Saturday Night

Saturday Night

         Emerson’s pickup turned from the road, pulling into the parking of the Jay-bird. “Shit!” he said, stomping the brake pedal, the truck sliding to a halt nearly rear ending a dark colored car. Before him, the parking lot was filled to the brim with vehicles. He backed up, driving down and turning onto the barely visible side road that brought him behind the bar. He got out, making his way to the front, choosing not to fight his way up the incline where he’d parked. Walking back out to the road he made his way back to the bar’s parking lot, threading his way through vehicles. The strains of music and the smell of food growing louder and stronger with each step. Stepping up on the porch, he wiped his feet clean of the mud he’d picked up while walking to the bar.
         “Damn boy,” Curtis, who was watching the door said, pointing to the rug and the mud from Emerson’s “What the hell you been doin’, mountain climbin’?” Curtis was a tall, slim dark skinned man. He wore pressed khaki pants, a short sleeve white shirt and brown snap brim with a black band placed squarely on his head. His one gold capped front tooth caught the light of the bar’s entrance and winked when he spoke.
         “Had to park out back,” Emerson said, still wiping his feet. “Kinda muddy back up in there.” He sniffed, “Damn that barbecue smell good.”
         “Taste good too. Ol’ boy hooked me up a plate a lil’ while ago.” Curtis licked his fingers, “I’ma get me another’n before I leave.”
         Emerson nodded, “Zack know his way ‘round a pig, that’s fa sho.”
         “I’ma try me some of that Brunswick stew later,” Curtis added. “Just didn’t wanna mess ‘round and spill some on my shirt.”
         “He got anybody helpin’ him?” Emerson asked.
         Curtis shook his head, “He was the only person I seen but that was early on and I been here on the door ever since.” Curtis looked at him stoically for a moment then broke into a laugh, “Nah man, I’m just playin’. You talkin’ ‘bout that big ol’ fine gal with the big ass?”
Emerson nodded, an uneasy expression clouding his face.
         “She was here earlier but left after they unloaded everything,” Curtis said. “Think I heard her say sumthin’ ‘bout they lil’ girl being sick so she went on back home to watch her. Said she’d be back at closin’ to load everything back up though. You probably can catch her then.”
         Emerson shook his head. “I ain’t tryin’ to “catch” nobody. I was just askin’ to make sure they came and had everythang wit’em ‘cause I’m the one told Jesse to hire’em.”
         “They had everythang wit’em,” Curtis said, smiling mischievously and cupping his hands as if he were squeezing fruit, “includin’ allathat ass.”
         Emerson laughed, “Bet’not let Zack here you talkin’ that mess.”
         “Shiiit,” Curtis scoffed. “The way he in there tryin’ to holler at everythang in a skirt cross his path?” He shook his head, “That fool ain’t gonna be studyin’ me.”
         “Alright,” Emerson said, continuing on inside, “don’t say I ain’t warn you.”
         “You shoulda’ warned me 'bout allathat ass,” Curtis called after him. “That’s what you shoulda’ warned me ‘bout.”
Emerson stopped just inside the entrance, trying not to gape. The bar, which rarely had over twenty people in it at any one time on a good night, was practically standing room only. Every table was occupied and many patrons were standing in the aisles or leaning against the bar. The smell of cologne, perfume, smoke, food, and at least one or two people who were a tad bit ripe hung in the air. The band was just finishing up a rendition of Big Mama Thornton’s Hound Dog and had the crowd worked up into just short of a frenzy. He walked toward the middle of the room, stopping and looking around, this time more purposefully. He could swear he’d heard someone call his name. There it was again, he turned almost in a complete circle unable to determine the direction it came from with all the noise.
         “Emerson!” He heard it again, more clearly and this time he was able to place the direction. He looked to his left and saw a hand extended in the air waving back and forth.
The big man squeezed his bulk past a few people and caught sight of where Lil Charles was sitting flanked on both sides by two women. The one to his right was honey complected and wore an emerald colored dress, her hair neatly marcelled, the waves going away from her face. The other wore a red dress and had her hair done up like Billie Holiday, right down the the gardenia on the left side of her hair.
         “What’s goin’ on?” Emerson hitched his pants giving the women his best gap-toothed smile. “How do ladies?” he added, tipping his hat looking back and forth between Lil Charles and the women.
