bet?”

“Two out of three, you little prick,” Hap said. “Flip the fucking coin.”

“Tito and I can go get some beer,” I said.

“Sit down, sweetheart,” Hap said. “I don’t want you to go get it. I want Brax to go get it.”

“It’s three blocks from here,” I said. “It’s not a—”

“Two out of three, asshole,” Hap snarled. “Or, are you afraid to lose to the Old Man?”

“It’s not like we’re arm wrestling or target shooting,” Braxton said with a laugh. “I’m flipping a coin. It’s fifty-fifty. There’s no skill.”

“There’s skill in calling it,” Hap insisted. “Any whistle dick can flip a coin. Takes a man with skill to call it. Flip it, asshole.”

Braxton flipped the coin, caught it, and slapped it against his wrist. He looked up. “Call it.”

Hap crossed his arms over his chest. “Heads.”

Braxton lifted his hand and revealed the coin. Immediately, he started to laugh. “Tails.”

“Fucking horseshit,” Hap seethed, turning away. “I’ll be back in a minute.”

Hap went into the house and clamored around for a few minutes. He returned with four glasses and a bottle of Pinot Noir. He lifted the bottle and peered at the label. “Pee-Noe Nwar. This ought to be fun,” he said snidely. “I’ll be surprised if I don’t barf up my lunch.”

“You shouldn’t have left the beer cooler out all night,” Braxton nagged.

Hap glared. “You should have flipped the coin higher, you weak-wristed turd.”

I glanced back and forth between them. “Do you two ever stop?”