Page 17 of Fortress
Toby shifted backward, and Jake said, “Oh, we were just lucky to be there. I guess you don’t...?”
She smiled thinly. “Think everything wrong in the world is the fault of the Red Menace? No. Ernest hasn’t been right in the head for quite some time, and most days I’m grateful that he’s got a fixation, not a... loss. But not, you can imagine, on days when he throws himself into the breach with an unloaded weapon.”
Toby lifted his head, frowning. “H-how did you know that, ma’am?” Cleaning up before the cops arrived, they’d realized the muzzleloader had been as empty as a frat keg on Monday.
“I’ve been hiding and selling off his ammunition since he started insisting commies killed poor Sally Dixon because she knew too much and were digging up our petunias in their spare time.” The woman sighed, and Jake, looking down at his own clenched fist, saw Toby’s hand jerk toward him but stop short.
“No, I don’t share his delusion,” she went on. “Couldn’t believe most of the awful things he assumed about the world. I assume my own evils but keep my mouth shut. It makes the world, if not a better place, a quieter one. But I’d like to thank you anyway. Ernest... hasn’t got enough cards to play go fish, but my life would be a sorrier place without the old coot.”
“I’m s-sorry that we c-couldn’t protect him better,” Toby said softly to the floor.
She chuckled dryly. “Young man, all the good citizens of this town combined couldn’t keep Ernest out of trouble. If he’s up for visitors, I’ll let you come along so he can thank you in person.”
Mr. Krueger was quite ready for visitors. They found him sitting up in bed, haranguing the nurse about the contents of the IV bag attached to the back of his hand.
“Ernest, that’s quite enough of that,” Mrs. Krueger said, formidable without raising her voice, and Mr. Krueger fell quiet at once. “You’ll give me your spare car keys when we get home. I can’t believe you still had anything that would start that old rust bucket. And you scared me half to death disappearing like that without a word. We will have a talk, but right now I think you have something to say to these boys.”
Mr. Krueger, who had been nodding abashedly, looked up at them, eyes lit. “See, boys! Those Russians are the only kind of freaks we need to worry about. Ugly sons of bitches, aren’t they?”
Jake snorted, though last minute he tried to turn it into a cough. Glancing to the side, he caught sight of Toby’s grin.
“Oh, for God’s sake, Ernest,” Mrs. Krueger sighed, but Jake cleared his throat.
“Yes, sir, we won’t forget that anytime soon. Gonna keep an eye out for those commies at every turn.”
Mr. Krueger raised both hands, beckoning both of them forward. They approached slowly until he could lean forward and grasp them with a hand on each of their shoulders. “You are good boys,” he pronounced, looking between them, and Jake would’ve had to fight back a laugh at the old man’s intensity if there wasn’t something deadly serious in it.
“Good, American boys,” Mr. Krueger repeated. “You’re fighting a good fight. Me, I’m not as young as I used to be, can’t do so much. But you two have time on your side, and you’re smart and quick. Quick as a whip. That’s good. I’ll sleep better knowing there’s Americans like you fighting the good fight, keeping watch. So thank you.” He smiled, wide and sincere.
For once, Jake didn’t have a ready response. Toby’s eyes held Mr. Krueger’s, his cheeks flushed and lips parted in amazement.
“All right, Ernest, you’ve said your piece, now let those boys go home and get some rest,” Mrs. Krueger said, and she gently chivvied them toward the door.
They didn’t speak until they’d reached the Eldorado, when Toby said, in an awed tone, “He said I was... a good American.”
“Well, yeah,” Jake said, and tried to catch his eye. “Even he’s got enough marbles to see that.”
Toby’s mouth quirked. “I dunno. Have you ever considered that I might’ve been born in Russia?”
Snorting a laugh, Jake knocked his shoulder against Toby’s before turning over the engine.
Chapter Four
When the weather reporters started yammering about the “Storm of the century!” and “Batten down the hatches, folks, this is going to be a doozie!” Jake figured they wouldn’t want to stick it out at a two-star motel without enough insulation and with a temperamental radiator.
So he asked Toby how’d he feel about heading back to Boulder for a few weeks, just to lie low through the blizzard? Toby nodded, leaning in to rest his head on Jake’s shoulder, and it was settled.
Every reason made sense, in his gut if not always in his head. Still, crossing back into Colorado felt like holding a match over a powder keg. He’d been leery of returning to this place, avoiding it in their sweeps across the Midwest and Southwest.
Now, passing the neat, familiar houses on their way to the apartment, near the grocery store where Toby had had his first panic attack and the park where he had been rendered near-catatonic by an errant Frisbee, the reasons solidified into something that Jake could touch, identify, and maybe curse. Sure, this time around Toby wasn’t plastered to the passenger seat door with his head down, hands locked on his thighs like he thought he might tumble out of the car. Jake’s palms weren’t sticky with a cold sweat on the steering wheel, driving without a goddamn clue about what was going on or how to make it better. But Jake remembered all that so fucking clearly, could still feel the paralysis building in his throat—until he risked a glance toward the shotgun seat and saw Toby sitting with one leg tucked underneath him, textbook and notebook open in his lap,but distracted by the scenery shifting from mountain passes into suburbs and strip malls as he absently tapped his pen under his chin.
Jake let his breath out and consciously relaxed his hands. It was going to be okay. They were going to be okay because they had come leaps and bounds from those two messed-up kids, and they knew how to deal now.
“Hey, Toby, whatcha thinking?”
Toby turned to him, a slight crinkle on his forehead. “You said we’re going back to the same apartment from before?”
“Yep.” Jake flexed his fingers on the wheel. “Same one.”
