Razorblade Tears

by S.A. Cosby

You always felt like you were on the edge of some imaginary precipice during any interaction with an officer of the law. If you were an ex-con, it felt like the precipice was covered in bacon grease.

Derek was in the silver casket with the black trim. Isiah was being buried next to his husband. They’d died together and now they’d rest together.

Traffic was a mess, but the dually bullied its way

down the road.

“Isn’t that just too clichéd? The lesbian plays basketball. But yeah, I like to play. I went to college on a scholarship.”

“Where do these Blue Anarchists hang out?”

Buddy Lee had felt a firmer grip from his grandmother on her deathbed.

😂😂

They couldn’t find their ass with a flashlight and two hands.

“I said, Derek met a girl. Some girl at an event we did for some guy who had a recording studio. He told me the girl was seeing some guy who was a big deal.

He’d robbed enough houses to say it wasn’t an anomaly.

He didn’t think they would need it, but if you stayed prepared you didn’t have to get prepared.

Stay ready, so you don’t have to get ready 🫵🏽

And life, inside the graybar and out, had taught him that vengeance came with consequences.

He didn’t know how and he didn’t know why, but he knew they were tied up with what had happened to Isiah and Derek. He knew it in his bones.

You testing the waters on your way out the door?” Mya said.

“Now let’s extrapolate this even further.

Then when they lead you to Tangerine you can take out all your pent-up aggression on all of them at your leisure. It’s the proverbial two birds with one stone. Until then, let them be. Just observe and report,” the voice said.

That’s a tell, Ike thought.

“Are you talking about Mr. Get Down’s party?” Ralph asked. “I don’t know. Who’s Mr. Get Down?” Ike asked.

“He’s a producer. Real name is Tariq Matthews.

Derek was in here a week before the party talking about how his company was gonna do the food for Mr. Get Down’s thirtieth.

“Isiah was supposed to meet her here for an interview. The day before the meet, him and Derek got shot in front of that wine bar celebrating their anniversary,” Ike said.

Jeff knew exactly where Tangerine was and how to find her. Ike could feel it in his guts.

All he really knew was that nice guy Jeff was sitting here lying to him like he was big dumb black-ass country son of a bitch.

Ike saw Jeff gazing at him from across the bar.

Her mouth was set in a grim line that aged her by ten years.

“And soon they’ll carry him away. He stopped loving her today.” Buddy Lee’s voice cracked as he sang the old George Jones classic.

“What the fuck are flying buttresses?” Buddy Lee asked.

They were the ones who put him in prison, but Ike had been the one who’d taken away his wife’s husband and his son’s father.

Slice bore down on him with his coal-black eyes like chips of hematite.

“I just don’t see you being ’bout it like that, Ike,” Slice said.

“Then you done forgot who the fuck I am,” Ike said.

“It’s easier to keep your head in the sand than it is to try and see things from somebody else’s point of view. There’s a reason why they say ignorance is bliss,” Ike said.

“Cousin, you ain’t got no idea. Now where this girl at?” Buddy Lee said. Tariq put his face in his hands.

“Uh … I … shit. Her name really is Tangerine. Tangerine Fredrickson. Are we cool now?” Tariq pleaded. Ike rolled his shoulders. They were still sore.