You Talkin' to Me? (Cannonball Challenge #01)

A tall dark man with a cool air about him took the seat nearest the window, sliding into the chair and placing his glass down in front of him. He glanced up at his friend, with a sad shake of his head.

“I ain't sho what chu be mad 'bout,” the man said. “I don't think she do that to you.”
“George…I think you too would be upset if you believed your wife to be unfaithful…wouldn't you?” the friend asked, slipping into the seat opposite.
“Course I wuld,” George answered. “But you ain't got no proof.”

Another man tugged out the chair between the two from beneath the table, setting it down with a clatter and practically falling into it. This man, short and sweaty from the journey in the hot Atlanta sun, grabbed up a napkin and dabbed his forehead. Then sighing, he placed down his drink and rested his elbows on the table. He nodded a hello to the mutual friend, Wyd, a young man with caramel skin and a friendly disposition. He glanced toward George, starting another greeting, but quickly looked back at the table.

“I only said I saw her,” the sweaty man groaned. “It was broad daylight. The man could have been—ah—ah…her brother for all I know.”
“Ivan, my good friend…you know she only has two sisters.”
“Oh yes, yes…ah—um—um…ah—cousin then?” the sweaty man asked hopefully.

Wyd shook his head.
Frowning, George leaned back in his chair, reaching up and rubbing his hand across the back of his neck.
“She been gone lots?” he asked Wyd. “Takin' dem strange phone calls?”

Wyd sat up straight, looking between his friends, his eyes wide as the realization dawned in his thoughts. Ivan, sweat beginning to form his brow, sat between them and looked confused as he glanced toward George.

“She went outside to take a phone call a few nights ago. It was late, maybe eleven?”
George raised an eyebrow as he frowned and shook his head sorrowfully.
“That be a bit 'picious.”

Ivan looked awkwardly between his friends, moving back away from the table.
“Wyd…uh—ah—don't be angry now…b-but…uh—that—ah—that was…me,” he said, raising his hands up and signing surrender.

Wyd looked to George, then to Ivan, only a moment before he was leaning across the table, reaching forward and grabbing his friend by the collar.

“Why are you calling my wife late at night?” he growled, his friendly demeanor gone. “You going behind my back?!”
“Wyd, come you'self! Believe you me…If I w-was, do you think I would tell you t-t-t-that I saw her with a man in the p-park?” he asked, stammering and shuddering from fear.
“He righ'…,” George suggested.
“Then why you did call my wife late at night?”
With his collar in his friend’s grasp, and a rather angry look on Wyd’s face, Ivan grimaced and tried to lean away with the hope of escape. Unfortunately, he remained in the stone grasp of the infuriated man.

“I-I-I'm sorry…b-but I just can't say,” he whispered.
“Tell—me!”
“Aww, com'on Wyd, let 'em go, won't ya?” George urged in a bored tone, scratching the side of his neck. “He ain't sleepin' wit yo' wife. Chu actin' plumb crazy!”
Wyd let go of his friend’s collar, shoving his shoulder back angrily in the process. Pushing his chair back, he got to his feet and grabbed up his drink.
“I'm need a smoke,” he grumbled before trudging off, slamming the door to the bar's patio. Alarm arose through the establishment and some eyed the table of the three old friends.
Ivan leaned back in his chair, watching him go before glaring at George.
“You know…he's bound to find out sooner or later. You know that, right?” he asked, a look of distain in his eyes.

“What…? Chu and his-a wife be fixin' a surprise party fo' him?” George asked, sipping his drink with ease.

“N-N-No, it's that you were the one I saw in the park with his wife…,” he answered in a desperate, unforgiving whisper. “And you certainly were not acting like family or even friends…”
"Chu ain't gonna tell him."
Ivan frowned deeply, redness going on his cheeks. “B-But I could…easily. Who says that I won't tell him?”
“We dun been friends from high school,” George answered confidently. “Don' chu think he won't believe meh.”

Ivan wrinkled his nose in annoyance and huffed out a sigh. It was useless. Therefore, he pushed his chair back and stood.

“I need a smoke too. But, p-please…whatever you and that woman are doing…end it…for your friend's sake," he pleaded, his eyes drooping in sadness.

As Ivan walked toward the doors, drink in hand, George looked over his shoulder toward the doors before shaking his head and returning to his drink.
“Ignert.”