'You lookin' for someone, man?'

'I was,' said Strange, forcing a friendly smile. 'From across the room there, I thought you were this fella I knew, from back in the neighborhood where I came up.'

'Oh, yeah?' Coles's tone was high and theatrical. 'You got to have twenty years on me, though. So how could we have come up together? Huh?'

Strange shook his head. 'We couldn't have, you're right. Now that I'm up close… the thing of it is, I can't see too good in this low light. And don't even get me started about my failing eyes.'

Coles took a sip from the snifter before him and tapped ash off his cigarette. He glanced over his shoulder to the man behind him and said, 'You hear that, Richard?'

A crescent scar semicircled Richard's left eye. 'Man can't see too good in this light.'

'Or maybe he thinks we can't see too good,' said Coles. "Cause we did see you, sittin' over there with your Caucasian partner, lookin' at whatever it is you put back in your pocket, tryin' to make me.'

'Trying to make you as what?' Strange chuckled and spread his hands. 'Brother, I told you, I just mistook you for someone else.'

'Oh, you mistook all right.' Coles smiled, then dragged on his cigarette.

'Whatever you're thinking,' said Strange, his voice steady, 'you are wrong.'

'Tell you what,' said Coles, looking past Strange. 'I'll just go ahead and ask the white boy. Here he comes now.'

Quinn had been turned away by a sign on the men's room door that told him it was closed for repair. He was coming back down the hall when he stopped briefly to look through the crack of a partially opened door. In the candlelit room, a young man in a chair was being fellated by the waitress who'd been talking to them minutes earlier. Her head was between the guy's legs, her knees sunk into orange shag carpet, and there was a bottle of bad champagne and two glasses on a small table beside them, the hustle just as Strange had described. A sculpture candle of a black couple standing up, intertwined and making love, burned on the table next to the glasses. Quinn walked on.

He came out of the hall and along the bar and saw Strange in a dark corner of the room, standing in front of the table where Coles sat. A big man stood behind the table, cracking the knuckles of one hand with the palm of the other. Quinn walked toward them.

Quinn knew Strange had warned him to stay off, and he considered this while he continued on, and then he was standing next to Strange, thinking, I'm here, I can't change that now. He spread his stance close to the table, looked down on Sherman Coles, and affected his cop posture. It was the way he used to dominate, standing outside the driver's-side window of a car he'd stopped out on the street.

'Here go your backup,' said Coles. 'What you think, Richard? This salt-and-pepper team we got here, they cops?'

'Look more like the Orkin army,' said Richard. 'What's with those jackets, huh? Those y'all's uniforms?'

Strange realized for the first time that he and Quinn were both wearing black leather. Another thing for these jokers to crack on, but he didn't care. Now that Quinn had made the mistake of joining him, he was focusing on how the two of them were going to walk away. And then he began to think about Quinn's short fuse. And Strange thought, Maybe we ought to stay.

'I don't think they're cops,' said Coles.

'White boy's too short to be a cop,' offered Richard.

No, I'm not, thought Quinn.

'Look more like bounty hunters to me,' said Richard. His voice was soft in a dangerous kind of way, and it was difficult to hear him over the wa-wa and bass pumping through the house system.

'Kind of what I was thinking, too, Richard.' Coles looked at Strange. 'That what you are, old man? A bounty hunter?'

'Like I said,' said Strange, keeping his voice on the amiable side. 'I thought you were someone else. I made a mistake.'

'Now, why you want to lie?' said Coles.

"Cause he scared?' said Richard. 'He does look a little scared. And white boy looks like he's about to dirty his drawers. How about it, white boy, that so?'

'How about what?' said Quinn.

'You gonna soil your laundry, or you gonna walk away right now before you do?'

'What'd you say?' said Quinn.

'Was I stutterin'?' said Richard, his eyes bright and hard.

'Let's go,' said Strange.

'Don't you know,' said Richard, smiling at Quinn, 'white man just afraid of the black man.'

'Not this white man,' said Quinn.

'Oh, ho-ho,' said Richard, 'now Little Man Tate gonna give us some of that fire-in-the-belly stuff. That's what you gonna do now, bitch?'

Strange tugged on Quinn's sleeve. Quinn held his ground and stared at Richard. Richard laughed.

'We're leaving now,' said Strange.

'What's a matter?' said Coles, holding his wrists out and together, as if he were waiting for cuffs. 'Ain't you gonna take me in?'

'Maybe next time,' said Strange, his tone jocular. 'See you fellas later, hear?'

Coles broke the imaginary chains on his wrists, raised the snifter in a mock toast. He drank and placed the glass back down on the table.

'When your bosses or whoever ask you why you came back empty handed,' said Coles, 'tell 'em you ran into Sherman Coles and his kid brother. Tell him it was us who punked you out.'

Strange nodded, the light draining from his eyes.

'We told you our names, white boy,' said Richard, his gaze on Quinn. 'Ain't you got one?'

Strange pulled harder on Quinn's jacket. 'Come on, man, let's go.'

This time Quinn complied. They walked toward the stairs, the Coles brothers' laughter on Quinn's back like the stab of a knife.

At the downstairs bar, Strange signaled the bartender for his unpaid tab and yelled out over the music for the tender to bring back a receipt. Strange turned to Quinn, who stood with his back against the bar, looking out into the crowd.

'Stupid, man. What'd I tell you about interfering with my shit?'

'I wasn't thinking,' said Quinn. It was the first thing he'd said since their conversation with the Coles brothers on the second floor. 'What do you do now? You ever gonna take him in?'

'Oh, I'll take him in. Didn't figure on Sammy Davis Jr. havin' a baby brother looked like Dexter Manley. Gonna be real calm about it, though, and wait for the moment. It's just work, got nothin' to do with emotion. I had the situation under control until you stepped in, tried to get all Joe Kidd on their asses. You got to learn to eat a little humble pie now and again.'

'Yeah,' said Quinn, watching Richard Coles come down the stairs and sidle-up next to a waitress. Richard was bending forward to whisper in the girl's ear. 'I've got to work on that, I guess.'

'Damn right you do,' said Strange, glancing back to see the subject of Quinn's attention.

Strange saw Quinn watch Richard Coles as he headed off down the hall past the end of the bar.

'Here you go, man,' said Strange, paying the bartender, taking his receipt.

'Appreciate it,' said the bartender, and Quinn turned and read the man's name, Dante, which was printed on a tag he wore pinned to his white shirt.

'You ready?' said Strange to Quinn.

'Gotta take a leak.'

'Another one? You just ran some water through it five minutes ago.'

'The upstairs head was out of order. I'll see you out at the car.'

Strange said, 'Right,' and walked from the bar. Quinn waited until he was gone and then headed down the hall.

On his way out, Strange told the doorman he'd be right back. He walked quickly to his car and pulled a set of handcuffs and a sap from the trunk, sliding the sap in to the breast pocket of his jacket, then went back into the club. He took the steps up to the second floor two at a time and moved through the table area to the four-top where Sherman Coles still sat.