Page 34 of Touchdown

Noah and I exchanged some side-eye.

“That answer your question?” asked the henchman. “He's down deep.”

The other member of the crew lay on his side a few steps away. He was curled like he was cuddling his lower arm. The lump said that's where I nailed him with the can of peaches, but a broken wrist shouldn't have put him out cold.

“Fucker tripped and snapped his ankle too,” Hench said.

“So, let me guess.” I seized Noah's elbow to jerk him away from a second discarded needle. This place was a real minefield for barefoot men. “You let him join his friend in cold storage. You're a real prince among men, you know that?”

Hench joggled the rifle restlessly. “I don't have to justify myself to you. He fucked up so bad he couldn't even walk out of here under his own steam. All he could do was make noise at the wrong time and draw down more fire on himself.”

“Uh-huh,” I said. “Also, since these two poor fucks screwed up and got tranked, they're not going to remember anything that happened. You get to control the narrative. Every fuckup, one of those two fools did it.”

Even as I spoke, a disquieting thought occurred to me. Our narrative needed to be controlled too.

How long after we deliver these dudes to where you need them before we get tranked too?

Couldn't let it happen. Couldn't lose those memories with Noah.

“They're the ones who fucked up. Not me. I'm just the poor fuck along for the ride.” Hench was only talking this much for his own entertainment. And because he figured me and Noah were going to forget.

Everybody was going to forget.

Everybody except him.

All I could do about it was keep him talking. Buy some time to figure something out.

What came out of my mouth was pretty close to what was hovering at the forefront of my brain. “Know something? Bet I already figured out the story you're going to sell the boss.” I nudged a toe against the nearest unconscious shoulder. “You're the hero, and they're the zero.”

“I know something else too. Your attitude problem is going to get you hurt one day. Bad hurt. You're lucky I'm a patient man.”

I was lucky he was a lazy man. Neither of his buddies could walk. Noah and I could avoid being tranked for exactly as long we were cooperative enough to carry them out.

The deal was as clear as it was crass.

Chapter 23

“You boys may not mind parading around in the rain in the altogether, but I'm ready to clear out of here.” Despite his claim to being a patient man, our captor was growing visibly antsy. “You going to help me haul this cargo, or nah?”

He shook his tranquilizer gun. As if we needed a reminder of what would happen if the answer was, nah.

Noah and I had to talk to each other with our eyes. It was hard to look at him and hard to look away. He was beautiful, but I wasn't so comfortable with Noah being beautiful in a forest where we were under some hired honcho's gun.

What I really wanted to do was tackle said honcho, take away the gun, and pistol-whip some better manners into him.

I'm fast enough. I'm hard enough.

But was I fast enough to outrun the dart aimed at Noah? Even if I knocked the rifle wild, there was always a non-zero risk of hitting Noah.

He didn't need to lose any more memories.

Also, even if they were the bad guys, we couldn't exactly leave them knocked out and helpless in the middle of a tropical island forest. So I gave Noah a look that said, go along to get along until I've got a better idea, and he gave me a little chin nod to say he understood.

“We'll have to make up a sling from one of the sheets.” I pointed to the nearest one hanging damp and limp from its branch. “I'm going to go over there and untie it from the tree. That OK with you, pal?”

“That was my plan all along.” When he turned, the rifle turned for a minute to point at me instead of Noah. Could I use that somehow? Or was I just looking to get us both killed faster?

“What's the deal with the fucking sheets anyway?” the goon asked.

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