by Jane Seville
Weakness was something he’d been taught to hate, and had been forced to deny by his lifestyle. It was something he could never afford, either to experience or to show. Funny that something as stupid as some bacteria on a bullet could do what a number of big strong men hadn’t been able to do, namely to lay him low. What was worse was that he hadn’t been alone; there had been a witness to his weakness, and what made it even worse than that was that his witness was somebody D had wanted to be strong for, stronger than the men who wanted him dead, stronger than the law, stronger than his own fear of exposure.
But was he strong? No. It was Jack who’d been strong. Jack who’d gone out into the hostile world and committed a crime, Jack who’d chased away the monsters that had been waiting to prey on him in the dark.
When was the last time D had trusted someone with his life? He couldn’t remember. Probably he had done so in the Army, but that time was so distant and hazy, shoved as it was behind a veil of anger and betrayal and loss and horror. No, before Jack there was only one person D trusted, and even then, it had to be someone whose face D had never even seen.
He dried off and put on some fresh clothes from his duffel, which Jack had thoughtfully brought into his room. He could smell food cooking, and his stomach growled. All at once he was hungry enough to eat a horse. A dead horse. With maggots.
Jack had set the table, and was at the stove cooking something. Grilled cheese, it looked like. D blinked, looking out over the little setup, which was disturbingly domestic. “Feel better?” Jack asked.
D grunted. “Cleaner.”
“Here,” Jack said, leaving the stove and picking up some kind of cloth contraption with straps and Velcro. “This is for your arm. You’re going to want to keep your shoulder still so it can heal.”
“Don’t need no fuckin’ sling.”
“You need a sling and you’ll wear a sling.” Grumbling, D let Jack help him on with the damned thing, although he had to admit that having it on took some of the pressure off the wound. It didn’t feel like it was pulling at itself anymore. “Now sit down.”
D obeyed. “You gonna gimme a time-out next, doc?”
“Nope. Tomato soup and grilled cheese.” He put a plate in front of him, and D’s appetite outweighed his self-consciousness. He had half the sandwich gone by the time Jack sat down in the other chair. “Damn, you must have been hungry.”
“Ain’t had nothin’ fer two days.”
“You’re really looking much better.”
D nodded, a mouthful of soup making it hard to answer. “Got me a good doc,” he said, allowing himself a brief flick of the eyes to Jack’s face, just long enough to see the pleased smile that spread there.
~~~~~
Jack spent the afternoon compulsively cleaning the cabin while D napped. He hadn’t even used the other bedroom yet, having been taking his sporadic sleep either on the couch or in the easy chair in D’s room. He went outside and moved the car around to the far side of the house, thinking it might be prudent for the cabin to appear uninhabited at a glance. He took a quick inventory of supplies with an eye to another trip to Carson City in a day or so, to do laundry and get more groceries. He didn’t know how long they’d be here, but it’d be at least a week before D could comfortably use his arm, and the longer he rested it, the better off he’d be. He didn’t know if D would agree to stay put that long, but on the other hand, the longer they stayed here without detection, the more that meant that they were well-concealed. Didn’t it?
D joined him on the back porch just before five. “Goddamn,” he muttered, looking out at the view of Lake Tahoe. “This is… somethin’. Yer father-in-law must be some kinda rich.”
“Oh, yeah,” Jack said. D sat down in the other deck chair.
“You ‘n’ Caroline split in ninety-eight, right?”
Jack looked at him. “How’d you know that?”
“Seen yer file. Know lots about ya.”
“Oh. Yeah, nineteen ninety-eight, after six years of marriage.”
“Married young, then.”
“Twenty-two, the both of us. I was just starting dental school. She was studying business, and the dental students and the business students shared a parking lot. We must have had classes at the same time because I always seemed to see her coming and going when I was.”
D snorted. “Yeah. Classes. Sure.”
Jack frowned. “What?”
“She was stakin’ you out, doc.”
“Huh?”
