Royal Flush (The Jake Samson & Rosie Vicente Detective Series Book 6) by Shelley Singer Read Free Book Online Page A

been wearing a jacket with a ten-inch Confederate flag stuck to the back. Maybe his horoscope had warned him to lower his profile today; I didn’t see the jacket, and his T-shirt didn’t threaten or insult anyone. He was about thirty and looked a little smarter than Floyd. I strolled over, casual, just to say “Hey” on my way to the bar and my cousin Royal, who was perched on a stool next to his pal, Zack.
    Blondie’s blue eyes took me in, slowly and coolly. “Who’s this, Floyd?”
    “His name’s Jase. Cousin of Royal’s. Jase, meet Pete Ebner. And this guy—” Floyd didn’t look at the skinny one, he sneered and jerked a thumb in his direction “—he’s Karl.” Karl had nasty, squinty little dark eyes, disco-length greasy brown hair, and a tight angry smile that matched his black clothes, but he nodded at me in a reasonably friendly fashion. Obviously, Floyd didn’t like him, didn’t even do him the favor of mentioning his last name. I, on the other hand, liked his greeting much better than I liked Pete’s frozen glare.
    “Pete. Karl.” I started to walk away, but Floyd didn’t want me to.
    “Why don’t you sit down, Jase?”
    “Well, thanks— I’ll just get myself a beer first.”
    Steve drew me a foamy one while I slapped Royal on the back. I drank an inch of beer, small-talking with my cuz and his buddy, looking around the bar. Then I took my time wandering back to the table, plunked my beer down, and slid onto a chair.
    It was Karl who spoke to me first. “How come I’ve never seen you around before, Jase?”
    “Haven’t been around before.”
    Pete’s question matched the unfriendly look. “So you haven’t been around before, huh? How come you’re around now?”
    Floyd was watching my reaction. I gave Pete a cold Clint Eastwood kind of look.
    Karl snickered. “Don’t mind old Pete, Jase. He talks to everybody that way.” He stood. “Need a beer.” And I was left with Floyd and Mr. Congeniality, who was still waiting for my answer.
    “Look, I’m new in town, you know? And Royal’s been telling me about some of his friends. I thought we had some things in common.” I surveyed the room with approval, then brought my eyes back to Pete. “Tell me, Pete, I see a lot of bald heads and buzz cuts. How come you got those nice curls? How come you don’t shave your head?”
    “Not a skin. Skins are kids. What do you mean, things in common?”
    I was betting he’d been a skinhead a few years back. “Guts and ideas. I’ve seen Royal’s tattoo. You guys stand for something.”
    “We won’t stand for nosy strangers.”
    “Who put a bug up your ass, Pete?”
    “You got a foul mouth. Jason. That’s not what this is about. Everything clean. Everything decent. We’re white men. You want to talk like that, go to east Oakland.” Pete gave me a last suspicious glance and shoved his chair back.
    “Later, Floyd.”
    “Yeah, Pete.”
    The blond swaggered to the bar. He wedged himself in between Royal and Zack, and caught Steve’s attention. While Pete waited for his drink, he said a few quiet words to the boys. They nodded seriously. A couple of minutes later, when the barkeep slid the glass across, Zack hopped off his stool and followed Pete to the rear of the bar. I couldn’t see where they went. I hadn’t scoped out the back hallway all that carefully the night before. Maybe there was one of those mythical back rooms. I resolved to go to the toilet again soon.
    Floyd was silent, so I was too. I yawned. He burped.
    The guy with the double-lightning tattoo waddled toward us. His belly hung over his fatigues. His brown T-shirt was stained with grease spots. The top of his bald head was freckled. Possibly he was unaware of Pete’s age limit for skinheads. This one was no kid.
    He spoke to Floyd while he looked expressionlessly at me. “Goin’ okay, Floyd?”
    “Yeah.”
    “Good.”
    “Hey, Red, this is—”
    “I know. Jase. Royal’s cousin. Pleased to meet you, Jase.” He