         “How you doin’ boy?” Lil Charles beamed. “‘Bout time your ass got here. What took you so long?”
         “Had to make a run to Vidalia,” Emerson said, looking back and forth at the women as he spoke. “Blew out a tire just outside’a Oak Park so it took me a lil’ while.”
         “Well, you here now,” Lil Charles stood. “Lemme introduce you to the two finest women up in here.” He gestured to his right, “This here Cleo. She down here from Sandersville visitin’ her cousin but thought she’d come out and spend a lil’ time wit’ us tonight.” He turned to his left. “And this sassy thang here is Nellie. Nellie down from Statesboro and tole me she might not be here for a long time, but she here for a good time. I tole her I’d try’n see to it she had one.”
         Nellie smiled, taking Emerson in with a hungry look, “Mmm,” she said. “Hey Emerson,” her right hand waved, “how you doin’ tonight baby?”
         Emerson removed his hat, smiling sheepishly, “I’m doin’ fine ma’am. How you this evenin’’?”
         “Oh, I’m fine now,” she said, “but I’d be better if you’d c’mon over here and sit down with me for a drink. She patted the vacant chair next to her.
Emerson glanced at Lil Charles.
         “Whatchu lookin’ over here for?” he asked. “Yo’ big ass ain’t sittin’ next to me.”
The table erupted with raucous laughter.
         “Nellie smiled, pulling the chair out a bit, “Sit right here daddy. I won’t bite.” Emerson rounded the table, settling in next to her. She leaned over, whispering, “Not ‘less you want me to.” She winked, her eyes full of playful mischief, giving his knee a squeeze almost making the big man jump out of his seat. “Save that energy daddy,” she cooed. “You gon’ need allathat.”
That taken care of Lil Charles left to direct his attention to the gaming rooms, which were nothing more than the storage room which had been cleared of inventory and replaced with several tables for card games, whist being the game of choice. All about the table there was a swirl of activity. People were table hopping, filling the middle part of the floor. Herbert Collins and his brothers Jeff and Dave were all set up and had the place jumping again with a slick version of Hop, Skip And Jump. Lil Charles scanned the room looking for any unfamiliar faces or patrons who appeared to be acting out of character. He didn't have to look long.
The man stood just to the left of the entrance, back to the wall, leaning against it casually, eyes intermittently sweeping the room. To the casual observer he came off as someone who was just there, people watching. Lil Charles however, recognized it for what it was - the man was casing the place.
         “Damn,” Lil Charles said, under his breath. He’d anticipated this type of thing occurring eventually, just not the first night of what looked like an endeavor that could be a good little money maker for them. Over the next half-hour, Lil Charles covertly observed the man following his eyes whenever they moved. It was by these means he caught sight of two others doing the same thing, another man and a woman in a sky blue dress and a stylish hat she had tilted coyly over her left eye. It was clear they were working together, of that he was certain. Subtle gestures like nods, purposeful tilts of the head or near imperceptible pointing with the index finger of the hand before taking a sip of a drink or a casual scratch. It was nothing to the casual observer but simple and effective dialogue if you knew what to look for.
         “Em?” Lil Charles looked across the table where Emerson sat, transfixed at whatever it was Nellie was telling him, a stupefied smile on his face. “Emerson!” he said again, this time loud enough to get an irritated look from Nellie as well as Emerson’s reluctant attention. He motioned him over with a jerk of his head.
         “What’s up?” Emerson said, looking back longingly at Nellie. “Shit man, I think I might be in there.”
         “I hear you,” Lil Charles said, “but that heffa gon hafta wait.” He saw Emerson’s face deflate like a child who’d just been told they couldn’t have any candy with a dish of it sitting on a table right in front of them. Lil Charles could only shake his head in amusement. “I’ll tell you what,” he said. “Do this for me and I guarantee you you’ll get some of that thigh tonight.”
         Emerson frowned. “Man, please,” he crossed his arms. “I was prolly gon’ be doin’ that anyway.”
         “And why you think that is?” Lil Charles asked. “Who you think made sure she came?”
         Emerson shrugged. “I’on’t know why you’d do that.”
         Lil Charles hunched his shoulders, palms upturned for emphasis, “And, ain’t I already tole you I owed you for hooking us up with Dee Dee an’ nem?” He gestured to the table at the rear of the bar where a line was formed and a steady stream of patrons returned with plates steaming with food. Some eating even as they returned to their tables. “Man, they tearin’ that shit up. We prolly gon’ run out before midnight.”