D sighed. “She was takin’ note a when you was comin’ ‘n’ goin’ and made a point ta be there so’s she could chat ya up, dumbass.”
Jack blinked. Another well-deserved dumbass for him. “Never thought of that.”
“Course ya didn’t, ’cause yer mind don’t work like that. Mine does. Caroline mighta made a good hit man. Women do real well at it, ’cause no one never suspects ’em.”
“You know any women hit men? Uh… hit women?”
“Couple. My handler’s a woman. Was a woman, I oughta say.”
“She’s dead?”
“No, but I cain’t exactly say she’s my handler no more, now that I’m off the fuckin’ reservation, can I?”
Jack sat back, embarrassed. “Guess not.”
“So, why’d ya break up?”
“Why are you asking me all these questions?” Jack bit out. “You don’t care.”
“Who says I don’t care?”
“You do! You said that all you needed to know about me was witness, truth, don’t deserve to die, blah blah blah and that was all you cared to know!”
Now it was D’s turn to look a little embarrassed. “Oh. Guess I did say that, didn’t I?” He said nothing for a minute. “Maybe I wanna know now.”
“Don’t do me any favors. I don’t need any pity conversation. We can sit here in total fucking silence for all I care.” Jack crossed his arms over his chest. You’re pouting; cut it out. He was pouting, and he thought he was justified. D, however, wasn’t responding. He just sat there like a statue. Pouting wasn’t much fun when its target audience wasn’t cooperating. “Look,” Jack finally said. “I took care of you because you needed it, and I’m a doctor and that’s what I do. Don’t feel you have to suddenly be a different person because of it.”
“Different person how?”
“You know. Friendly and interested.”
D grunted. “Gee, thanks.”
“You know what I mean. You’re a certain way, and I get why you’ve had to become that way, and I’m not going to try and get you to change just to make me more comfortable.”
“Ain’t ’cause a you,” D said, his fingers twitching in a way that let Jack know that he was craving a cigarette. “Jus’… curious. About regular folks. Ain’t been one fer so long. How do normal folks like you ‘n’ Caroline break up?”
Something in the way he asked the question jagged in Jack’s mind like a fishhook. “You were married, weren’t you?” he said.
D shot a sharp glance at him, and then looked away again. “Long time ago, yeah.”
Jack watched his profile for a moment, that geologic skull underneath growing-in stubble of hair, and then plunged ahead. “D… who’s Jill?”
He saw D’s jaw clench. He shifted in his chair and crossed his legs at the knee. “How you know about Jill?” he asked, quietly.
“When you were sick, you said that name. You were delirious.”
D raised a hand to his head and pressed in on his forehead, like he was trying to hold something inside. “Jill’s my daughter,” he said.
“Where is she now?”
“I ain’t doin’ this, Jack.”
“But—”
“I ain’t,” D said sharply, meeting Jack’s eyes. “Some things don’t get out. Not yet.”
Jack nodded. “Okay.” He let the moment pass, and the silence return and make itself comfortable. The man really was a caution, as his mother used to say. Tiptoe, tiptoe around the edges, look out for the guards posted, and mayb
e find a hole dug under the fence where you could get your head in for a peek before you got hauled out by the ankles to walk the perimeter again, waiting for another chance.
He got up for a beer, bringing one out to D as well. “Am I s’posed ta have this with all these drugs?” D asked, accepting the bottle.
Jack shrugged. “You’re not on any narcotics. Should be fine. You might get buzzed a little faster than you normally would.” He took his seat again. “You want to know why Caroline left me?”
“Asked, didn’t I?”
“Because she finally met the guy she’d married me to escape.”
D frowned, and Jack could see this answer refusing to compute. “Huh?”
