Page 210 of House of Cards

“Smith…” Troy grates.

“My name’s Smith,” I call out, hesitating before tossing my rifle onto the carpet where, hopefully, Ricky can see it.

My confidence is at ninety-five percent now after hearing the man’s voice. He sounds young, perhaps only two or three years older than Zoey.

“Zoey sent me to find you,” I say.

“Get the fuck out, or I’ll keep shooting!”

“Ricky, just listen! We’re not with Elonzo!”

I don’t know Ricky, have no fucking clue what will get him to calm down, to trust me. Every word out of my mouth feels like throwing spaghetti at a wall and hoping something will stick.

“I can take you to your sister, Ricky. She’s upstairs right now.”

There’s a catch in the guy’s voice when he yells out his reply. “Think I’ll fall for that one again?” As if to emphasize his point, two shots hit the wingback, jostling both me and Troy with the impact.

I glance at Troy. “Go fetch Zoey,” I whisper.

But he just shakes his head. “And let that kid put a bullet in you?”

“Christ.” I squeeze my eyes shut, scrape my hand through my hair. “Ricky? Ricky, listen, we’re going to fetch Zoey. We’ll close the door behind us, but I want you to stay right here so we can find you again, okay?”

“Sure, motherfucker,” Ricky says through a laugh.

“He’s not going to stay here,” Troy says.

“You think?” I snap. “Christ!”

“Get me out. I’ll stay in the hallway,” Troy says.

“And if he comes out?”

“I’ll try reasoning with him.” Troy lifts his rifle. “He might need a paramedic when I’m done, though.”

Now I’m wishing I hadn’t tossed away my rifle. Ricky could use it on Troy if he leaves the library. But I don’t see any other choice. Ricky’s not coming out, and we’re not getting further inside.

I sling an arm around Troy’s middle, both of us crouching as we silently retreat into the hallway.

“Hurry,” Troy says, grimacing as he leans against the wall and aims through the doorway with his non-dominant hand. “That kid sounds desperate. He’s probably going to come out shooting the moment he thinks we’ve left.”

I nod and retreat silently down the hallway.

As I reach the junction, I hear Ricky yelling something indistinct. Troy glances over at me, then focuses back on the doorway, weapon still raised.

He’ll try not to hit anything vital if Ricky comes storming out, but I’ve seen men die from a gunshot in the leg or arm or before.

Nothing’s certain in war. Or life.

All we can do is hedge our bets and hope the house doesn’t win.

Zoey

This balcony is much prettier than the one at Smith’s casino. No aluminum and glass, just beautifully carved stone with ivy creeping up one side. Flagstones where there should be sidewalk. The suggestion of a sharply trimmed hedge. If I jumped, I’m thinking the worst I’ll walk—limp—away with is a broken leg. Maybe a broken arm, too, if I miss the hedge.

I would attempt another sheet-rope, but it was laughable how quickly my knots unraveled on the last one.

God, I wish I wasn’t such a coward.

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