Through the fire, p.9
Through the Fire, page 9
"Just shut up, Nick. I've got a good lead on Emerson. You didn't mark the 8th Street Steakhouse on his haunts."
"What? No. If he goes there, it's without his phone. Dammit, I like it better when they're totally stupid. What's the deal?"
"He's got a thing for a woman who works there and might be there tonight."
Nick fell silent a few seconds. "Well, shit. I mean, I guess you could go hook up with your new friend, then, unless you wanna spend the afternoon looking for him just in case?"
"I would so much rather get to know Rhonda better."
"Fine. I'll call the restaurant for reservations at what, seven?"
"Reservations?"
"We gotta eat, don't we?"
"Yeah, all right, man. Shit, there she is, I gotta go." He hung up and opened the cab door, standing in it and waving. Rhonda, her dark hair tied up in a sweaty knot he bet she didn't think was sexy, hesitated, then, smiling, came across the parking lot toward him.
"I thought you were busy."
"You know what, I had a good think about it and I realized some people are worth making the time for. Can I drive you home?"
Rhonda's eyebrows shot up. "You think I should let a man I just met know where I live, and leave my best way to escape behind?"
"Right. No. Bad idea. You tell me how this should work, then."
Her eyebrows went higher. "I'll be damned. You're not an asshole."
"Oh, I am, but not about this."
"Hah! Okay. That's my car over there." She indicated a Honda Civic with a nod. "Follow me?"
Chris gave her a lazy smile and sank back down into the truck's cab. "Anywhere you want to go, ma'am. Anywhere you want to go."
CHAPTER 7
If someone had asked Nick to describe the most Colorado restaurant he could imagine, he would have come up with something close to the 8th Street Steakhouse. Stephanie, staring around at the rough-wood-paneled walls and the moose heads and the antler chandeliers, exhaled, "They use antlers in all of their decorating," in a soft sing-song, then laughed. "Smells good, though. Looks like a good thing we made reservations, too." She gestured at the bustling space.
"I think I came here once when I was a kid," Tyler said thoughtfully. "Dad brought us skiing up here in Colorado somewhere. I didn't remember where, but I think it must have been Steamboat Springs, unless a lot of steakhouses around here have paintings like that one." He nodded at an Old-West-style bare-shouldered woman and grizzled cowboy on a sign with the restaurant's name on it. "I remember looking at her a lot. I was only like eight," he added defensively.
Nick grinned. "Sure, but what's your excuse now?"
"Oh, shut up."
A breathless hostess came up with a smile. "Do you have reservations?"
"Cassidy, for four," Nick said.
"Oh, yes, the rest of your party arrived a few minutes ago. This way." She led them through the restaurant to a high-backed booth covered in what Nick suspected might be real cowhide. Chris was already there, facing the doors, a half-finished measure of whiskey in a tumbler. Nick hesitated, looking toward the doors, then took the opposite side of the booth, gesturing Stephanie in first. Chris got up and nodded Tyler toward the inner seat on his side.
Tyler stared at him. "Why?"
"So I can keep an eye out for our guy."
"You think I can't pick some white dude out of a crowd?"
"I'm sure you can, but it's not your job, and I might need to move fast." Cords in Chris's neck stood out as he waited for Tyler, who shot a skeptical look at Nick that grew more incredulous as Nick nodded.
"Are you serious?"
"Please, Ty."
Tyler muttered, "Whatever," and slid into the booth. "What's wrong, your hookup go south?"
Chris sat back down, keeping enough distance for the holy ghost between them, and spoke tightly. "She was great. That leggy redhead over there is her friend, the one Emerson has been harassing. I asked for her table and Rhonda told her to let me know if he came in." He drank the rest of his whiskey in one swallow and tapped the glass against the table like he was asking for more. After a minute the redhead—her name tag said T.J.—came over with a tray of water glasses and menus for everybody, and a second whiskey for Chris. Nick caught his brother's eye for a moment as he took another swallow, but Chris shook his head once and looked away. "What'd you guys do this afternoon?"
"Those two nerds studied," Tyler said. "I went looking for a ski bunny but I guess you got the only one who was hopping."