Jack smiled. “Her dad, whose hospitality we are currently enjoying without his knowledge, had it in his head that she was going to marry the son of some business associate of his. Like it was Shakespeare and they were going to unite the families and rule the empire together as a single dynasty, or whatever. Spent half of Caroline’s life talking this guy up to her. Pete McFarland is so athletic, won’t he make a nice husband someday for some lucky gal, Pete McFarland will inherit a fortune, Pete’s handsome, Pete’s fantastic, you get the idea. By the time Caroline was eighteen she hated Pete McFarland even though she’d never actually met him. Warren kept after her, wanting to arrange for them to meet, trying to set things up, and she got so fed up that when we met she just grabbed onto me and before I knew it we were married, and Pete McFarland was no longer a threat. Warren was not pleased.”
“Guess not,” D said, with a sage nod.
“Well, I was in med school and she was working at a brokerage when guess what? She met Pete McFarland. And guess what else? He was handsome, funny, charming and a great businessman. Hell, I’d have married the guy if I was a woman. It damned near killed her to admit her daddy’d been right. Anyway, by that time it was already clear that our marriage was a bust. We were barely more than roommates. We had a real friendly divorce, no kids, split everything, and she married Pete McFarland with my blessing. Warren was so happy that he even forgot how he’d hated me, and to hear him tell it now I’m some kind of hero for letting his daughter have a life with her soul mate, or however he’s phrasing it these days.”
D shook his head in amazement. “So this is how normal folks pass the time?”
“Not entirely. Sometimes we go bowling too.”
As their laughter mingled and rolled down the hill toward the lake, Jack could almost believe that they were just a couple of buddies come up here for a weekend of fishing to escape their daily grind and responsibilities. Crack open a beer, shoot the shit, smoke cigars in the open air, and laugh about things that had once been painful while keeping silent about things that still were.
Chapter Eight
Behind the cabin, there was a sloping yard with some rudimentary landscaping and a couple of isolated sitting areas, all of them with views that could have made the devil praise the Lord. D was sitting in one of them now, staring out at the impossibly blue surface of the lake, the craggy snow-capped peaks surrounding it like the torn edge of a piece of paper.
It was two days now since Jack’s expedition into Carson City, and D was starting to feel like something approximating himself. His energy was returning and the pain in his wound was down to a dull throb. Jack inspected it often, checking for signs of recurring infection, but the skin around the bullet hole had returned to a healthier hue and the wound was knitting itself up. At Jack’s insistence, D kept his arm in the sling to avoid tearing the wound open again. Being hamstrung like that was galling, but he thought he at least owed Jack the courtesy of taking his advice. It’d be pretty asshole-ish of him to reinjure himself after what Jack had risked to treat him.
Jack was still asleep, or at least D hoped he was. Now that his patient was on the mend, Jack had finally taken possession of the cabin’s second bedroom and had been sleeping. A lot. When D had left the cabin just before ten, there was still no sign of life from him. The guy needed some rest, and D was glad he was getting it.
He was also glad for some time alone, because at any moment his pocket was going to vibrate, and he didn’t want to have to concoct some kind of explanation.
He willed his mind to go blank, which wasn’t such an easy task given the graffiti all over it. The scenery laid out before him was working pretty well as an eraser. He couldn’t discern any signs of civilization. From this vantage point, no other houses or structures were visible; he and Jack might have been the last people on Earth.
The unexpected sense of freedom that came from this notion was interrupted by the pocket vibration he’d been waiting for. He pulled out one of the cloned cell phones from the bunker and thumbed open the text message.
r u ok
D took a breath and let it out slowly. He held the phone with his thumbs over the keypad for the brief conversation he’d been waiting for all morning.
y
Wher
cant say.
safe?
y
jf?
ok
u?
shot but ok
u r vnishd no wrd
good
nxt mve
dunno
need hlp?
not now mybe l8r
ok u no how 2 cntkt me
thx 4 msg
no prob b careful
will do
wtch back
alwys
He slipped the phone back in his pocket, marginally reassured. He heard the back door of the cabin open. “D?”
“Out here,” he called back.
“You want some breakfast?”
