We both people watch as we wait. Our drinks are placed in front of us along with a complimentary bowl of tater tots.
“You know they want us to have the salt, right? Creating thirst makes people order more. Most people know that, but did you know that sodium downregulates satiety? High-sodium foods trick the brain and reduce your ability to feel fullness, so you keep eating and keep drinking.”
“You don’t say.” He lifts his beer, and I clink my glass to his. “So Mexican restaurants bait us with chips and salsa just so we’ll buy food?”
“Making fun of your sister is rude, especially when you’re entering your sodium-watching years. Old,” I cough into my hand, realizing too late how unfair the joke is and more so, how unfair it is not to be able to joke.
“Grab my cane and my hearing aids then.” He pops a tater tot as I sip my drink. “Tell me about your man.”
I’m fairly certain grapefruit juice shoots out my nose. If it doesn’t, it certainly hit the back of my sinuses because I just nasal rinsed my drink where it should never have gone.
Pumpkin balls.
“So that’s a yes to the man then?” Strider slides the bowl away from whatever disaster just happened on the chairs and the corner of the table. “Glad to see I still can get to the bottom of things. You’d think an old man might’ve lost his touch.” He pops another tot and looks down his nose at me. He’s sussing out what I gave away in the whole thing.
I flag down the waitress, asking for a water and another napkin. Her disdain is evident enough I say something. “We’re here as paying customers. If you truly are so annoyed at working with us, we’d be happy to talk to the manager about having another server assigned. We’d hate to cramp your day by existing.”
My brother’s jaw drops open as the waitress turns on a heel and stalks away. “What was that?”
“That was me tired of dealing with her attitude on a day that’s going to be freaking perfect, even if I have to make it so.” Or as Liam would call it, it’s me calling bullshit when who I should be is too nice for what the situation requires.
“It is perfect. You’re here. Sam’s here.” He drinks down a good amount of his beer, and adds quietly, “I’m here. What more could I ask for?”
Liam
School wasn’t my thing. I wasn’t a bad student. I simply didn’t care about what they wanted me to know. Geometry made sensebut I’ve never needed chemistry or algebra. I get why they’re fundamental. They’re just not fundamental for me.
English lit, though? I loved that shit. In fact, it sparked in me a love of reading that’s carried me through. There are lots of things I’ll read. Mostly I like reading history and biographies. But, at this moment, all I can think about isThe Cask of Amontilladoand the terrible genius of Edgar Allen Poe. I feel a bit like Fortunato, lured in by a friend to die inside his walls.
Well, Montresor can suck it. And so can Briggs Barnett
The moment I see the sliver of light, I barrel through the door, flattening the target. Adrenaline and sheer rage mean I give no shits if it’s Barnett or No Neck. Hell, I don’t care if it’s Fitz or my brother-in-law either. There’s an opening, and I’m making my way.
No Neck is face up, eyes unseeing… possibly unconscious, possibly dead. I relieve him of his pistol, reach back into the safe room, risking my own life and safety for my little buddy and drop him into the pocket of my cargos.
He or she is most unhappy, and I’m hearing all about it. Why isn’t there one place in my life where solitude is revered? That’s a thought for another day. It can scream and meow and tell me all about it. We’ll both live at least.
I move through the house that I know by layout mostly, though the light is blinding with the sun perched high in the afternoon sky.
I move as quietly as I can while the cat lets me know it’s displeasure, clearing room after room, and waiting for another trap. The fact that I don’t find one is more eerie to me than if I had. It can’t be this easy. The garage is empty aside from a side-by-side, and I start it, finding the tank half full and flipping my phone on to find a general direction to a populated highway.
I’m moving, with Poe as I’ve decided he will be called, firmly nestled in my pocket and firmly annoyed about it, when the gunshots ring out.
Still, I’m faster in it, even as a sitting duck, than I am on foot. So I push, zigzagging, as I’m able without rolling over, while dialing my phone.
Christian answers on the first ring. “Where are you?”
“En route toward Jackson. Way too damn far from the airport. Where are you?”
“We landed and are heading south toward the city.”
Bullets whiz by. “Fuck.”
“What was that?”
“Bullets.”
“Can you make it to the golf course?”
