Page 79 of Guitars and Cages

I shook myself out of the memories when I got to that moment in time. As always, it had a sobering effect on me. The rain was still heavy, but the factories and the docks were familiar. As I always seemed to, I’d ended up at River’s End, at the place where you could buy oblivion, if only for a couple hours and only if you could pay the price. Tonight I was willing. The booth in the corner held its usual occupant; I was pretty sure Catfish would choke the hell outta anyone else who dared to sit there. At the very least, he’d have his latest bodyguard choke the bastard and toss them out. I dripped water everywhere as I walked over to stand beside the booth, shivering as I waited for him to acknowledge me. Some nights he’d nod right away, or point to the seat without missing a beat in his conversation; other nights he’d make ya wait, let you stew as you stood there wondering what kind of a mood he was in, and if the price would be higher than you were willing to pay.

I don’t know what he saw in my face when he looked up at me, but whatever it was it moved Catfish to do something I’d never known him to do. He stood up, and dismissed the two guys he’d been talking to; the blond backed into me as he slid out of the seat. He spun as soon as he did, eyes going wide, and then he bumped into Catfish before his buddy managed to grab his arm and haul him out of there. Any other night I might have found that funny, but at the moment my mind was struggling to work. I watched Catfish through matted strands of rain-soaked hair as his shrewd gaze raked over me, and then he reached out and took hold of my arm.

“Come on, kid. Upstairs.”

He didn’t yank and he didn’t order, but his grip was firm and he watched me, waiting to see if I would listen. I heard his words, but my brain was still playing catch-up, still sorting through moments and memories and playing hell with my peace of mind.

He stepped in closer, and I was reminded that he wasn’t quite as tall as me, though he was broader, heavier, more solid mass than muscle now that he was past his prime. “Asher?”

I blinked, trying to focus so I could tell him what I needed.

I was shaking too hard to remember what to say. What was the code for mescaline again? It had been a while since I’d come here begging him to get me high. “I...please, can I... I need...”

He nodded. “I know. I have what you need upstairs. Come on, I’ll take care of you, kid.”

His voice was patient, his tone far less gruff than I’d ever heard it. He was talking to me the way I used to talk to spooked horses. I went with him and let him guide me up the stairs and down the hall to the old, familiar corner room. It was warmer up here, but I still shivered, my clothes clinging to me from the rain. He locked the door, and then turned to face me.

“Jesus Christ, kid, take those wet things off before you catch pneumonia.”

I got my T-shirt off easily, but I fumbled with the button on the jeans. Finally he undid them for me and helped me peel the wet denim off. Catfish was the only person I didn’t have to worry about seeing my scars; he didn’t care how many new ones I had or where they were or how they got there, which meant I wasn’t gonna have to suffer through a lecture.

He yanked the blanket off the bed and threw it at me, the heavy material blinding me for a moment. “Wrap up in that. Your clothes ain’t gonna be dry anytime soon, and it’s not like you’re goin’ anywhere, anyway.”

“Thank you, sir,” I finally managed.

“No, thank you. Those two idiots downstairs were getting on my fuckin’ nerves; you showing up when you did was a good excuse to be rid of them. I’d have tossed them out on their ear, but I do too much business with their grandfather to offer a blatant offense, if you get what I mean.”

I nodded because I knew exactly what he was talking about. He crossed the room and went into the closet; I stayed where I was ’cause he never let anyone see where he kept things hidden. He came out with a baggie full of sliced, dried buttons from the peyote cactus, and passed them over to me.

“I hope you know how hard that shit is to get a hold of. Only goddamned reason I keep it around is for you, don’t no one else ever ask for it.”

“Yes, sir,” I said, opening the baggie and taking out the first button. The first always tastes the worst; after a couple, you don’t even notice the flavor anymore. “My uncle grew it on his ranch in Texas. He was forever complaining about how long it took the cacti to grow.”

“That uncle of yours still growing it?”

“No, sir, he died two years ago.”

“Damn. Guess that explains why you get it from me instead of him.”

“Yes, sir, he’s the one who first gave it to me.”

“An expensive habit,” he pointed out. I knew what he was getting at. “It’s a good thing you don’t do it often. This is the first time in months you’ve been by here lookin’ for it. I was beginning to wonder if you hadn’t quit, yet here you are.”

“Yeah,” I said, chewing down another button. I was still shivering, my teeth chattering as I tried to chew. I bit the inside of my mouth hard enough to taste blood; it made the cactus taste a little better.

“So what happened, kid? You can tell ol’ Catfish; it ain’t like I’m gonna judge, but it ain’t every day you show up to see me looking like death.”

I stilled when he said that, shaking harder, trying not to think about Gage. It took two tries to swallow the peyote button I’d been chewing, and then I shoved in two more buttons, chewing them furiously, desperately seeking the high.

“So that’s it, is it? You lose someone close to you, kid? I didn’t think you had any family here, least none that you’ve ever mentioned.”

I knew what he was doing. He was fishing for anything he could hold over my head the next time I needed something; a way to tie me to him. And why not, the little voice in the back of my head screamed, reminding me that his place and the people there were the only ones I deserved to belong to.

“Not yet, but he’s...he’s dying.”

“Death sucks. Too bad it’s the only thing we can’t buy our way out of. So who is it? Grandfather, your old man, some—”

I couldn’t stop myself from cutting him off; I couldn’t keep the anger from my voice. “If my old man were dyin’ I’d be celebratin’ right now.”

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