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“Fisher’s business.”
“What make you think I’ll answer?”
“Because I asked nicely.” When Little D stood up, he towered over Narsh.
Narsh narrowed his eyes and snorted. “Ast nicely. You funny, big man. Well, the bigger you are, the harder you fall, mutherfucker.”
“Just have a seat,” Little D said. The voice of reason. “And talk to us.”
“Fuck you.” Narsh started to walk off. Little D grabbed his shoulder and Narsh swung at him with his right fist. But Little D was light on his feet for a big guy. He blocked the punch with his arm. Narsh swung again with his left, but missed when Little D ducked out of reach. Narsh tried again with his right. Little D sidestepped the punch, grabbed Narsh, and flipped him onto the floor.
Narsh lay there, shaking his head and looking like he didn’t know what hit him. In the background, the jukebox diva was stretching the word “love” out to four syllables.
“Well done,” I murmured.
“Tai chi,” Little D replied. He offered his hand to Narsh. “Ready to talk now?” he asked.
“Sure, sure,” Narsh said. He scrambled into a crouch. As he rose, I saw him reach into his jacket pocket.
“D—” I said. But Little D had seen the move. He grabbed Narsh’s wrist, twisted his arm behind his back. A large handgun thudded to the floor.
“Muther . . . fucker!” Narsh arched backward, his face contorted in pain. “Let me the fuck go!”
“If you’re ready to talk.”
“Okay, okay. Shit.”
Little D let go. Narsh rubbed his wrist and glared.
Extending an arm toward the booth, Little D said, “Have a seat.” He picked up the gun, checked the chamber, removed the clip, and handed the empty weapon to Narsh. “You get the rest back after we get some answers.”
Narsh slid into the booth, opposite me, and Little D sat beside Narsh, who looked quizzically at my face beneath the cap.
“More tai chi?” I said, feeling more at ease.
“Nah. Sometimes brute force is called for.” Little D removed bullets from the clip, then glanced at Narsh. “I’ll start. You do a lot of business for Fisher, don’t you?”
“What if I do?”
“A lot of business ain’t exactly legal.”
“What if it ain’t?”
I placed a copy of the ledger in front of Narsh. “Can you tell me who these people are?”
Narsh squinted. “Look, I dunno nothin’. I’m jus’ a runner, see? Even if I knew, I can’t be going around talkin’ about it.”
“But this does represent income Fisher hasn’t claimed, doesn’t it?”
“You with the IRS?”
I shook my head.
“Then whatchoo care, bitch?”
Little D dropped the clip. His hand shot up and clamped Narsh’s neck. “You will use a poli
te tone when addressing my friend,” he said.
