Pulp Friction: Atlanta

Defiance Chapter 4

The bottle of Don Pilar was already on the table, two glasses poured, two waters on the side. The plate of limes and salt sat in the middle of the glasses, where they would likely remain untouched. They usually did.

"Thanks." I tossed back the first glass before I even sat down. Sliding into the black leather bench of the dark booth, I poured a second glass and tossed it back, too. It suddenly seemed like a great idea to get completely shitfaced.

"Never necessary. And you know that's sipping tequila." We smiled at each other. It was the look of longtime friends with hundreds of favorite lines from past conversations.

"You might have said that before. This needing each other shit is becoming a habit," I said. It had only been a few days since I'd shown up to pick him up from jail. Wick hadn't technically needed a ride from me—but a little bird let me know he was being released and I thought a surprise was in order. Not that he'd actually done anything wrong—it'd been part of a case he'd been working—but that got me thinking about the fed. "So, hear anything from that guy? What was his name? Fred? Ked? You know, the one you left standing there with his heart on his sleeve and a bone in his pants?"

Wick threw his head back and laughed. When he finished he took a long sip of his drink, eyeing me over the rim of his glass before responding. "You're such an ass. His name is Ned. And no, I haven't heard from him. I think he might've taken offense to the lip lock you planted on me when I got in your car. I probably should take offense too, except I love dancing with your tongue."

I grinned. "Yeah. That one might've gotten a little away from me. Still, it was nice."

"It always was." We stared at each other for a long moment, old memories suddenly fresh.

"So you called?"

"You came."

"Yeah, that's a fucking circle, Z."

I poured a third glass of tequila, thinking it would be a good idea to sip until I ate something—the pizza had worn away and the fire in my belly was burning a little too hot. Looking around the bar, I asked, "Where's that fucking Gerry, anyway? I want something to eat."

"Oh ho...you're in a fine mood today, Zack. I already ordered your burger."

"How do you know what I want?" Quickly changing my mind about the pace of my drinking, I took a long swallow and set the glass on the table with a thunk. "Why does everyone seem to think they know what I want?"

Wick slid his drink across the table, leaving a wet swath on the slick surface. Then he covered my hand with his and gave a little squeeze. "What's wrong, Z? This isn't like you."

Blowing out a breath, I leaned forward, like this was some great secret. "It's this case we just took. Dude gets caught on camera doing the dirty, including ropes and gag with another man. Someone catches it all on camera, and the guy's so deep in the closet he's been paying to keep it quiet for four years."

"What? Did the stars misalign? How come you and the great genius need me? Got some electronics trail you want my geeky boy to follow?" There was a long pause. "Oh, fuck, Z. I forgot—I'm sorry."

"Yeah, lucky fucking you. This case is about as open and shut as blackmail can be. I figure another couple of hours on the computer and an interview and it's done. No—I just hate what the fucking closet does to people."

A red plastic basket full of the best burger in Atlanta landed in front of me. "Two, medium rare, extra onions and 'shrooms, toast the buns. You men need anything else?"

"Thanks, Gerry. Now get lost." Chance's long time bartender stared at Wick, but bit back any remark he'd considered making—which was probably a good thing for his health, even if he did get indigestion later. He slinked his way back to the bar, and I watched him go, wondering why Chance kept him around.