         “If you owe me some ass, why you takin’ me away from some ass?” Emerson looked back at Nellie longingly. “I tole you, I think I’m in there.”
         “Course you in there,” Lil Charles said. “Didn’t I say I got her here for you?”
         Emerson sighed, shoulders slumping. “Whatchu want me to do?”
         Lil Charles clapped him on the shoulder. “I need you to go holla at a woman for me.”
         Emerson gaped at him,“What?”
         “You heard me,” Lil Charles said, turning them away from the table and Nellie’s prying eyes.
         “I want you to talk to a woman for me.”
         “What she look like?” Emerson sounded apprehensive and hopeful all at once.
         Lil Charles gestured to the center of the room, “You tell me. There she go right there. The one in the blue dress.”
         Emerson leaned to his right slightly, peering past Lil Charles shoulder to where he pointed, locating the woman almost immediately. “Damn,” he said. “She pretty.”
Lil Charles rolled his eyes. As far as he could tell, Emerson thought almost every woman he saw was pretty, even if she wasn’t. He had to admit though. This time he wasn’t wrong. The woman was a pretty little thing. He caught himself smiling.
         “Man,” Emerson moaned, misinterpreting the expression, “you just want me to go over there and get shot down.”
Lil Charles made a face. “Who say you gonna get shot down?” He slung his left arm over Emerson’s shoulder, “Look here. I’ma tell you exactly what to say. Play it right and you never know what might happen.”
         “You and me both know what’s gonna happen,” Emerson had all the petulance of a reluctant child. “She gonna tell me to get the hell outta her face and everybody gon see when she do.”
         “Man, ain’t nobody studyin’ you.” Lil Charles gestured around the room, “Why you worried ‘bout what these fools think anyway? Shiit, I’on’t ever laugh at a man tryin’ to get hisself some ass.”
         Emerson crossed his arms. “What about Nellie?”
         Lil Charles widened his eyes, “That’s the ass I’m talkin’ ‘bout.”
         “Huh?” Emerson was confused. “Then why you want me to talk to this one here?”
         “She up to sumthin’,” Lil Charles said. “I need you to keep her busy while I get on these two fellas workin’ with her.”
         “But Nellie…”
         “Don’t worry ‘bout Nellie,” Lil Charles assured him. “I already told you, that’s a done deal.”
Now it was Emerson’s turn to look at Lil Charles with widened eyes. “Done deal?”
         “Man,” Lil Charles clapped him on the back, “you practically up in that ass already.”
         Emerson rolled his eyes and huffed, “Fine. Lemme go get this over with.”
         “Hold up,” Lil Charles said, halting Emerson in place with a firm squeeze of his shoulder.
         “What now?”
         “Hold your horses man, damn,” Lil Charles chided. “I gotta tell you what to say.”
         Emerson was taken aback. “I know how to talk to a woman. I’on’t need no help.”
         Lil Charles shook his head, “You ain’t goin’ over there just to talk to her.”
         “I ain’t?” Emerson hunched his shoulders, “What I’m doin’ then?”
         “You goin’ to get information,” Lil Charles said. “You got to get her talkin’, then keep her talkin’ and pay attention.”
         Emerson shrugged his ample shoulders, “Man, how I’ma do all that? Shit, she might not even let me sit down.”
         Lil Charles frowned, “Let you? How she gon’ stop your big cornfed ass?”
         “Oh,” Emerson said. “Okay well, I can sit down but how we know she ain’t gonna pitch a fit after I do?”
         Lil Charles shook his head, “It ain’t gonna come to that. But, even if it do, just remember one thing.”
         Emerson frowned, “What’s that?”
         Lil Charles smiled broadly, “That this here your bar.”
Emerson screwed up his mouth, “Hell, everybody know that. I’m in here damn near every day.”
         “Nawl fool,” Lil Charles said. “This here “your” place. You’s the owner.”
         “I’m the... owner.” The way he said it was more question than statement but recognition was beginning to spread across the big man’s face. “Oooh,” the faint rays of understanding started registering at last. “Now I see what you gettin’ at.” He jabbed his thumb back at his chest, “I’m the owner.”
