“What’s…. What the fuck?” Shay said. He coughed and propped himself up on his elbow. He lifted one hand to touch his head, and he winced. “Boyd, what’s going on?”
“Guess,” Boyd said. In his ear, Harry’s voice snapped out a rebuke, and Boyd tried again. “There’s been a fire, Shay. Everything is under control—”
“Is my… is my shop on fire?” Shay spluttered as he tried to get up. “That’s not under control. That’s on fire. What the hell happened?”
Boyd held up his hands. “Shay, I mean it, please don’t move. I’ll come to you.”
He poked the floor with the metal butt of the hooligan, and it disintegrated, chunks of carpet and hot embers bright as they dropped to the ground on the floor below. Boyd staggered, toes on the edge, and caught his balance.
“Boyd,” Shay gasped.
“Don’t worry about me,” Boyd said. “I know what I’m doing, remember?”
He did, but it never felt that way when you saw a floor collapse. Just for a second, he always felt, quite clearly, that he was insane to do this. Luckily he never had time to worry about it. He gave the glowing edge of the hole wide berth as he worked his way around to Shay.
“Can you stand up?” he asked as he offered his hand. The leather gloves were charred across the palms and in the creases of the fingers. “If you can’t, I can carry you.”
“Fuck off.” Shay grabbed Boyd’s arm, dug his fingers into his sleeve, and hauled himself up with a grunt. He staggered and had to grab Boyd’s shoulder for balance. His weight was mostly on that, and his breathing was ragged and hangover sour. The smoke caught his throat, and he coughed into his elbow. “I’m okay.”
Boyd caught Shay’s wrist and twisted his arm around. Blood coated it like a glove from fingertips to elbow. His stomach sank as a few drops of fresh blood dripped off Shay’s thumb and stained Boyd’s glove.
“Shay—”
“I didn’t,” Shay said as he pulled his arm away. He X-ed over his heart with one bloody finger. “I broke a glass in the bar last night and cut myself. Then I guess I passed out and split it open again…. Oh hell, did I do this, Boyd? Did I set my own garage on fire?”
Boyd put his hand over Shay’s mouth to shut him up before he panicked any more. If he had, the fire investigators would work it out. They always did. But “Did I do this?” was the sort of question insurance companies liked to hear. They could chew on that for a nice, long time.
“That’s not important right now,” he said. “Let’s get you out of here.”
Shay grimaced behind his glove, but he nodded. There was a new bruise on his cheekbone and a cut on his ear that Boyd assumed was from whatever fight he’d been in. He clung to Boyd’s shoulder with his good hand as Boyd cautiously picked his way back toward the door. Under them the fire crackled as it ate its way through the rest of the floor.
A jab of the hooligan crumbled away a long section of floor, and ashes scattered down onto the char-pocked roof of a convertible. Shay groaned behind him as he saw it.
“My cars are trashed,” he said. “I’d just sold the Impala. It was mint.”
“You’ve got insurance,” Boyd said. He paused midstep when Shay didn’t answer. “Right?” he pressed.
“Yeah,” Shay said. He coughed again and had to brace himself against Boyd’s back. “Cheap insurance.”
“Better than nothing.”
Boyd got to the door and pulled it open. Fire roared up the staircase, wreathed through the metal steps, and charred the concrete walls. He shoved Shay back and slammed the door shut again. Flames licked under it, wicked along the carpet threads, and glowed through the cracks.
“What now?” Shay asked. He leaned back against the wall and coughed against it, his face flushed under the coating of smoke and ash. “Boyd, what I said the other day—”
“We’re not dying.”
Shay slid down the wall into a crouch and dangled his hands between his knees. “Dude, I felt like I was dying before the fire started. I’m still sorry.”
“Me too,” Boyd said. “Jessie. If I give the mark, can you get the ladders around?”
There was a pause, and then Jessie snorted. “Of course, but I don’t see any windows up there.”
Boyd hefted the hooligan bar with both hands and judged the weight of it. “Yeah, I know. I’m going to make one.”
He shifted a few feet down from Shay and felt the dangerous bounce of the floor under him as the supports downstairs burned away.
“Head down,” he said. “Cover your head.”