Chris said, "For Christ's sake," finished his drink, and got up for another.
Tyler, watching him go, said, "What's his problem?" and Stephanie sighed loudly.
"His dad did just die, Tyler."
"Shit." Tyler shot a guilty look at Nick. "Sorry. It's not that I forgot, it's just he was such a dick about how he told you, and…I dunno. You don't stand up for yourself around him like I'm used to you doing."
"I'm fine, Ty. I don't need your protection. I don't need Chris's, either, but he's spent his whole life keeping an eye on me and I don't think he knows how to stop. Don't worry about me. Not on that count, anyway." Nick managed a smile that even he knew was fragile. Stephanie's hand stole toward his and wrapped around his fingers. They'd broken the books out to study that afternoon; that much Tyler had right. But the pages had started swimming under Nick's vision, and by the time he realized he was falling apart, it was too late to get himself under control. His eyes still burned from crying, and all he really wanted to do was go home and crawl under the covers.
Except he didn't know which home he meant, and that only made it worse.
Chris's laugh, familiar and startlingly warm, washed over the general noise of the restaurant. Nick looked over to see him grinning at the bartender like nothing was wrong. A minute later he came back with another drink, though his smile had disappeared. "Bartender says Emerson usually shows up around eight-thirty or nine and that he'll tell the chef to cook dinner our slow so we have an excuse to stay that long. He says if we order appetizers it'll take forever anyway."
"He told you that in two minutes?" Tyler sounded incredulous again.
"Some people think I'm charming."
"Some people haven't spent enough time around you."
"Maybe not. Hard to say which people, though." Chris gave Tyler a cold smile and nursed his drink through the appetizers, then got up and went back to the bartender, who poured the most generous finger of whiskey Nick had ever seen. Chris flirted his eyelashes at the guy and came back to the table swirling the over-filled drink.
Stephanie's eyebrows rose and she did a terrible job of fighting off a grin. "I think the bartender's trying to get you drunk."
"Oh, I know he is. I might even let him." Chris took a significant swallow of the booze and barely even winced as it went down.
"I get the urge, Chris, but if Emerson shows up you'll need to be sober." Nick sighed as Chris, glowering, drank most of the rest of the whiskey in a second swallow.
Stephanie, very quietly, said, "At least dinner's coming," and Nick gave her a weak smile.
Their steaks arrived a minute later, and Derek Emerson didn't, so they had twenty or thirty minutes to eat, if not sober up. The bartender sent another whiskey over to Chris just before the waitress took their plates away, and wouldn't let Nick catch his eye to stop the drinks from coming.
Chris gave a short, sharp laugh as lifting the glass revealed the bartender's number written on the napkin below. He folded the napkin, hiding the number, and put it aside.
Tyler smirked. "What's the matter, he not pretty enough for you? I thought you were into random hookups."
Chris glanced at the bartender like he was considering him. "He's plenty pretty. Just not my type. Too pushy."
"Yeah, I bet you'd totally hook up with him if he wasn't pushy."
Chris finished the new shot of whiskey and gave Tyler a dangerously tight smile. "See, I figure you're gonna say something homophobic if I say 'sure, I'd do him,' and you're gonna say something homophobic if I say 'no way,' so how about instead of either of those things you shut the fuck up?" He stood up just a little unsteadily, announced, "I gotta take a piss," and headed for the bathroom with the overly-cautious walk of someone who had drunk too much too fast.
Tyler muttered, "Your brother's a whole bag of dicks," to Nick, who stood almost as carefully as Chris had done, like it would help him control his temper.
"I don't think it's Chris who's being the dick here, Ty. Excuse me a minute." He followed Chris to the restrooms, earning a spit of laughter when he entered.
"Coming to tell me to be nice to your boyfriend?"
"No. He's being a real asshole, and I'm sorry. He's not usually this bad," he said more quietly. "He's out of his element and he thinks I take too much crap from you so he's trying to draw your fire."
"He's gonna draw more than fire if he doesn't shut his trap. I don't know why you hang around with that guy, Nicky." Chris went to wash his hands, not meeting Nick's gaze in the mirror.