         Lil Charles nodded. “That’s right. Now you need to just go over there and act like it.”
         “Like I’m in charge,” Emerson said.
         Lil Charles nodded.
         “Like I’m runnin’ thangs,” Emerson said louder.
         Lil Charles nodded again.
         “So just act like Jesse?”
         “Yep,” Lil Charles said, clapping him on the back. “Just act like an asshole.”
         “What?” Emerson gaped.
         Lil Charles grinned, “C’mon now. You know Jesse be actin’ like an asshole sometime. When we doin’ inventory? Or when we gettin’ a delivery? Tell me he don’t be actin’ like an asshole when he be tellin’ us to be quiet sayin’, ‘Can’t y’all see I’m conductin’ bidness?’
         Emerson grinned sheepishly. “Yeah, he do be actin’ like that.”
         “That’s right,” Lil Charles said. “Now get’cho ass over there and act the same way. Talk to her like you ‘spect her to be glad to talk to you but don’t be too pushy ‘bout it. Sit down like you own the place.”
         “Right,” Emerson nodded. “I’ll tell her I’m the…”
         “Nawl,” Lil Charles corrected, “Don’t say that ‘til I come over and tell you how we doin’.”
         Emerson frowned. “Tell me how we doin’? Why you gon’ do that?”
         Lil Charles grimaced. “‘Cause I work for you? This yo’ place?”
         Emerson made a face, nodding quickly. “Right. Right.”
         “Now, after I tell you how we doin’, then you just listen and don’t answer her questions no matter how much she ask. Even when she act like she wanna give you some ass, don’t say shit. You hear me?”
         Emerson’s eye brows shot up. “She gonna give me some ass?!”
         “She gonna “act” like she wanna give you some ass,” Lil Charles clarified. “Act. Understand? She gonna be workin’ you like you workin’ her. Got it?”
         “Yeah,” Emerson nodded vigorously. “Yeah, I got it.” He looked up at Lil Charles, his face suddenly calm. “Fa real. I got it.” With that, he walked slowly to the woman’s table and sat down, greeting her with a cheerful, “Hey there Pretty Lady. How you doin?”
         Lil Charles looked on still skeptical. He had no doubt that, despite his words, Emerson was preoccupied with the possibility of getting the woman into bed. He was about to walk over and come up with an excuse to pull him away when the woman laughed. Emerson said something else and she laughed again, this time reaching across the table to his hand and leaving it there to linger.          “Well I’ll be damned,” Lil Charles said aloud. He still considered walking over and following through with their ruse but remembered, even if the woman turned the tables on old Emerson, he knew little more than what anyone with half an eye could see. He decided to make his way to the bar instead, leaning against it and calling Roy, the bartender over.
         “What’s up?”
         “Fella at the end of the bar…”
         “The one in the checked shirt?” Roy cut in. “With the hat to ‘lil for that big ass head?”
         Lil Charles nodded.
         “Figured you had your eye on’im,” Roy said, pouring him a drink, watching as Lil Charles downed it.
         “Why you say that?”
         “‘Cause I did,” Roy scooped up the glass, quickly running a cloth over the surface where it had been. “I’ll keep my eye on’im while you see to the other’n.”
         Lil Charles smiled, impressed Roy’s powers of observation were as keen as his own. He patted the bar, “Alright, lemme go head on then.”
         “Hold up,” Roy gestured with his eyes. “Look like he comin’ to you.”
         A quick glance in the mirror confirmed Roy’s words. The second man was indeed making his way over to them. He was bigger upon closer inspection the Lil Charles had first observed and moved with a smoothness that belied his size. His hat was tilted at a jaunty angle and half a wry smile was on his lips.
         He took the seat directly to Lil Charles right, slapping the bar twice loudly to get Roy’s attention pointing to the shelf of bottles, “Gimme some of that Fo’ Roses.”
         Roy poured the drink, setting the glass down in front of the man. “That’ll be a dollar.”
         “A dollar? Damn!,” the man frowned. “Ain’t but seventy five cent in Augusta.”
         Roy pulled the drink back, “Well then, maybe you need to take your black ass back up to Augusta.”
         The man gave Roy a measured look, then pulled his billfold out, brandishing two dollars before sliding them across the bar. “I got the money,” he said. “Shit just a lil’ high is all.”
