Page 92 of Constantly Cotton
He’d seen Ace die too.
He’d seen their little group of family here in the desert frayed, scattered. He’d been all alone in the big house with Burton, and they’d been together but Burton’s friend Jason hadn’t made it, because Ace hadn’t been there to help.
Jai had been cut loose, adrift without his friends, and he’d run away from George, who had never loved again.
All of that because Sonny Daye, who had more right to be a psychopath than anyone Ernie had ever met, had not wanted to kill a man in cold blood.
And then Ernie had seen himself pulling the trigger, and none of that other stuff had occurred.
He didn’t even recall making the decision after that. He’d learned shooting in the army, and he’d learned when someone was full of bugs. He could feel the bugs clickety-clackety-crawling around in this guy’s brain from where he’d stood, hidden. A smooth motion, gun out of the back of his pants, sight, aim, shoot.
Boom.
And oddly enough, he’d felt Sonny’s horror at what he’d done—but he didn’t feel his own.
And watching Sonny pulling himself together to do what had to be done—that had kept Ernie steady. Sonny didn’t look at him like he was crazy. He didn’t give him any “Oh, poor Ernie, he had to kill a man, he must be shook.”
Sonny Daye treated Ernie like an equal, and like a grown-up. As far as Sonny was concerned, Ernie could make that decision of his own free will, and if Ernie had done it, he must have had a reason.
Sonny’s simple faith had given Ernie the confidence in his own judgment to not be taken out at the knees.
He’d done the awful thing then. He’d rolled the body up in a tarp and, with Sonny’s help, had put it in the SUV. Sitting behind the wheel had been… vomitous. He’d had a front row show to every horrible deed perpetrated by the driver who was currently leaking brains in a tarp in the back, and the man gave bugs a terrible, terrible name.
He had no problem driving the car into one of the old quarry pits out behind the housing tract he and Burton lived in, the only residents in what was supposed to be an upscale block of desert living jewels.
He’d soaked the car in a generous amount of gasoline and had lit a fuse made of twisted toilet paper as he’d sent the thing hurtling into the quarry. It had hit the bottom with a decent explosion and flameout, and Ernie had been mildly impressed.
Jai was so proud of himself for blowing shit up—but hey, Ernie didn’t do bad either!
He’d even been able to stop off at the house and wash off before walking back to the gas station, and when he’d gotten there, well, he’d been fairly impressed that Sonny and the guy he’d shot were both still alive.
Sonny looked wired for sound—but surprisingly enough, not psychotic and not catatonic, so Ernie took him up on his offer of sleep, knowing the entire time that sleep was not what he needed.
He climbed into bed and called Burton from their room built into the back of the house, keeping the lights off. Duke was cuddled in his arms, but only because the little dog was really good at not making a sound when the lights were off.
“Hey,” Lee said, his voice mildly muffled in that way that said Ernie was on a helmet com. “How’s things.”
And Ernie had been so good those months, when Burton had been undercover and Ernie had been living with Sonny and Ace. He’d kept his mouth shut, he’d tried not to worry Lee, not for the small shit. But that one little question, now, after having killed a man, and Ernie’s throat closed.
He’d killed before—Burton knew he could. Burton had walked into an alley expecting to find Ernie hurt, assaulted, dead, and had found Ernie standing and his enemies dying instead.
But this… this had been rawer than that. Maybe because he’d been offered a choice in his head, and had made it. Before, that night in the alley when Cruller had come to rescue him and had found he wasn’t bad at rescuing himself, he’d reacted. He’d been high and lonely and desperate and he’d known Cruller had been out there but hadn’t known when he’d act. He’d shoved that one guy’s nose into his brain pan without thought and without mercy and he could live with that.
Here, he’d made a choice, and he’d done it coolly, and he’d done it because Sonny Daye was a friend and Ernie didn’t want to see him dead.
“Ernie?” Concern—lots of it—laced Lee Burton’s voice. “Ernie? Baby? You okay?”
“Fine,” Ernie said hoarsely. “Just… some guys came by the gas station today. One’s wounded. Sonny’s watching him. One’s dead. He was gonna kill Sonny and—” He couldn’t say any more.
“You killed him first,” Burton said, his voice flat.
“I’m sorry,” Ernie told him, hating the crack in his own voice.
“Oh, baby—don’t be sorry. Do I have to turn around—”
“No!” Ernie’s voice cracked some more. “Jason needs you—man, you gotta catch up with him. He… he’s gonna need you. And everybody. Every one of you. Sonny’s lying to Ace—don’t… don’t tell him until tomorrow, okay? Just… you’ll know when. But…” He palmed the tears that made his face hot. “Love you, Cruller.”
“Love you too, club boy,” Burton said softly. “Here, you wanna hear about how Ace and Jai were heroes today?”