"Reminds me of home, I guess." Nick grimaced as soon as he spoke, regretting it even before hurt curdled Chris's features. For once, though, his brother didn't have a quick comeback. Nick frowned, worried. "Are you okay?"
"I'm a fucking delight. Bartender says so."
"What happened this afternoon?"
"Nothing happened. I mean, plenty happened, but nothing bad." Chris dried his hands and headed for the door.
Nick stopped him with a clothes-line, or what would have been, if either of them had been moving faster. Caught him across the front of the shoulders, anyway, and flexed enough to slow him down. Confusion slid across Chris's face, like a friendly puppy had unexpectedly nipped him. "What happened, Chris?"
Chris shook him off, stepping back. "Why's anything have to have happened? Is there a new law that I can't have a few drinks when my dad's just kicked the bucket?"
"No," Nick said steadily, "but you drink between jobs, not on them. So what happened today?"
"Man, you haven't been around to see what I do on jobs for years, okay? You don't know shit."
"Jake would have told me if you were drinking on the job."
Chris's lip curled like he'd been caught. "Right, you and Jake got all buddy-buddy sometime when I wasn't looking, I remember now."
Nick, watching the tightness in Chris's throat and the color rising along his jaw like he was trying to suppress emotion, let that pass. "What happened, Chris?"
"Nothing!" Chris tried shouldering past him again, and this time Nick caught him with both hands, holding him back. His expression darkened as he tried and failed to shrug Nick off with a casual twist. His second attempt had more strength behind it, and his face grew more disbelieving as Nick held him in place. "What the hell, man, let me go."
"Tell me what's going on and I will."
"Nick, lemme go." Chris broke free with enough violence to send himself stumbling, and Nick caught him again, this time just to keep him upright. Chris snarled and jerked away again, hard enough this time to knock himself against a bathroom sink. He let go an inarticulate howl of pain, and Nick blurted, "Chris, what happened?"
"I fucking cried on her, okay?" The confession burst like a dam, releasing a wash of tears laced with grief and frustration and humiliation. Nick stared at him for a disbelieving, confused instant, then stepped forward and pulled his brother into a hard hug, half-hearing Chris's torrent of words against his shoulder. "I don't know what happened, we were having a great time and then I just fucking cried like some kind of goddamn baby—"
"You're allowed to cry, Chris." Nick's voice cracked even though he wasn't sure he spoke loudly enough to be heard. Words muffled against his brother's hair, he mumbled, "Dad died. You're allowed to be sad. It's okay. It's okay."
Somebody walked into the bathroom and reared back like he'd walked onto a porno set. "Jesus, in the restrooms? I'm calling the fucking cops, what the hell—"
Nick snarled, "Fuck off. Our dad just died," and the guy went white, face drawn with horror as he backed off.
"Shit, I'm sorry. I'm sorry, man. I didn't know." He fled the bathroom and Nick, teeth bared, hugged Chris harder when he tried to get away.
"It's okay, Chris."
"It's not okay. That woman didn't deserve me turning into a total girl on her."
Nick choked on a mixture of laughter and sobbing. "Women bleed for like seven years of their lives, man. If you think turning into a girl means you're not metal as fuck, you gotta think again."
Chris's own laugh sounded as fucked up as Nick's had. "Yeah, okay, fair. Still." He shoved away, wiping his hand across his eyes and then under his nose. "Still, she didn't do anything to deserve me falling apart on her. Except a hell of a bl—"
"You can stop right there!" Nick said hastily, his hands lifted in protest. Then he dropped them again, sighing. "She didn't do anything, but you…you have feelings too, Chris, you know? And sex is pretty vulnerable anyway, even if you're not mourning. What'd you tell her?"
As soon as he asked, an awful suspicion hit him, but Chris swept it away by muttering, "The truth, man. What else could I do? Making up some shit or running away without explaining would've fucked her right up and she didn't deserve that either."
A breath of relief escaped Nick. "That's good. I was afraid you just bolted."
"I'm not that much of an ass," Chris mumbled sullenly. "Despite what your pal out there thinks."
"Screw what he thinks." Nick pulled Chris into another hug that his brother elbowed his way out of.