         Roy slid the extra bill back, “For when you go back to Augusta.”
         The man laughed, leaving the dollar where it lay, “C’mon now. Ain’t no need to be like that.”
         Roy folded his arms, ignoring the gesture. “You need anything else?” When the man didn’t respond right away, he walked down to the other end of the bar.
         The man’s eyes followed Roy. “That nigga always like that?”
         “All day, every day.” Lil Charles shrugged. “He’on’t mean nothing by it though. Just his way.”
         “He ain’t careful, one’a these days he’s gonna mess ‘round and talk that shit to the wrong person.”
         “Known Roy for a while now,” Lil Charles said. “He’on’t strike me as the kine write checks with his mouth he can’t cover with his ass.”
         The man snorted dismissively. “Everybody start out thinkin’ that way,” the man looked at Lil Charles and shrugged. “‘Til somebody show’em they can’t.”
         Lil Charles grunted. “You plan on bein’ that somebody?”
         The man brought the glass to his lips, shrugging nonchalantly, “Just sayin’ is all.”
         Lil Charles lifted himself off the stool, watching as the man sipped his drink, “Well, he on ‘til closin’. You still feel like he need a lesson then, come get me and I’ll make some room up in here so you can get to teachin’.”
         The man smiled at that, gulping down the remainder of his drink, swivelling around to face Lil Charles. “Just might take you up on that.”
         “Offer’ll still stand,” Lil Charles stretched his arms. “I’ll even see to it don’t nobody jump in.”
         “Not even you?” the man’s smile broadened. “You just gonna stand by and watch your boy get beat down like that?”
         “You mighty confident over there,” Lil Charles said, amused by the man’s bravado. He shrugged, “Well, whichever way it was to turn out, wouldn’t have nothin’ to do with me.”
         “What if I ain’t see it like that?” the man hunched his shoulders. “Say, I was of a mind you needed some ack’right too? Then what?”
         “Well now, speaking for myself,” Lil Charles said, turning to face the man,“that there’d be a lesson I’d want right away.” They traded looks for a long moment. “But I’m working right now,” he said finally. “So, if it can wait, c’mon ‘round and see me at closin’. If it can’t though...,” he looked around the bar, “pretty sure I can get somebody ‘round here to see after things for a bit.”
         They traded looks again until the man clapped his hands three times and laughed. “Nah man, I’m just playin’. Why y’all so serious ‘round here?”
         “Must be the heat,” Lil Charles said. “Tends to make folk,” he shrugged, “short tempered.”
         “Y’all need get away from here then,” the man said. “Shit, it’s cooler’n a fan up in Atlanta.”
         “Really?” Lil Charles said. “It’s cool up there in Hot-lanta? I ain’t ever heard that before.”
         “You must not been there in a while,” the man said. “It’s got it spots.”
         “Well,” Lil Charles said, “I been over here lolly gaggin’ long enough. Lemme get on back to work. Been nice talkin’ to you…” he extended his hand, waiting.
         “Cedric,” the man said. “But er’body know me call me Sugar.”
         Lil Charles, took the hand, “Alright then Cedric, my name Charles.” He laughed. “You gon’ have to excuse me but, I ain’t calling no grown ass man ‘Sugar’.”
         Cedric laughed. “Yeah, that’s just what my people call me,” he clarified. “Sugar, Sugar Boy one or t’other.”
         “Why’s that?” Lil Charles said. “You had a sweet tooth when you was growin’ up or sumthin’?”
         “Had?” Cedric laughed. “Shit, I still do. But you know how colored folk is. All kinda ways to get yo’self a nickname. Hell, folk call you Lil Charles and yo’ ass ain’t lil’.”
         Lil Charles nodded, “You right about that. All kinda ways to get a name.” He turned to go, “Alright then ‘Ced. You have a good’un.” He gestured to the dance floor, “You ought’a go head on and holla at one of these heffas. You never know what might happen.”
         Cedric shook his head, “I ain’t thinkin’ ‘bout these women man, I plan on holdin’ on to my money tonight.”
         Lil Charles snorted, saying over his shoulder, “Good luck with that.” He made another trip around the bar, first stopping in at the tables where folk were playing cards or dominos. Then he went to the makeshift bandstand clowning a little with Herbert’s younger brother Tim, who was the only one of the four that wasn’t a musician. After that, he went out back where the real gambling was going on.
