Free The Death Relic by Chris Kuzneski

you start yapping. Yap, yap, yap. Like a little dog. It’s pathetic.’
    Payne remained silent, patiently letting his remark fester. He knew the comment about race would eventually be addressed, and when it did, it would mess with his friend’s mind.
    Jones studied the table. ‘Four ball, side pocket … No, wait. Scratch that. Two ball, far corner. I think I can squeeze it in past the twelve …’
    ‘What’s wrong?’ Payne asked.
    Jones repositioned himself for the shot. ‘Nothing’s wrong.’
    ‘Are you sure? Because it
looks
like something’s wrong.’
    He ignored the question and attempted the shot, which he missed by a few inches. Not because he was distracted, but because it was a difficult shot. ‘Shit.’
    Payne fought the urge to smile as he snatched the cue back. ‘Wow! That was
really
close. You must be heartbroken. I’ll tell you what: if you want, we can move the balls back and I’ll let you try again. That’s what my dad used to do … when I was three.’
    ‘Screw you.’
    ‘I can even pick you up so you can see over the edge of the table a little better. For a short guy like you that’s a pretty big disadvantage.’
    Jones sneered as he returned to their corner table. He took a long swig of beer before he spoke again. ‘What were you talking about before?’
    ‘When?’
    ‘Earlier.’
    ‘Yeah, that really narrows it down.’
    Jones growled softly. ‘That bullshit about eight-ball.’
    ‘Oh,
that
. I was wondering when we’d get back to that. I heard some sociologist talking about it on TV. He claims eight-ball is a racist game that should be boycotted by everyone.’
    ‘Really? Why’s that?’
    Payne explained the theory. ‘The cue ball, which is
white
, is used to knock around all the coloured balls. The balls that are solid in colour have the lowest numbers on them. In other words, they have the lowest value according to society. Meanwhile, the striped balls, which are half white, have higher numbers, giving them a greater intrinsic value.’
    Jones grunted. ‘I never thought of it like that.’
    ‘But that’s not the worst part.’
    ‘It’s not?’
    Payne shook his head. ‘The object of the game is to knock the eight-ball, which is
black
, off the table. Nobody wins until the black ball gets eliminated. Once it does, we celebrate.’
    ‘Son of a bitch! We’re playing a racist game.’
    ‘Just say the word and we can quit.’
    From his seat in the corner, Jones eyed the playing surface. He had a three-ball lead in their current game. ‘Not right now. I’m winning.’
    ‘Are you sure? Because I’m more than willing to quit—’
    Jones interrupted him. ‘Not a chance in hell! It’s funny how you didn’t mention this racism thing when you were kicking my ass in the last game.’
    ‘I didn’t think of it then.’
    ‘I wonder why.’
    ‘Wait! What are you suggesting? That I’d stoop so low as to use race issues to my personal advantage.’
    Jones nodded. ‘Just like a whitey.’
    Payne faked indignation. More like brothers than friends, they constantly joked about race without offending one another. It had been that way for as long as they could remember. ‘How dare you call me whitey! I’m an honorary black guy. You said so yourself.’
    ‘You
were
until you made up that bullshit about a sociologist.’
    ‘Bullshit? What bullshit?’
    Jones called his bluff. ‘Sociologist, my ass! That eight-ball-is-racist skit is one of the oldest jokes in the world. I’ve heard everyone from Martin Lawrence to Chris Rock talk about it. If you’re gonna distract me, you need to come up with fresher material.’
    Before Payne could respond, he heard his phone ring above the din of the bar. It was sitting on their table, right next to Jones. ‘Can you grab that for me?’
    ‘Not a chance. You’ll use it as an excuse to quit.’
    ‘No, I won’t.’
    ‘Yes, you will.’
    ‘At least tell me who’s calling. I won’t pick up unless it’s important.’
    Jones sighed