“Marcus is lookin’ for him,” she said and the guy shrunk into himself.
“Thought he’d taken care of his thing with Marcus,” another guy said.
“This is a new thing,” Daisy replied.
“Ray’s a dumb f**k,” a different man said.
Now, I might have been mad at my Dad, but I didn’t like hearing someone cal him a dumb f**k. I tensed, visualizing my stun gun in my hand and Daisy, in mother bear mode, slid her eyes to me and her hair did another negative shake.
Daisy turned to Dumb Fuck Guy, “You know where he is tonight?”
“If he was smart, he’d be in Argentina. Since he’s not, he’s sittin’ a table somewhere.” His eyes met Daisy’s, “And no, I don’t know where.”
Daisy folded the next hand and lost huge (and I think on purpose) on the next. Then she got up, motioned to us and cashed out with Butch. We left the room and none of us said good-bye. They didn’t mind us being impolite.
We bel ied up to the bar down below, ordered drinks and stood there trying to ignore the stares we were getting.
“Can I just say, you are the shit,” Al y said to Daisy.
Indy and I nodded.
Tinkly-Bel Laugh Daisy was back.
“Thanks, Sugar,” she giggled.
“Did you lose that last hand on purpose?” I asked.
She nodded, “Not good form to go out a big winner, not if I don’t want to make trouble for my Marcus.” I had to admit, it was true, she was the shit. She knew everything.
“We stil don’t know where Jet’s Dad is,” Indy pointed out.
Okay, maybe not everything.
Daisy knocked back her vodka rocks.
“We ain’t done yet, neither.”
Off we trooped to the Mustang and Daisy gave Al y more directions. We hit a bar on Colfax, deep on Colfax, in a zone I’d never been to before.
We walked in and I noticed it had a reverse mix race majority, some white faces, predominately black.
Regardless of the fact that we weren’t the only white people there, we were the only white people there wearing skintight Lycra and enough hair spray to supply the Denver Broncos Cheerleaders for an entire season. This caused somewhat of a sensation and I felt that sensation lifting the hairs on the back of my neck.
Daisy charged through the bar like she owned the joint, went down a back hal and rapped on a closed door.
An enormous black woman, with an Afro even bigger than Daisy’s hair (needless to say, it was huge), opened the door, her face like a storm cloud. I sucked in breath and pul ed my purse closer, the better to reach my pepper spray. Then the cloud cleared and the woman’s face broke into a bright smile.
“Daisy-girl!” she said and came into the hal with us, closing the door and enveloping little Daisy in a big hug.
“Shirleen. How’s tricks?” Daisy asked when Shirleen let her go.
“Shit, they’re always shit. You know that,” Shirleen said, the smile never leaving her face which I thought was strange considering “tricks” were shit.
“Let me introduce my girls,” Daisy said and performed the introductions.
“Oowee! Looks like you al are paintin’ the town pink too-nite!” Shirleen declared and looked us al over with approving tawny brown eyes. I had the feeling Shirleen had Ada’s rose-tinted glasses on or she was prematurely blinding.
“Only way a town should be,” Al y said.