         “How’s it goin’ up in there?” Jesse asked without looking at him, his eyes trained on the tables and the players.”
         “All good,” Lil Charles said, “for the most part anyway.”
         Jesse looked at him, “What’s that mean?”
         “Somebody checkin’ us out,” Lil Charles said. “Two men and a woman that I seen. Hell, even Roy noticed’em,” he thumbed back over his shoulder, “Hell, I was just talkin’ to one of’em.”
         “Checkin’ us out for what?” Jesse asked. “Ain’t like we doin’ sumthin’ we ain’t ever done before.”
         Lil Charles shrugged. “I’m just tellin’ you.”
         “I hear you right?” Jesse looked at him again. “You say you talked to one of’em?”
         Lil Charles nodded, “Yeah, Roy rubbed him the wrong way and he was complainin’ ‘bout it to me.”
         “Tole you we shouldn’t be havin’ him up in there bartendin’ on a night like this. That boy ain’t got the temperament for it.”
         “Oh, and you do?” Lil Charles scoffed. “Shit, you worse than him.”
         “You’s a fine one to talk,” Jesse made a face. “I ain’t the one up in er’body face lookin’ to fight all the damn time.”
         “I just be playin’,” Lil Charles, pointed. “Yo’ ass be serious.”
         Jesse was about to say something when one of the players motioned him over.
         “Yeah?” Jesse said to the man when he reached the table.
         “I gots to go Jesse,” the man said. “But this fool won’t let me.”
         “This muthafucka gon’ sit in on one hand, win and then call hisself wanna leave,” a scowling dark skinned man, said. “He ain’t gonna even give us a chance to win our money back.”
         “He ain’t gotta stay Pete,” Jesse said. “Man, know when to step away a smart man.”
         Pete shook his head, “That’s some bullshit Jesse, and you know it. This nigga can’t just take my money and go.”
         “Y’all ain’t even been here that long,” Jesse said. “How much could you have lost?”
         “Ten dollars,” another man at the table named Roscoe, who was shuffling the deck said. “He lost ten dollars.”
         Jesse snorted, “Man, your ass up in here cryin’ ‘bout ten dollars?” He shook his head. “If that was all you had, you shoulda’ stayed away from the table.”
         “That wasn’t all he had,” Roscoe said. “Had hisself a grip for a while there, then started playin’ wild and lost it.” He gestured, “Wasn’t ‘til he dug into his pocket and lost that he call hisself gettin’ an attitude.”
         “Dug into his pocket?” Jesse said. “Y’all s’posed to be playin’ table stakes.”
         “We was,” the man who wanted to leave said. “He couldn’t cover with what he had on the table and wanted to dig so he could.” He shrugged, “We didn’t stop him.”
         “See now, that’s why there’s rules,” Jesse gestured between them. “To keep shit like this from happenin’.”
         “This nigga ain’t just gon’ leave wit’ my money,” Pete said again, this time reaching into his pocket. “He gon’ either give me a chance to win it back or he just gon’ give it back to me. But he ain’t leavin’.”
         Jesse pivoted on Pete, “I’m hearin’ you right?,” the edge in his voice was plain. “You tellin’ me you done lost money but don’t wanna give it up? That it?” He looked to Lil Charles. “Is that what you hearin’ nephew? ‘Cause that’s what it’s soundin’ like to me.”
         “Sound like it to me too,” Lil Charles looked at Pete. “Soundin’ just like it.”
         Jesse held Pete’s eyes. “Whatchu diggin’ in your pocket for?”
         Pete said nothing.
         “I’m’a tell you what,” Jesse stepped closer to Pete, holding his eyes. “You take your hand outta your pocket, r-ea-a-l slow, and set whatever you got in it down right there.” He jerked his head toward the table. “Go’head on now.”
         Pete’s eyes, drifted past Jesse to Lil Charles, who watched him silently, eyes slightly narrowed. He slowly pulled his hand from his pocket. It was empty.
         Jesse squinted, shaking his head. “You tellin’ me you wasn’t holdin’ on to nuthin’? C’mon now Pete,” Jesse tilted his head, down to Pete’s pocket. “Reach on back in there and sit what you got on the table.”
         Pete grimaced. “C’mon Jesse…”
         “We still friends for now,” Jesse said. “But if you make me ask again that ain’t gon’ be the case.”
