“I’m fine.”
His grin returned. “Like I said, we’ve all got our demons. You can either hide from them or embrace them. Either way, though, they’re right there, one step behind, maybe, but always on our heels.”
“Cut the shit, Dunk. If you know where she is, tell me. If not, I’m leaving.”
Dunk placed both hands on top of his father’s gun and folded his fingers. “We’re going to try a little experiment first.”
Dunk popped out the .38’s cylinder with his thumb, then turned the gun to the side. The bullets spilled out onto the table. He replaced one, gave the cylinder a spin, and locked it back in place.
“You can’t be serious.”
Dunk’s grin narrowed. “You want that drink now?”
Truck was smiling, Reid was not. The other guys were unreadable, stone statues.
Dunk set the gun back down in the center of the table. “He who cannot die, my hero.”
I glared at him. I wouldn’t look down at the gun. “Not a chance.”
“Crocket taught me many things before he died, but you know what my first lesson was? The very first thing he told me? Everything is a commodity. Booze, drugs, cigarettes, girls, gambling. If somebody wants something, you can attach a price tag to it. That price may vary by consumer, buteveryonewill pay. He also told me information can be one of the most lucrative commodities because it can be gotten for very little and offered at top dollar, to the right buyer, of course. Unlike some of the other items I mentioned—booze, drugs, cigarettes, girls—the core of Crocket’s original business, I took something else away from that conversation. It’s extremely difficult for the law to charge you with the purchase, possession, or sale of information. I knew at that point, at the ripe old age of sixteen, information was the future. I knew if I ever had the opportunity to run this business, I would shift the focus, find a way to deal in this unique commodity above all others.”
“If you know where she is, just name your price. I’ve got it. I can have cash to you within an hour.”
“I heard about your good fortune. Gave me another reason to like that woman. Your aunt wasn’t just tough, she was smart to set you up like that.” Dunk picked up one of the bullets and twirled it between his fingers. “I don’t want your money, though. I’ve got plenty of money. I want information.”
“What could I possibly know that would be of use to you?”
He set the bullet back down on the table, standing it up. A little tower of brass. “I want to know why you’re alive, after all you’ve been through, and I want to know why everyone who gets close to your little girlfriend is not.”
“You said it yourself, it’s blind luck. Or maybe stupidity, for putting myself in those situations in the first place.”
“I don’t think it’s either of those things.”
“What else is there?”
He nudged the gun toward me. “I want you to put the barrel in your mouth and pull the trigger.”
“No way.”
“You can spin the cylinder yourself, if you want.”
“No.”
“You’re drinking yourself to death. Why waste time? That’s all my father ever did. He dragged it out. This would have been so much easier on everyone.”
“I’m not suicidal.”
“Reid.”
At the mention of his name, Reid pulled a 9mm from a pancake holster in his jeans and pointed it at me. His thumb clicked off the safety.
“If you don’t do it,” Dunk went on, “Reid here will. He has one shot in the chamber, always does. He’s a Boy Scout like that. He’s got thirteen more in the clip. I’ve seen him hit guys running from twenty yards. From three feet away, he’s got zero chance of missing you. So, I’m giving you a choice. He shoots you, or you take a one-in-six chance with the revolver. Either way, we get to see how lucky you really are. Information. Valuable information.”
“I saved your life,” I said.
“You did, and I’m forever grateful for that.”
I looked down at the gun.
