“Wow, that's kinda racist.”
“How can it be? It was in a 2 Live Crew song.”
“You're an idiot.”
“That's been established. Does he remember making love to her?” Red asked. “How was that? Was that better?”
“A little,” said Dan. “We didn't get into it that much, but he didn't seem surprised, so I figure he remembers.”
“So, it's looking like Richard could really be your brother.”
“It's looking that way,” Dan admitted. “Where is Richard?”
“I left him at my place. He said he wanted to do some sightseeing.”
“Okay,” Dan said, “then back to you. Are ya nervous about tonight?”
“Not yet!” Red scolded. “But if ya keep talking about it I will be.”
Dan glanced up at the clock behind the bar. It was 3:32. “What time is the date?”
“You can't let it go, can ya?”
“I just asked what time it was, for chrissakes.”
“I'm picking her up at seven.”
“Where are you going to dinner?”
“I got us a table on the patio at Latitudes. I thought we could have a nice dinner and watch the sunset.”
“Woo … romantic.”
“Shut up,” said Red. “Have you and Maxine ever been there?”
“Never been.”
“Have you been anywhere on this island other than this bar?” Red made himself a rum and Coke.
Dan waved his arm around the bar like a spokes-model at a gun show. “Where else could I possibly need to go? This place has everything: shitty food, shitty booze, and a shitty atmosphere.”
“Wow, my best friend.”
“You know, I told Maxine we were best friends.”
“That was stupid,” Red shot back. “You're supposed to tell your girlfriend that she's your best friend.”
“Why would I tell her that?”
“Because that's just what you do.”
“But I would be lying.”
“So? That's a lie every guy tells. No guy's wife or girlfriend is their best friend. You just say you are. It's like, 'no, those jeans don't make your butt look big.' Those jeans can make her butt look four ax handles wide, but you stick to your story.”
“Huh,” said Dan. “I knew about the butt thing, but I shit you not, no one ever told me about the best friend thing.”
“You learn something new every day.”
“I guess I do.”
Red downed the remainder of his drink and then stared into the ice tray contemplating another one.
“What's the matter?” Dan asked.
“Should I have another drink?”
“You're asking me? I remember a day when I would have had nine more drinks before a date.”
“Yeah, and I remember at least three different times you puked on a woman.”
“Those times were not really my fault.”
“How the hell were they not your fault?”
“Come on, really? A woman has to recognize the warning signs. If I start arching my back like a cat yakkin' up a fur ball, you gotta take cover.”
“I guess you got a point there,” Red said shaking his head.
“Besides, times have changed. I haven't puked on anyone in over two years.” Dan reached in his pocket and pulled out his cell. “What's Richard's number?”
“Are we calling him Richard or Rich?” Red asked.
“Either. What's his number?”
“You don't know your own brother's number. Shame on you.”
“Come on. Give it up.”
Red checked his own cell for the number and rattled it off to Dan as Dan entered it into his contacts. “Thanks,” said Dan.
“What did you need the number for?”
“Maybe I'll meet up with him later and we'll hit the town.”
“Don't get him into any trouble.”
“I wouldn't dream of it.”
“Hey!” Red said, having an aha moment. “You know where you should take him?”
“Where?”
“You should take him to see The Amazing Gary,” said Red, referencing a local psychic whose abilities Dan found highly suspect.
“Why the Christ would I take him to see that nut?”
“How can you call him a nut?”
“Because, he's a nut.”
“I think he more than proved himself the last time we were there.”
“How did he prove himself?” Dan asked skeptically. “I'm the one who remembered the license plate number.”
“Because he hypnotized you,” Red pointed out.
“He didn't hypnotize me,” Dan argued. “I was awake the whole time.”
“Or were you?”
“Yes, I was,” Dan responded. “Why should I bring Richard to see him?”
“Maybe The Amazing Gary could read Richard's mind, or maybe he could talk to Richard's mom from beyond the grave. Maybe she could tell you the whole story.”
“Or we could just wait till my dad gets here and see what he has to say. After that, we'll get a DNA test done.”
“Boring,” said Red. “A quick trip to The Amazing Gary could tell us everything we need to know.”
“This conversation is telling me everything I need to know about you.”
Red checked the clock again.
“Butterflies in your tummy?” Dan asked.
“I need another drink,” Red replied, and began making himself one.
Dan slid his glass back across the bar. “Yeah, make me one too.”
“That makes two drinks for you.”
“Hey, that's pretty good, but Koko the gorilla could count to twenty.”
“But could he make a drink?”
“Probably, and he would probably even mop the floor.”
“I wonder if he's looking for a job?”
“He's dead.”
“Are you shittin' me?”
“Died a few years back.”
“That's too bad. I was a big fan of Koko's.” Red placed his drink on the bar and started preparing one for Dan.
“I wouldn't be surprised to find out that Koko was your long-lost brother,” said Dan. “The two of you look a lot alike.”
Red slid Dan's drink to him. “I'll take that as a compliment,” he said. “That Koko was one good-lookin' monkey.”
“Ape.”
“What?”
“Ape,” Dan repeated. “Koko was an ape.”
“What's the difference?”