"Let go, Nicky. You're not supposed to have to take care of me." He wiped a hand under his nose again, looking more like a kid than he would want to imagine.
"Everybody needs taking care of sometimes, Chris. Even you."
"I'm fine."
"You are a terrible liar."
"I'm an awesome liar." Chris passed his hand over his hair. "Just not right now, maybe. I swear to God, Nick, I'm not trying to pick fights with your buddy, but if he doesn't lay off…"
"I expect Stephanie's read him the riot act by now, but if she hasn't, I will. He's mad at you for how you told me about Dad dying," Nick added quietly.
"Well, fuck him. I owed you an apology and I gave you one. I don't owe him shit."
Nick could debate whether 'look, I get it, I texted you, I'm an asshole' qualified as an apology, but he doubted he'd get a better one, so he left it alone. "I'll tell Tyler you did. Maybe it'll help."
"If it doesn't he's gonna end up with a mouth full of broken teeth."
"You know, there might be a reason he thinks you're an asshole."
Chris gave him a brief, startlingly bitter look. "And I guess there's a reason he reminds you of home. Are we done having feelings? Can we go back to dinner?"
Nick sighed. "People don't just get over having feelings, Chris."
"Maybe not, but I'm gonna try. Come on, let's—"
The bathroom door slammed open and two guys beating the shit out of each other landed on the floor at their feet.
Chris bounced back with a yell, ready to stomp the idiots on the floor if they did anything stupid. Stupider than beating each other up, anyway. Stupid like going for him or Nicky. They were pretty focused on each other, though. He snapped, "Stay here," to Nick, like he was five or something, and stepped over the fight into a full-on bar brawl.
The smart people were screaming their way out the doors and hiding under tables while enough jackasses with a chip on their shoulder threw elbows and knees and fists like they were auditioning for the next Robert Rodriguez movie. The Mexico trilogy style movies, not Spy Kids. Although the spy kids were pretty cool, to be fair.
Stephanie was in the corner of their booth, pale and quiet, which meant she had a pretty good head on her shoulders. Tyler wasn't, but Chris didn't think great choices were part of Tyler's lifestyle. Somebody veered near the booth and Stephanie grabbed one of their dinner plates, clearly ready to bash it over somebody's head if necessary.
Chris said, "I'm starting to get what you see in her," over his shoulder, then waded onto the restaurant floor. The roiling fight was already breaking up by the time he was a few steps in, without him having to personally knock any heads together. By the time he got to the middle of the room, almost nobody was fighting anymore. They were mostly groaning or staring at broken hands and bleeding knuckles, although a couple of people were laid out and didn't look like they were getting up soon. Not unconscious, just dazed or damaged.
That was the thing about fights outside of a movie set. They didn't last very long, even if there were a lot of people involved. Hitting things, and getting hit by things, hurt.
Nick's idiot friend Tyler wasn't one of the people on the floor, either in the 'hiding under a table' or the 'laid out' sense. Chris glanced at Stephanie, who didn't even notice him, and at the bartender, who pointed at the back door. "They went that way!"
Chris breathed, "Who the fuck went," and headed out the back door at a run, aware that Nick was a few steps behind him. "Man, go make sure your girl's okay!"
"She said she was." Nick passed him in like five strides, those long gangly legs moving him like a race horse. He bolted up to the street, Chris on his heels, and they stopped for a heartbeat, looking both ways along streets lit by amber-colored lamps before Nick pointed. "There."
"I said go back, Nick!" Chris got off the starting block faster, but Nick passed him again. Chris was gonna throw a bolas around his damn ankles to slow him down. Later. Nick skidded to a stop where Tyler was leaning against a building, gasping, about three-quarters of the way down the block.
"Sorry," Tyler wheezed. "He got away."
"Who got away?"
"Your dude! Emerson! He came into the restaurant while you guys were in the bathroom, so I thought I'd do a citizen's arrest thing—"
Even Nick said, "God damn it, Ty," and Chris, furious, ran up the street to see if he could catch a glimpse of Emerson anywhere. A turn-of-the-century Jeep matching Emerson's personal report drove by on the main road, and Chris let out a shout of frustration.
