Hell to Pay by Andy Rausch

Author:Andy Rausch
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Down & Out Books

CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE

When they lost count of the number of blocks they’d walked, they decided to stop for a drink. In Hades, there was a bar on almost every block. The bar they stopped at was a rundown hole-in-the-wall called Smokey’s Place. Judging from the two men standing outside, Stick figured it was going to be a black bar.

“Come on,” Diggy said. “Let’s get a drink.”

Stick was a tough man, but truth be told, he was a tad bit nervous.

“There don’t seem to be any white people here.”

“Sounds good to me,” Diggy said. “I feel like I already got one too many white dudes to deal with.”

“Really, though, what if they don’t want me here?”

Diggy grinned. “I was you, I’d keep ’hold ’a that hammer.”

“Thanks for the encouragement, Dig.”

“Don’t mention it. It’s the least I can do.”

“The very least,” Stick said.

Diggy nodded at the man standing closest to the door, and the man nodded back. Stick looked at him and said, “How’s it going?” but the man just stared at him.

“Friendly fucker,” Stick said.

A bell rang as Diggy pushed the door open. He stepped inside with Stick behind.

There was a smattering of clientele, all black. A couple guys looked up at first, and soon everyone in the place was looking at Stick.

The fat-but-fairly-tough-looking bartender shook his head.

“Uh-uh,” he said. “This ain’t that kinda place.”

Diggy met the bartender’s gaze. “Oh yeah? What kinda place is it?”

“The kinda place that don’t cater to guys like him.”

Diggy looked at Stick, grinning as he did. “What is you, Stick? About six-four?” He looked back at the bartender, nodding. “I get it. You sayin’ you don’t cater to dudes that’s six-four, right? I get it, man. They can be a real pain in the ass. Lemme tell ya, this motherfucker here—”

“We don’t serve crackers,” the bartender said.

“It’s a good thing we didn’t bring any cheese then,” Diggy said.

The tension in the room was thick enough to cut with a knife. Stick would have been just fine with leaving, but Diggy was in full Diggy mode.

“You ain’t funny,” the bartender said.

Stick grinned and looked at Diggy. “See? I keep trying to tell him that, but he doesn’t listen.”

No one laughed, grinned, smiled, or smirked. A few of the bar’s patrons were starting to rise from their seats.

“You better get your asses outta here,” the bartender said.

“Or what?” Diggy asked.

“Whatchu think?”

Diggy looked him over. “I think you’re a sorry-ass mama’s boy. That’s what I think. I think you probably died back home doin’ somethin’ stupid, and I think if you keep pushin’ this, we ’bout to see a repeat.”

Diggy made a point to let him see the hammer, holding it in front of his body, resting its head in the palm of his other hand. This didn’t go unnoticed by the bartender.

“I don’t know who the fuck you think you are,” the bartender said, “but there’s about thirty brothers in here who would be more than happy to stomp a mud hole in both your asses.”

“Thirty against two,” Stick said.

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