Page 164 of American Hellhound
Someone recognized him, because a cheer of “Dope’s here!” went up from the back of the crowd, followed by a ripple of excited murmurs.
Over by the stereo, Collier made a face likewhat you gonna do now?
“Shut up!” Ghost roared. “Shut up and listen a second! There’s no weed.”
“Booo!” several voices chorused.
“The cops are on their way,” he continued. “So all of you need to clear out.”
“You called the cops?!”
“Dude!”
“Lean Dogs suck!”
“You heard him!” Collier spoke up. “Get a move on. Out. All of you.”
They were in the ballroom. When silence fell, it seemed to echo, ringing in the corners of the high ceiling. From above, he heard, “Ghost?”
Mags.
He tipped his head back and allowed himself one indulgent look at her: hands on the rail, golden hair spilling around her shoulders, expression a painful blend of surprised and glad and hesitant.
“Stay there,” he told her, aiming a finger at her for good measure. “The rest of you,” he said, dropping his head, “need to get the fuck out, you hear me? You’ve got ten minutes. Get your shit and go.Now.”
Something in his voice finally got through to them. They grumbled and shot him dirty looks, but they started heading for the exits, snatching up six-packs and wine coolers as they went.
He looked at Roman, pale-faced and rattled. “Get ‘em out,” he instructed. And headed up the stairs.
There were two girls at the top. “Oh my God, Steph,” he heard one say, and his eyes shifted to the blonde. She was pretty, sure, but she looked thirty-five, harsh, cruel features; he’d bet she was an ugly crier.
“Wait,” he said, and slapped a hand against the wall, so both girls were forced to pull up. They gasped. “You Stephanie?”
When she looked him in the eye, he remembered her from the drop Roman had made a few weeks ago, the one Maggie had been dragged to.
She remembered him too, apparently, teeth chattering with nerves.
“Don’t lie to me. I know you are.”
“Y-yeah. I’m Stephanie.”
“The next time you think it’d be a good idea to take spray paint to Maggie’s car, remember I don’t mind hitting a woman.” He left her there, sputtering.
Maggie was waiting for him, leaning on the second-floor balcony railing. Jeans and a peach-colored top with pearl buttons, high heels, diamond studs, and his jacket, too-big and perfect on her. She watched his approach with her body held stiffly, her head low, looking up at him through her lashes. Almost like she was afraid of him.
“You called the cops? That’s not very outlaw of you.”
“There’s no cops.” He reached her and pulled up short, not sure of his welcome. She looked like she’d just as soon slap him as kiss him. “Somebody a helluva lot worse is on the way. We gotta get all these kids outta here.”
“Kids?”
“That’swhat’s gonna insult you?”
“I’m way past insulted.”
“Yeah, well–” Over the scuffle of feet and din of unhappy conversation, he heard the low rumble of a truck with aftermarket pipes.
“Ghost,” Collier called up. “Company, man.”
