el sealed-o
if anyone asked me about that tat.”
“How many people were in the group?” Jones asked.
Sam shrugged, then let out a weaselly little laugh. “Sorry, bro. I don’t remember getting any money from you, so I don’t owe you any info. You dig?”
Payne grinned at Sam and waited for the orange-haired freak to return his smile. When he did, Payne pulled his firearm into view and nestled it under the artist’s hairy chin. “First, you referred to a bunch of black men as ‘brothers,’ and then you referred to my friend as your ‘bro.’ Now you’re going to test my patience even further by refusing to answer a simple question? Sorry, bro, that’s not the way my friends and I operate.”
“Wait a second,” Sam gulped, as the color drained from his face. “Did you guys come in together? Oh, dude, I didn’t know that! If I had known that, I wouldn’t have been so shady!”
Payne nodded, but refused to lower his gun. “Tell us about this group, Sam, before my finger gets a twitch and I add some red to your obnoxious shirt.”
“Well, a bunch of brothers . . . uh, I mean, Africans came here a couple weeks ago-”
Jones quickly corrected him. “The appropriate term is African Americans.”
“No, dude, not in this case. These dudes were African.”
Payne raised an eyebrow. “Continue.”
“Anyways,” Sam stuttered, “they were looking for a Holotat. They told me the name of their gang and what they were looking for, then left the rest up to me. They gave me some cash and told me to have a tat design by the next day.” Sam pointed to the picture in the album. “This is what I came up with, dude. Honest!”
“What was the name of the gang?” Payne demanded.
“Dude, I can’t tell ya that. I just can’t.”
Payne pushed the barrel of his gun even harder against Sam’s throat, and as he did, he noticed Sam start to tremble with fear. “Sammy? I have a policy that prevents me from killing the mentally challenged, but since we’re in a hurry, I might be willing to make an exception.”
Sam took a trouble-filled breath, then answered. “I’ve got a problem, dude. When the group got their tats, they threatened to kill me if I told anyone about their posse. Now, here you are, and you’re threatening to kill me if I
don’t
tell you about their posse. Well, you don’t have to be Alex Trebek to see that I’m in jeopardy.”
“Jeez,” Payne said. “That jeopardy comment was pretty funny.”
“Did you like that?” Sam asked, hoping to lighten the mood. “I just made that up.”
“You did?” Payne grunted. “Well, unless you want it to be the last clever thing you say, I think you should start talking. What’s the name of the gang?”
Sam closed his eyes in thought. After thinking about all of the consequences, he figured it was better to possibly die later than to definitely die now. “The Plantation Posse.”
Payne lowered his weapon. “And what can you tell us about this Posse?”
“I don’t know,” Sam mumbled. “They were young, black, and very athletic-looking.”
“Wow,” Greene remarked. “You just described every team in the NBA. You gotta do better than that.”
“And some of the guys had thick African accents.”
“Come on!” he objected. “My NBA comment is still accurate.”
Sam glared at the ex-football star. After a moment, a flash of recognition crossed his face. “Whoa, dude, I know you. I know who you are!”
Greene cursed under his breath. He knew going into this partnership that there was a good chance that he was going to be recognized. Now it was just a matter of how he was going to handle it. “Who I am is not important, you box-of-crayons-looking motherfucker! What
is
important is my boy’s question. What did these guys look like?”
The rage in Greene’s voice was enough to silence Sam. There was no way he wanted to piss off the Buffalo Soldier. “Okay, dude, I’ll tell you anything you want to know, just don’t hurt me! I’ve got a low threshold for pain.”
Greene nodded. “I appreciate your honesty. In return, I promise not to test that threshold. But instead of talking to me, I want you to talk to my friends. Okay? And while you’re telling them everything that they need to know, I’m gonna go in the back and use your bathroom.” He turned toward Payne and Jones, looking for permission. “That is, if you guys can handle things alone for a couple of minutes.”
Payne patted Greene on his shoulder. “Thanks, I think we can take over from here.”
“While you’re back there,” Jones added quietly, “check to see if anybody is hiding or if there’s another way into this place. I’m not in the mood for any surprises.”
Greene hustled into the back and did what was requested. “Things look fine,” he yelled to Payne and Jones. “There’s nothing back here that can hurt you.”
Payne grinned as he leaned against the counter. “Sorry, Sam. Since you’re all out of allies, it appears that you’re kind of stuck. You have no choice but to tell us about the Posse.”
“Dude, I swear, I can’t describe them any better than I have. The only thing in my brain is their black clothes and the large roll of bills they were toting. Other than that, nothing!”
Payne nodded, beginning to believe Sam’s claim. He realized that it would be tough for anyone to remember specific details about a group of men who had visited him several weeks ago, especially if they were foreigners. One face would blend in with the next. “Fine, let’s get off their appearance. Why don’t you tell me about the tattoo? What did the image symbolize?”
Sam scratched his beard while studying the picture from his album. “Well, dude, the
P
obviously stands for
Plantation Posse
, but I bet you figured that out, huh?”
“Come on,” Payne mumbled. “Tell us something that might actually be useful.”
“Fine!” Sam growled. “I’ll tell you what you want to know, but I’m warning you dudes, you’re forcing me to sign my own death warrant. My blood’s gonna be on your hands!”
And in a blink of an eye, Sam’s words became prophetic.
CHAPTER 21
THUNDER