“Monkeys have tails. Apes, like you and Koko, don't have tails.”
Dan turned and looked behind him when he heard the door open; it was Cindy, the bartender.
“Just in time,” Red said. “Jump back here behind the bar. I gotta head home and get ready for my date.”
“Good luck,” Cindy said, as she tied her apron around her waist.
Red halted, and turned around. “You're like the third person who wished me luck.”
Dan snickered.
“So?” Cindy replied.
“Why does everyone think I need good luck to go on a date?”
“It's just a figure of speech,” Cindy said.
“Whatever.” Red spun around and headed for the door. “Talk to ya, tomorrow, Dan.”
“Good luck, Koko,” Dan responded. “And remember, no flinging your own feces on a first date.”
Chapter Sixteen
“Hey, Rich, it's Dan.”
“Hey, brother,” Richard answered. “What's up?”
“Maxine is working tonight, and uh … I was wondering if you wanted to grab a drink, or something to eat, or something.”
“Yeah, that would be great.”
“Where ya at?”
“I'm walking back to Red's place,” Richard said. “Not the bar. I mean his house.”
“I figured that. I just left the bar.”
“Did Red calm down yet?”
“Calm down?” Dan asked.
“He was pretty nervous about his big date tonight, when he le
ft here.”
“Yeah, he still seemed a little nervous. He's probably home now. He left the bar about an hour ago. He said he had to get ready for the date.”
Richard chuckled. “That's funny. What time are you picking me up?”
“Ten minutes.”
“Okay. What should I wear?”
“Put on your prettiest sundress,” Dan replied, and hung up. What should I wear? He thought, mocking Richard in his head.
*****
Dan pulled up in front of Red's house about ten minutes later. Richard's Passat was parked in the driveway, and Red's pink Volkswagen Bug was parked on the street. Dan pulled the Porsche in behind the Bug and shut off the engine.
Dan climbed out of the car and walked across the street. “Honey, I'm home!” he shouted as he walked through the front door.
Richard was sitting at Red's kitchen table. He had the chair leaned back on two legs, against the wall. He was smoking a fat, dark Camacho torpedo.
“That smells good,” said Dan.
Richard pointed across the room. “There's a whole box of them on the countertop,” he said. “Help yourself.”
“Nice!” Dan said. He grabbed himself a cigar and used the cutter that was lying next to the box.
Richard reached into his pocket and pulled out a gold-plated cigar lighter. He handed it to Dan.
Dan inspected the lighter. He read the inscription on the side: The Rich Eat, The Poor Smoke. “Nice lighter,” he said. “Interesting inscription too. Where'd you get it?”
“Gift from my dad, when I graduated college. I think the inscription's an old Vietnamese proverb.”
Dan lit it up and took a few puffs. “Damn, that's good,” he remarked. “Say, why are you sitting out here?”
Richard motioned toward the chair across the table from him. “Sit down,” he said, “and enjoy the fashion show.”
Dan looked confused. “Fashion show?”
“Sit down,” Richard whispered.
No sooner had Dan taken his seat than Red strutted into the room.
“How's this?” Red asked. He walked to the middle of the room and slowly twirled.
“Fashion show”, Dan whispered, nodding his head.
Red was dressed in tan slacks, a black dress shirt with a skinny white leather tie tucked between the buttons, and a tan sport coat. The clunky earth shoes Red sported suggested he'd been to Goodwill recently.
“You look like Deney Terrio,” said Richard.
Red smiled. “Awesome.”
“That's not a good thing,” Richard said.
“Unless your date is in 1979,” said Dan. “And if that's the case, you're late.”
“Who's Deney Terrio?” Red asked.
“It doesn't matter,” Dan said. “Put something else on.”
Red's shoulders dropped as the wind left his sails. He turned and sulked out of the room.
“That was his second outfit,” Richard pointed out.
“Third time's the charm,” said Dan.
Dan and Richard puffed their cigars and blew smoke into the air. A few minutes later Red returned to the kitchen. He was dressed in light brown cargo shorts and a blue Hawaiian shirt.
“Perfect!” Dan exclaimed. “You've never looked better.”
“This is what I wore all day today,” Red responded. “I was wearing this when you were at the bar.”
“And I thought you looked beautiful then too,” said Dan.
“You didn't even notice.”
“I did. I swear.”
“I don't know,” Red said, tugging at the shorts. “I never liked the way these fit.” He turned around. “Do they make my ass look big?”
“Yes,” said Richard.
“Your ass is big,” Dan said.
“You guys are no help at all,” Red said.
“Just wear what you have on,” Dan said. “You look fine.”
“Just fine?” Red asked. “I'd like to look better than fine.”
“I think that ship sailed at least fifteen years ago,” said Dan.
Richard chuckled. “You look good, Red.”
“Yeah,” Dan added. “I wish I was going on a date with you.”
“You're engaged,” Richard reminded him.
“That's right,” said Red with one last slow twirl, “so you'll be getting none of this.”
“Come on, Rich,” Dan said. “Let's get out of—” His cell phone rang. He looked at the call screen. “Unknown number.”
“Answer it!” Red and Richard shouted in unison.
“Hello?”
