The Death Relic by Chris Kuzneski Read Free Book Online

that expression, you’re supposed to use your hands to show how fed up you are.’
    Jones nodded. ‘I know, but it’s too cold to take my hands out of my pants.’
    ‘What are they doing in your pants? This is a restaurant, not an adult theatre.’
    ‘Not
in
my pants – in my pockets. And all they’re doing is getting warm.’
    ‘I can’t remember: was that Pee-wee Herman’s or George Michael’s excuse when the police busted him?’
    Jones reluctantly put his hands on the table to prove his innocence. ‘Let me assure you, there’s nothing pee-wee about my herman, even in this weather.’
    Payne rolled his eyes. ‘If you don’t mind, can we change the topic before I lose my appetite? It’s bad enough that I still have puke on my boots.’
    Jones blew on his hands for warmth. ‘You know, that would be a great title for a country and western song. Ladies and gentlemen, it’s “Puke On My Boots” by Willie Nelson.’
    Payne shook his head in frustration. ‘Seriously, enough with the puke talk. Can’t we have one meal where we talk about normal things?’
    Jones took offence. ‘You are such a hypocrite!’
    ‘I’m a
hypocrite
? What are you talking about?’
    ‘Damn, Jon, that’s pretty bad. You run your own company, but you don’t know what
hypocrite
means? Talk about embarrassing. Remind me to sell my stock in Payne Industries.’
    ‘You know damn well I know what it means. I want to know why you called me one.’
    ‘Why? Because I tried to talk about something normal when you first sat down, and you accused me of whacking off under the table.’ Jones said it so loudly that some of the customers glanced in their direction. ‘Or is talking about the weather not normal enough for you?’
    Payne grunted and reluctantly nodded. In a friendship like theirs, it was as close to an apology as Jones was going to get. ‘So, what were you saying about the weather?’
    ‘I’ve had it up to here. You know how much I hate this shit.’
    ‘That’s right. Now I remember.’
    ‘Seriously, Jon, I have to get away before I kill someone.’
    Once again the four men at the neighbouring table turned round and stared at Jones, but this time he met their glares with one of his own. One by one he shot them a look that had gotten him out of more fights than he could possibly remember. A look that had been honed on the bloodiest of battlefields, one that came from years of training, fighting and killing around the globe. It wasn’t a look that could be faked. It was a look that had to be earned.
    Not surprisingly, the men backed down without saying a word.
    Payne fought the urge to smile. ‘Did you have somewhere in mind?’
    Jones shrugged. ‘Somewhere warm.’
    ‘That’s too bad. I was tempted to go skiing this weekend.’
    ‘Skiing? Black men don’t ski. You should know that by now.’
    ‘Hold up! Aren’t you the one who’s always telling me that black people can do anything?’
    ‘We
can
do anything. We simply
choose
not to ski. I mean, Martin Luther King never said anything about skiing. He never said, “I have a dream … about strapping two boards to my feet and sliding down a mountain.” If he did, we would ski. But he didn’t, so we don’t.’
    Payne grinned. ‘Wow! I learn something new every day.’
    ‘Now don’t go telling white folks I said that. It could get me in serious trouble. Heck, the only reason I told you is because you’re an honorary black man.’
    ‘I am? When did that happen?’
    ‘Last month. We took a vote.’
    ‘And I passed?’
    ‘By the slimmest of margins.’
    Payne smiled. ‘Thanks, man. I appreciate it.’
    ‘Don’t go thanking me. I voted against you.’
    ‘You what?’
    ‘You heard me. I voted against your ass.’
    ‘Why did you do that?’
    ‘Why? Because I’ve seen you dance.’
    Payne groaned in embarrassment. He was great at nearly everything he tried, but dancing wasn’t one of them. ‘Now that you mention it, I would’ve voted against me,