“Get some ashtrays. I guarantee I won’t be the only one smoking out here,” he said. “And as for drinks, why the fuck not? I’d have to be an idiot to say no to a free round.”
Well, there are many reasons why the fuck not.
But as I looked at the growing expression of confidence on Brock’s face, as I looked at that smile brightened by the sun, as I looked at those eyes that were so protective of me yet also so protective of himself…
It didn’t take much for me to think, “Why the fuck not, indeed.”
* * *
I had meant to save my first Reapers visit for Kathryn and possibly Elizabeth.
But having Brock along as a first visit, as a preliminary visit, wouldn’t be too bad.One drink. You got work tomorrow, don’t forget.
And you don’t want to lose your control around Brock that quickly.
The place looked almost designed to be dingy, but it was a little too new to give that gritty, worn-in impression. There were a couple of bikes parked out front, not including Brock’s, but Brock didn’t seem too concerned. Inside, there were some black-and-white photos of what looked like California, a bar that ran in an L-shape, a few pool tables, and some booths in the way back.
There were neon-lit signs of things that made no sense to me, like “Brewskis,” “Tom’s Billiards,” and “Springsville.” There were photos of different men with their bikes; they all looked handsome, but judging by the background, all of them were in California. It was a cool sight, though I had to admit that if it were up to me, I wouldn’t have exactly picked it as my choice of a drinking spot.
“Beer?” I said to Brock.
“Always,” I said. “If I’m not having beer, it’s probably because Garrett gave me some shots or liquor.”
“Jesus, Garrett,” I said, recalling how that kid could party like every evening was a festival. “Any kind?”
“Don’t care,” he said. “Get me something strong.”
I went over to the bar, staffed by a man with a buzz cut and a thick, long beard. He nodded to me, leaned forward, and waited for me to talk. This was a “get your drink and go back to your corner” place.
“Uh, two Guinness beers, please.”
The man rapped the table and moved to grab them. One Guinness would leave me a little woozy, but I didn’t plan on finishing the whole thing. I’d let Brock take half of mine.
The man came back, I gave him a twenty, took five back, and headed over to the table to see Brock eying the bar’s decor with enormous curiosity and fascination. Brock was an affable guy, a caring guy, an inquisitive guy, but he wasn’t someone prone to being wide-eyed and in awe.
“You like the place, huh?”
“Shit, I wish we had something like it in Santa Maria!” he said. “The Bandits would probably cause some trouble and burn it down eventually, but that doesn’t mean I can’t wonder what would be.”
“I would imagine so.”
I sipped on my drink. Brock sipped on his. It was quiet; there were five other people in the bar, two of them on a date, the other three some older guys kicking back after a long day at work. Had this been a bar on the outskirts of Albuquerque, I might have wondered if the client base would be too rough for me; being in the heart of the city, I figured it was meant to be more of a theme.
“Thank you for taking the job, by the way,” I said. “It’s much appreciated. I wouldn’t have felt safe being back in that area otherwise.”
“Of course.”
“Even if you were quiet and didn’t say much on the drive from your place.”
Brock ignored that.
It shouldn’t have meant anything.
But while I’d held my tongue from saying too much in our encounters the previous couple of weeks, there were no more excuses. We weren’t about to see Steele. I didn’t have work waiting for me. We only had each other.
Correction—we only had each otherifwe allowed ourselves to communicate.
“Brock, why are you so loathe to tell me what’s going on with you?”