He stood up and headed back to the cabin. “Comin’.”
Jack was putting out bowls of oatmeal when D came in the patio door. In the past days, D had learned that Jack was more than competent at cooking but damned irritating about it. Wouldn’t make bacon and eggs, but insisted on oatmeal and lectured him about cholesterol and saturated fat. “What were you doing out there?” Jack asked.
D shot him an irritated glance. “Why you gotta know?”
Jack shrugged. “Just curious.”
“Takin’ the air. Oatmeal again?”
“It’s good for you. Complex carbohydrates.”
“Don’t we have any eggs?”
“How are you feeling?” Jack asked, ignoring D’s question.
D shrugged, sitting down and starting in on the oatmeal without further protest. Much as he was craving a nice big cheesy artery-clogging omelet, he guessed that as long as Jack was doing all the cooking he could shut up about what was put in front of him. “Pretty good.”
“How’s your shoulder?”
“Hurts. Not as bad as yesterday.”
Jack sat down to his own breakfast. They ate in silence, putting their bowls aside when they were finished and moving on to coffee. D had noticed that Jack’s sermonizing about proper nutrition stopped short of denouncing caffeine.
He yearned for a smoke, but Jack had thrown all of them away. Somehow, in the course of treating his gunshot wound, Jack had appointed himself as D’s personal health and well-being traffic cop. If asked, D would have said that he hated the intrusion, Jack’s presumption and being deprived of grease, nicotine and starchy foods, but just between himself and the lamppost he could admit that it felt kind of nice to have someone worrying about him, and looking after him. He’d been looking after himself for so long that he’d forgotten what it was like to know that someone else actually gave a shit if he lived or died or came down with emphysema. He didn’t kid himself, though; Jack was looking out for himself in the process. D was the only thing standing between him and hordes of angry drug lords, after all.
Jack seemed a little distracted this morning. D could sympathize. He was trying to see his way clear to their next step, but the way ahead was still murky and ill-defined.
When Jack spoke, his voice sounded sharp, a blade cutting into their silence. “Tell me about these sixty-seven people,” he
said.
D sighed. He wasn’t going to let this go. “You don’t wanna hear all that.”
“Don’t tell me what I do and do not want to hear.”
“Jack, there’s things about me you’ll be easier in yer mind if ya don’t know.”
“There are good things about you,” he said, meeting D’s eyes. “But I need to know the bad things too.”
D drained his coffee cup, looking out the patio doors at the lake. He had little experience talking his way around his job. Most of the time it wasn’t an issue. “I don’t think—” he began.
“I deserve to know,” Jack interrupted. “This isn’t you saving my ass anymore, D. We’re in this together, aren’t we?”
He sighed. “Reckon so.”
“You trust me?”
That was a harder question to answer. For more than ten years, probably longer, D had only trusted one person, and that trust had been paid for in blood. He didn’t know if he trusted Jack. He did know that he shouldn’t. His trust was dear, and it wasn’t earned by a short acquaintance or even medical treatment. Not when Jack had so much to gain by keeping D on his good side. And certainly not when Jack might have it in his power to get D arrested or killed.
But none of that changed the fact that in his heart he wanted to trust Jack, and hoped that he could, and that was unsettling to him. He knew that it was a short ride from wanting to trust someone to trusting them too soon, and from there an even shorter ride to a knife in the back. And if there was one thing that he already knew, it was that any knife in his back that had Jack’s name on the handle would hurt worse than just the wounding of it, and he didn’t care to think too long or hard on why that might be.
Jack was waiting for an answer. “No more’n you trust me,” D said, which was as vague as he could stand.
Jack wasn’t fooled. “Well, whether you trust me or not, you owe me.”
“I don’t owe you shit,” D snapped, rankling at the idea, its truth notwithstanding. “Don’t go thinkin’ ’cause you patched me up that I’m obliged. I’d still be well advised ta kill you and serve up yer head ta the brothers, ya know.”