Into The Fire

“You’re just going to leave it out there? Spreading disease and God knows what else?”

“The bubonic plague is over. And if it comes back I’m willing to bet you’d be happy to have me get the first case.”

“You got me there.”

He seemed to consider the idea for a moment. “Besides, there are enough scavengers around that he won’t be there for long. He’ll either be eaten by his brothers or carried off by some stray dog.”

“What makes you think it’s a he?”

“That was for your benefit. I assumed you think all rats are male.”

“Good point,” she said. The kitchen didn’t look much better than it had last night. The bottles had been swept off the table, but the smell of cigarettes and stale beer lingered in the air, with the faint note of exhaust beneath it.

“Bread’s on the counter,” he said. “I’ll make coffee.”

There were exactly two pieces of bread in the plastic bag, both of them heels. “Where’s the toaster?”

“Broken. There’s some peanut butter over the stove—make yourself a sandwich.”

Isobel would have fainted with shock at the idea of peanut butter sandwiches for breakfast. Jamie was just grateful for the protein. She sat down at the scarred oak table to make her sandwich, watching as Dillon reached for the coffeepot. He poured out the dregs, filled the carafe with water and put it back in the machine.

“Aren’t you going to wash it out first?”

“Why? It’s going to hold coffee, and that’s what it held before. What’s the big deal?” He leaned against the counter, watching her lazily.

“The old coffee oils will make it bitter,” she said, not even getting to the cleanliness part. From the look of Dillon’s littered kitchen, cleanliness wasn’t high on his list.

“Maybe I like bitter.”

“I have no doubt that you do,” she said. The bread was slightly stale, but it was solid, and she devoured her makeshift sandwich. “I don’t suppose you have anything as mundane as a soda?”

“They call it pop out here in the hinterlands, Your Highness. Check in the fridge.”

He’d been lying about the beer. They must have finished it all during their late-night poker game. The contents of the refrigerator consisted of a chunk of moldy cheese, half a quart of milk and enough cans of soda to satisfy anyone. She grabbed a Coke and shut the door, snapping the top and taking a long drink, letting the sugary caffeine bubble down her throat.

He was watching her, an unreadable expression on his face. Not that she’d ever been able to guess what he was thinking. “What?” she demanded irritably.

“You don’t strike me as the type who’d drink straight from the can.”

“Maybe I don’t trust your idea of cleanliness.”

“I’m sure it’s not up to your standards.”

“It’s not. When did you get my suitcase? Is my car here?”

“Your car’s still stuck in a ditch out on the highway. And I didn’t get the suitcase. Mouser was running an errand for me and he stopped and got it. You made quite an impression on him, but then, he doesn’t know you as well as I do.”

“You don’t know me at all. We haven’t seen each other in twelve years, and back then you had nothing to do with me.”

“That’s not the way I remember it.”

It felt as if she’d been kicked in the stomach. She didn’t even blink. “And your memory is so clear after all these years?”

“Clear enough.” She wondered if she was imagining the faint thread of menace beneath his smooth tone. Probably not.

“I need to call my mother.”

“Why?”

“To tell her I got here safely. And to tell her I’ll be leaving as soon as the car is ready. This afternoon, I hope.”

“Hope away,” he said. “Mouser said your car was pretty messed up.”

“This is a garage, isn’t it? I’ll pay you to fix it.”

“I work on old American cars, not imports. Different tools.”

“Then I’ll call Triple A. If they can find someone to fix it I’ll stay in a motel until it’s ready—otherwise I’ll rent a car.”

“Honey, this town is the armpit of despair. The only motel around rents rooms by the hour, not the night, and no one rents cars but me.”

“So?”

He glanced at her. “So I don’t rent cars to drive out of state. No way to get them back.”

“I’d think you’d be motivated to get me out of here.”

“Now, that’s where you’re wrong,” he said lazily, reaching for the coffeepot, which was now filled with thick black sludge. “I think I’m going to enjoy reliving old times. The halcyon days of my youth and all that.”

“Your youth wasn’t particularly halcyon.”

“Neither was yours, princess.”

“That’s not the way I remember it. I had two loving parents, a secure life, I had Nate as my brother and best friend. Until you got your hooks into him.”

He took a chair at the table, reaching for his cigarettes. It seemed like years since she’d been around anyone who smoked, and she watched with fascination as he lit the cigarette with a flip of his silver lighter. “Memories can be faulty,” he said, and blew smoke at her.

She would have liked to summon up a hacking cough, but in fact she’d never been particularly sensitive to smoke. Besides, he was clearly trying to bother her, and she wasn’t going to give him that satisfaction. “Maybe yours are. I think I’m a little clearer on details than you would be.”

“Suit yourself.”

“Where’s the telephone?”

“In the garage. It’s a pay phone—be sure you have plenty of quarters.”

“How do you manage to do business without a phone?”

“I don’t like people intruding on my privacy.”