“Where's Maggie Harrison?” asked a deep menacing voice.
“Who's this?” Dan asked.
“Where is Maggie Harrison?”
“I have no idea. Are you her father?”
“This is Harrison Harrison,” said the man.
Dan snickered. “I'm getting an echo,” he said.
“Listen, smart ass, you were warned to stay away from my daughter. I like hav—”
“No, you listen,” said Dan. “Your goons told us to stay away, and that's exactly what we did. I haven't seen Maggie, or heard from her since yesterday when she left the restaurant.”
“If I find out you're lying to me, you will regret it, Mr. Coast.”
“I'm sure I will”—Dan aped a receding echo—“Harrison, Harrison, Harrison,”
Click.
“Evidently, Maggie has disappeared,” Dan said.
“Are we in trouble?” Red asked.
“I hope not,” Dan answered.
Richard put his hand on his stomach. “I gotta poop,” he said. “My stomach hasn't been right since yesterday. Must be my nerves. I don't know how you guys deal with this shit.” He stood and headed toward the bathroom.
“We're used to it,” Red said.
“Yeah,” Dan agreed. “We get threatened a lot.”
“Some people just don't like us,” Red added.
“They're just jealous,” said Dan.
Red nodded his head in agreement. “Haters gonna hate.”
Chapter Seventeen
The following morning at 6:30, Dan kissed Maxine goodbye at the front door. He was shirtless and wearing a pair of blue and white striped boxers.
“Remember,” Maxine said, “Colton is starting on the ceiling today.”
Dan turned his head and looked over his shoulder at the cannon ball-sized hole. “It's Saturday,” he complained. “Who works on Saturday?”
Maxine cocked her head. “Um, I'm working today … on Saturday.”
“Yeah, but you're a nurse.”
“What's that supposed to mean?”
Dan shrugged. “I don't know,” he said. “What time does Colton start work?”
“He said he starts at nine on Saturdays.”
“How's your head?”
“Fine. Why?”
“You were pretty drunk when you and Richard picked me up at work last night.”
“I only had a couple.”
“I bet,” Maxine responded. “How did you talk Rich into being your designated driver?”
“I promised him a fantastic home-cooked breakfast this morning.”
“You're making him breakfast?”
“I guess I am now.”
“You didn't know I was working today, did you?”
“Nope.”
“And you thought I would be making the breakfast.”
“Yup.”
“There's a calendar stuck to the door of the fridge with a magnet,” said Maxine. “All you have to do is look.”
“Too much trouble. Just tell me when you're working.”
“I always do.”
“And then I forget.”
“That's why I put the calendar up.”
“It's a vicious cycle.”
Maxine kissed Dan again. “Love ya.”
“Back at ya,” Dan replied.
Maxine turned and walked down the steps to her car.
Dan shut the door, turned, and looked down at Buddy, who was asle
ep on his flannel bed next to the small wooden table that held the photograph of Alex, his deceased wife.
“Hey,” Dan said.
Buddy opened his eyes and looked up at his master.
“I'll have two eggs over medium, bacon, and white toast,” Dan said.
Buddy closed his eyes and his head dropped.
“Really?” Dan asked. “I get your breakfast for you every morning, but I ask you one time to make me an egg, and it's too much trouble? I'll remember that.”
He walked into the kitchen to make a pot of coffee.
As the water dripped through the coffee grounds and into the pot, Dan stood with the refrigerator door open. His eyes went from the eggs to the bacon, and back to the eggs. He shut the door and went to the cupboard for a Pop-Tart. Sitting on the top shelf of the cupboard was a box of blueberry Pop-Tarts. Dan grabbed the box; it felt light. He opened the top and looked inside. There was one Pop-Tart inside an open wrapper. He pulled out the breakfast treat and took a bite. It was stale and chewy. Dammit!
“What's for breakfast?” Richard asked from the doorway. He, too, was shirtless and wearing yesterday's cargo shorts.
Dan spun around. His eyes focused on Richard's well-defined pecs and six-pack abs.
“We're going out to breakfast,” Dan responded. “Looks like you could use a little meat on those bones, Bruce Lee.”
“Bruce Lee?” Richard looked down at his chest and stomach. “That's kind of racist,” he pointed out.
“Can't be racist,” Dan argued. “My brother is Vietnamese.”
“I guess you got a point there, but Bruce Lee was Chinese.”
“I can't tell the difference.”
Richard chuckled. “I know what you mean, round-eye,” said Richard. “Whitey all look the same to me.”
Dan burst out laughing. Richard had grown on him in the last few days; he couldn't deny that he liked him. And he was really starting to like the idea of having a brother, his own flesh and blood, in his life.
The coffee stopped dripping and Dan turned toward the cupboard. “Coffee?” he asked.
“Sounds good,” Richard said.
Dan grabbed two mugs out of the cabinet and poured the coffee. “Cream or sugar?”
“Black.”
Dan handed Richard his mug. “I'm gonna slip on some shorts and drink this down by the fire pit.”
“Okay.”
“Grab the newspaper off the porch and I'll meet you down there.”
Richard turned and headed for the porch, and Dan went down the hall to his bedroom.
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