         “C’mon man,” Pete moaned. “I was just a lil’ mad. Everythang alright now.”
         “Sho it is,” Jesse agreed. “And, it’s gon’ be even mo’ alright after you go head on and set whatever in yo’ pocket on the table.”
         “Why you gon’ try and shame me in front’a all these people?” Pete glanced around them.
         “Brung it on yo’self,” Lil Charles said.
         “Ain’t nobody talkin’ to you,” Pete shot back. “I’m talkin’ to Jesse.”
         Lil Charles started to respond but saw Jesse shake his head. “Alright then,” he said. “Go head on and talk.”
         “He right though Pete,” Jesse pointed to the table. “How many times you done sat’cho narrow ass in that very chair, cleaned somebody out and they ain’t say nuthin’?”
         “I…” Pete began.
         “How many times?” Jesse interrupted.
         Pete rolled his eyes. “Plenty of times.”
         “Plenty times,” Jesse echoed. “So why you up in here makin’ an ass out yo’self then?”
         “Man, please,” Pete said, shoving his hand into his pocket then smacking it down on the table. “Here!” He flattened his hand, carefully covering what he’d placed there, tilting his hand so only Jesse could see what it was.
         Jesse peered at the table. Looked at Pete, then peered at the table again, this time leaning over until his face was inches away from Pete’s hand. He straightened again, looked at Pete, saying nothing for a moment then burst out laughing. In fact, he laughed so hard he staggered back bumping into a nearby table interrupting their game. He laughed so hard he did the same to two other tables before doubling over, starting to cough from the strain of it. He laughed so hard he squatted then sank down to his knees before shifting to sit on his butt. All the while, Pete stood there, a sheepish look on his face.
         Lil’ Charles, whose hand had gone to his gun when Pete had reached for his pocket and had only relaxed when he’d seen Jesse do the same, now found himself leaning to get a look at what was under Pete’s hand as well. Jesse meanwhile, was slumped on his butt, resting on his elbows and practically flat on his back at this point, mouth wide open gasping for air, his shoulders jerking intermittently his laughter inaudible.
         “Well damn,” Lil Charles said, standing over him and looking down. “What’s so damn funny?”
Jesse looked up at him, tried to speak but gave up after a few seconds, lowering his head to the floor a peal of laughter finally breaking through as he pointed weakly to the table where Pete stood.
         “The shit ain’t that funny,” Pete said under his breath, carefully sliding his hand back into his pocket. He looked over at the man who’d wanted to leave earlier. “Go head on man,” he said. “I ain’t gon’ stop you.”
         “You sho’?” the man shifted his weight from foot to foot like a child trying to keep from peeing on themself. “I’on’t want no trouble.”
         “Yeah,” Pete gestured. “Go on.”
The man looked at Jesse, who was still on the floor and oblivious to the conversation, then at Lil Charles who nodded. He gave Pete one last look, then quickly left without looking back.
         Pete walked over, looking down at Jesse shaking his head. “I need a drink,” he looked at Lil Charles. “You wanna come grab one too?”
         Lil Charles shrugged. “Sho’. You buyin’?”
         Pete threw his hands up, “Wasn’t you listenin’? I’m broke.”
         Lil Charles laughed, clapping him on the shoulder. “C’mon, I got you.”
         “Guess I ain’t playin’ no mo’,” Roscoe said, sifting through Pete’s cards and grimacing before standing and walking over to Jesse, who was sitting up again. He reached down, helping him to his feet. “What was so damn funny?”
         Jesse’s face split into a grin and he laughed. “Pete ass up in here scarin’ folk wit’ a damn screwdriver.”
         Roscoe frowned. “A screwdriver?”
         Jesse nodded. “Ain’t that some shit? A damn Phillips head screwdriver.” He shook his head. “And here I was thinking I was gonna hafta’ cut his ass.” His knife appeared as if by magic, then disappeared behind him just as quickly.
         “Still surprised you didn’t,” Roscoe said.
         Jesse shrugged. “I’ll leave that to my nephew an’ them. I’m gettin’ too old to call myself outchea tryin’ to fight er’body.”
         “Still,” Roscoe smiled. “I was kinda lookin’ forward to seein’ it again.”
         Jesse gave him a knowing smile, “Night ain’t over yet.”