Out a Order by Evie Rhodes Page A

mean?”
    Smokey nodded.
    He poured some gold liquid from a bottle of Jack Daniel’s in a glass. He passed it to Shannon. Shannon downed it in one shot. He put the glass on the counter. Smokey automatically refilled it. “Yeah. I know.”
    Shannon looked at him closely, taking another sip from the glass. “What’s the word? My past is haunting me, man. I need answers.”
    Shannon drained the glass. He snuffed out the cigarette. Smokey refilled it. He leaned close to Shannon, after taking a quick look around. “Michael Claybay is T-Bone’s brother. T-Bone works for Rico. A bottle of this”—Smokey lifted the Jack Daniel’s bottle—“will loosen his tongue. Nothing happens in this city that he don’t know about.”
    Smokey lifted his head toward Michael where he was sitting at the end of the bar drinking cheap wine. “You know him, right? From back in the day?”
    â€œYeah. I know Michael and I know Rico, who’s a stupid young street punk with nothing better to do than hang out on street corners.”
    Shannon lit a cigarette; he swigged from the Jack Daniel’s bottle.
    Smokey shook his head. “Rico used to be that. Now he’s a dangerous, deadly young entrepreneur who’s getting serious paid. He’s clocking, man. No joke. If you ain’t noticed, my man has lost his puberty.”
    Shannon narrowed his eyes. “Is that right? No more gangbanging?”
    Smokey wiped the bar nervously. “He’s graduated. Turf wars. High stakes and lots of green stuff with Solomon’s Temple pictured on the back.”
    He hit a button on the cash register, pulling out a dollar bill. He pointed to the temple on the back. “Solomon was a wealthy and wise man. These boys ain’t wise and they want to be wealthy. A dangerous combination.”
    Shannon swigged a long, healthy gulp directly from the bottle. He pulled a hundred-dollar bill from his pocket, handing it to Smokey. “Here you go, man.”
    Smokey refused. “This one’s on the house, man. I’m buying.” He gave a slight imperceptible nod toward Michael Claybay, and then moved on to serve other customers.
    Shannon made his way down the bar to Michael. He sat on the stool next to him, plopping the bottle of Jack Daniel’s between them. Michael eyed the bottle with appreciation. He was a skinny little dude with a fast, quirky way of talking.
    â€œWhat’s up, Michael?”
    â€œYou black. Sorry about your kid.”
    Shannon slid the bottle over to him along with his glass. Michael poured. He swallowed the liquor in one gulp.
    â€œYeah,” Shannon said. “Me too. Drink up. A man with a lost child doesn’t like to drink alone. You know what I mean?”
    Michael poured another shot. He downed it. Then another. They sat in the kind of companionable silence one can only find in a bar.
    After a while Michael fidgeted in his seat. He poured another glass. He reached in his pocket, pulling out a pack of cigarettes, searching for a light. Shannon gave him his lighter.
    He lit up quickly, inhaling deeply. “So what brings you out? Ain’t seen you on the streets for a long while.” He leaned back in his chair. He cast an eye on the game on the overhead TV, even though the sound was turned down.
    Shannon studied him before replying. “Answers, man.”
    â€œAbout?”
    â€œJasmine.”
    Michael shrugged callously as the liquor surged through his body, creating a comfort level, taking control. “What’s there to know? She’s dead, right?”
    It was all Shannon could do to keep from knocking him out of the seat. But this would not be a wise move. At least not yet.
    â€œI need to know why she’s dead.”
    Michael downed another glass. He immediately refilled the glass. He grinned at Shannon. Shannon flicked open his jacket. He gently fingered a roll of bills. He never looked at