An Hour Later

I pull the Lincoln to the curb when I find the address Natalie gave me. It’s an apartment complex. I’m disappointed. Too many people around. It’s quite the contrast to Draven’s place. From the look of things, though, I can tell that Denderson’s doing pretty well for himself. From the outside, these apartments are far more luxurious than I expected them to be.

Before I exit the car, I call Jacks. Still no answer. I leave him a message to call me ASAP, though I didn’t need to leave a message. I know that Jacks will call me as soon as he has something to go on. I check my piece and walk to the door. I ring the buzzer.

I’m answered by static, followed by the click of the door opening. I pull the handle and step inside, where I’m immediately met by a well-dressed black man. We size each other up until he breaks the silence.

“What’s your business here?”

I motion up the stairs. “I’ve gotta speak to Han.”

The black guy raises an eyebrow. “You a cop?”

“Do I look like a cop?” The black guy doesn’t answer. I shake my head. “No, I’m not a cop. I work for a living.”

“If you’re a cop, you have to tell me,” the black guy informs me. “Disclosure.”

“I’m not a fucking cop.”

“You packing?” It would be pointless to lie so I nod. I take my .45 from my shoulder holster and show it to him.

“Why you packing?”

I’m not sure how this is going to end. This guy is asking me questions like there’s no tomorrow. I opt to take the high ground.

“I didn’t come here to start any shit with anyone. I just came here to talk.”

“You don’t really need something like that to have a conversation,” the black guy tells me.

I shrug. “Like I said, I work for a living.”

He stares at me for a moment before starting up the stairs. “Follow me.”

I put my piece back in its holster and start up the stairway. The smell of cigarette smoke and stale booze hits me as we come to the landing on the third floor. It smells like home, only worse. The black guy opens the hall door for me.

“The door at the end of the hallway is Han’s. Just walk in,” he tells me, pointing down the hall. I start to walk past him when he grabs my elbow. I turn to him. His eyes are narrowed. “If you know what’s best for you, you won’t be a cowboy. If you are, you’ll be dead inside of a week.” I stare back at him. If only he knew how true that was. He releases my arm. I continue down the hallway and open the door.

“What the fuck do you want, mutha fucka?” It takes my eyes a second to adjust to the dimly lit room. I’m disgusted. It looks like someone threw up a circa 1970s orgy. Trash, mostly consisting of empty liquor bottles and fast food wrappers, lines the floors and covers the tables. Half or fully naked women lounge around on the battered mismatched furniture. I scan the room. My eyes land on the only male. He’s a gangly white guy with both of his hands raised at his sides.

“I said, what the fuck do you want?” The guy is wearing star-shaped sunglasses. He’s shirtless, clad only in tight black jeans and a silk robe that leaves his pale, hairless chest exposed. A shock of red hair falls from beneath a beat-up top hat and hangs below his shoulders. If I didn’t know any better, I would’ve assumed that I had just walked into Bootsy Collins’s wet dream.

“I can assume you’re Han?”

“That’s right, bitch,” Han says, standing from his place on the velour couch. Just when I think he’s standing up straight, he keeps going. Jesus. He’s got to be at least seven feet tall. “Now, what the fuck do you want?”

“I came looking for a girl.”

Han looks me over from head to toe. “What kind of bitch do you want? We gots all different kinds in this establishment.” He extends his gargantuan arms and turns a full circle in the center of the room. He’s a real showman. If he wasn’t so white, he would’ve been perfect in Funkadelic. “You see anyone here that tickles your fancy, you let me know and you can tickle her fancy . . . for a fee.”

I cast my eyes around the room again. It’s easier to see now that they’ve adjusted to the dim lighting. None of these girls are Maise. None of them look at all familiar. I turn back to Han. “No. I don’t.”

“Well, then, what are you looking for?” Han asks, placing his hands on his hips.

“I’m looking for a girl named Maise,” I tell him flatly. If I have to take any more of his circus performance, I may vomit. Han puts a hand under his chin and strokes the thin goatee that’s attempting to reside there, like he’s mulling it over. He snaps his fingers.

“That bitch is out this evening, sweetheart,” he booms. “She’s on a house call, if you will.”

“I won’t.” I cross my arms over my chest. “When’s she gonna be back?”

“She won’t be back until tomorrow,” Han says. “Unless she finds Mr. Right in the meantime.” He tosses his head back and lets out an overly dramatic laugh. The females lounging around him laugh right along with him. It’s like having a built-in studio audience. I don’t find him amusing.

“Maybe that’s me.”

Han stops laughing abruptly and sizes me up. “You look like Mr. Wrong to me.” Another chorus of laughter from the gallery. I wait for it to fade out.

“Tomorrow night, Maise is mine,” I state firmly so there can be no confusion. Han raises his eyebrows so far that I can see them poke out from above his glasses.

“Women and men ain’t equal,” Han says.

I raise an eyebrow in return. “Come again?”

“That’s what she said. I have a theory that a man is far superior to a woman,” Han explains. “What that means is that a man is equal to, say, one point five persons. A woman, on the other hand, let’s say, for example, these bitches in here”—he motions around the room—“being that they are inferior, well, they equal half a person.” Han takes two giant steps and sidles up to me. My head comes up to his nipples, so he crouches down and drapes an arm around my shoulder. “But Maise, on the other hand, she’s something of an exception to the rule. She’s equal to, at least, one person . . . though I’d probably put her at a solid point nine-nine. You know what I mean?”

“I don’t have any sort of idea what any of this means, but I get the feeling that you’re going to tell me.”

Han gently slaps my chest and smiles like a deranged clown. “That means that our Miss Maise don’t come cheap,” Han informs me. His grin is quickly replaced by a look of genuine seriousness as he rubs his fingers and thumb together. “Do you think you have enough tea for the tillerman?”

He might very well be the most irritating person I’ve ever met. I wish I didn’t need him around for the following evening. However, because I do need him around, I subdue the rising urge to shoot him in the eye. Instead, I grit my teeth.

“Money is no object,” I reply. “Have Maise here tomorrow at the same time. I’ll be here.”

Han extends a hand and the grin reappears. “You’ve got yourself a deal.” I give his hand a squeeze and then I head for the door.

“Tomorrow,” I remind him over my shoulder. He doesn’t say anything in response. I walk back down the stairway, nodding at the black guy as I walk out the front door. I walk to my car, shaking my head.

I’ve met some interesting individuals over the past couple weeks.