Page 27 of Fire
“I know, kid, I know.” Roger grasped his shoulder in a quick squeeze, then released him. “Just head to my room and keep breathing, I’ll take care of it.”
Tobias tore down the hall. Roger descended the rest of the stairs and turned on the lights, checking the guest room to make sure the door was closed. Tobias had already cleared the living room of all signs of his presence.
The headlights had come to a stop, washing his porch in brilliant halogen glare. Roger picked up his shotgun from beside the door and waited.
The truck’s doors opened, and three men got out, one helping another as he staggered. They were little more than shadows behind the headlights.
“You up, Harper?” one called.
“You made enough noise coming in,” he answered through the screen door. “Who’s there?”
“Roy Davis here, and Gene Lewis and Bucky Walsh with me. We had a run-in with a couple of vamps outside Las Cruces, could use a space to patch up. Maybe a drink?”
Roger grunted. He’d check them, but there was no good way to turn them away. “Come on up.”
“Bucky’s bleeding already,” Davis said, grinning at Roger as he reached the porch’s illumination. He had blood on his teeth.
Roger stood back, watching his wards as the men crossed the threshold, then checking them against the basics (silver, bronze, a couple of charms he had). Everything came up clean, so he went for his first-aid kit and the cheap whiskey stash while they settled in the living room.
Lewis was staggering between his two buddies, loopy with what was most likely a concussion, as Walsh kept smacking him upside the head with his non-bandaged arm to keep him awake.
Roger let Davis pour out the shots while he checked Lewis’s eyes (definitely a concussion) and cleaned and stitched up Walsh’s arm. He listened to the meandering story of their hunt, which they’d basically stumbled into and escaped by the skin of their teeth.
“Did you take them out or not?” Roger cut in at last.
Davis shrugged. “Walsh definitely took the head off the first one, and I’m pretty sure I got the last one in the head, but it was already in the trees.”
Roger sighed. “Okay. Well, there’s a motel five miles down the road that’s always got some empty beds.”
Walsh stared at him, then let out a short, disbelieving laugh. “Are you fucking serious? You can’t let us pass out on your couch for a few hours?”
“You ain’t paying, and this ain’t a motel,” Roger said.
“Since when?” Lewis exclaimed. His eyes weren’t quite focusing, but he still managed to put a hell of a lot of indignation in his voice.
“Sincealways,” Roger snapped.
The tension in the room ratcheted up, like a rubber band stretched thin between them. They all knew it could snap, but no one was quite sure who would feel the sting. Roger breathed carefully and calculated his odds. These men were tired, one concussed and another down to one working arm. It was also three-to-one odds, and all Roger had was the shotgun resting against his chair.
Wouldn’t be the worst fight he’d been in, but he worried about the kid upstairs.
The tension broke when Davis stood, hands lifted in surrender. “Fine,” he snapped. “Sorry for interrupting your fucking beauty rest. Gene, Bucky, get your fat asses up, we’re hitting the road.”
Roger braced the door with his foot as they filed out, instinct telling him he should have both hands free, just in case.
Walsh stopped on the porch, turning back with his right hand sliding into his back pocket, eyes calculating.
Roger shifted. “You don’t need to tip me,” he said, “but if you’re reaching for anything but your wallet, we’re going to have a problem.”
Walsh held his gaze. Then Davis shouted from the truck, “Bucky! Get your ass down here before Gene starts drooling,” and Walsh half-turned as he moved down the stairs, keeping one eye on Roger all the while.
Roger stood at his door, watching until the pickup turned the corner and the sound of its engine faded into the night. Then he locked the door and slowly headed back upstairs, trying to ease his racing heart.
From the hall, he called out, “Coast is clear, Tobias.”
No response. Roger hadn’t expected one.
He knew where to look this time. Slowly he slid open his bedroom closet door. Wedged between Roger’s boots and his second-best suit in its dry-cleaning bag, Tobias stared up and through Roger with neither a smile nor relief, but a terrible, familiar flat blankness.
