Chapter 5 So Many Inconvenient Things #2
“No, temperature controlled” came the answer. “I’m not sure what happened.” He let out a little chuff of air. “I can advise you not to get on Sonny’s bad side. Ever.” He gave a shudder that seemed real enough. “Terrifying.”
Brady thought of the intense young mechanic. “Yeah. Got that impression. Knows his cars, though. That Ford SHO is a beauty.”
“Mm. I always preferred German made myself. Audi, Porsche, Mercedes.”
Brady turned toward him in surprise. “Those’re pricey automobiles there. I’m afraid I’m a bit simpler.”
Eric then gave him an assessing glance—partly speculative, wholly sexual. “I admire simple tastes,” he purred, and Brady almost fell over.
“I… I, uhm… uhm….”
“You are not going to tell me you’re straight.”
“No,” Brady said, disgruntled as he failed to get his heart rate under control. “Just startled. You’re very hard to read.”
He wasn’t imagining the smug smile that crossed Mr. Rich and Pretty’s face. “But am I interesting enough for an hour or so of your time?” he proposed.
Brady had opened his mouth and honest to God didn’t know what he was about to say, when Ace’s voice called them from the other side of the garage.
“C’mon in, you two. Sonny looked up bruschetta and wants your help, Eric. And frankly, he might ruin some of your pricier ingredients if you don’t get up there. He’s in a lather.”
Brady was about to thank God for being saved by the bell when Ace added, “You too, Brady. You’re our man of the hour with that Subaru—least we can do is feed you.”
“We’re on our way,” Eric said smoothly, and he cast Brady an amused glance. “As much as some of us would have been happy to escape,” he murmured, just for Brady’s ears.
“Grateful for the invite,” Brady retorted, giving the man a hard look as he passed him up to follow Ace to the tiny house beyond the garage.
brADY HADN’T thought of it, but the house really was small. The front door opened straight into a kitchen that featured battered vinyl flooring, a sturdy kitchen table, a well-used stove, and a pass-through from the kitchen to the living room with a couple of stools pulled up to the counter.
A wide archway led to the living room, and there were four doors, two on one side of the room, one across from the kitchen, and one a little to the right.
Since the outside of the house was built like a big square, Brady was going to guess there were two bedrooms, a bathroom, and a laundry room, all of them stacked log-cabin style because mitered corners would have been too complex.
The bedroom on the far side of the living room was adjacent to a window with a swamp cooler in it that seemed to fill in a space not easily seen from the road, and Brady frowned.
“We added the room,” Ace said from the kitchen. “Eric, git over here, you’re the one giving lessons.”
Eric—who appeared even more long-limbed and gracious in the yellow light of the kitchen—smiled in acknowledgment and took a couple of strides toward the sink before he frowned.
“Would you like me to remove my shoes?” he asked, and Brady took his cue and shoved off his boots to leave them in a neat line against the entryway wall with the other shoes there.
“That’s nice to offer,” Sonny said. “Isn’t that nice to offer?”
“Da,” said the sprawling Russian giant Brady had seen that morning. He was sitting, legs stretched in front of him, on their futon, “Some of us have manners.”
“Where’s Ernie?” Brady asked, remembering that Ernie had been sick.
“In his bedroom,” Ace said. “He’s up odd hours. He naps there on days he works.”
“Where does he live?” It occurred to Brady, then, that three of these people had arrived together with the comfort of familiarity.
“Neighborhood off the freeway,” the Russian told him, and Brady nodded while thinking that was the perfect answer. Most of the neighborhoods in Victoriana were off the freeway—that didn’t make this one any easier to find.
“Eric said he was under the weather?”
The Russian cast Brady an unfriendly glance. “You ask many questions. Don’t.”
Brady gave his most charming smile. “Day job problems,” he tried.
The face the bigger man made was unamused. “If you wish to remain here, leave your day job with your boots.”
At the door. Brady got it. “So, uhm,” he said hesitantly, “you, uhm, found a use for the Subaru?”
“Da,” the Russian said, and then, after rolling his eyes, he seemed to take some pity on Brady. “It is good car, and you were kind. Do you expect us to make it street-racing machine?”
“Uhm, no!” Brady said, surprised. “I… I mean, is there an SUV class for street racers?”
The big man snorted as a reply. “No,” he said. “And it is too square to go fast. I was simply tempering any unrealistic expectations you might have.”
“No, no—see… I pass this place every day on patrol. I see cars that look like wrecks turn into nice machines. I, uhm, like that idea. I thought I’d help.”
He got a narrow-eyed, suspicious gaze in return. “Unusual,” the giant pronounced, and left it at that.
Brady grunted and wandered back to the pass-through so he could peek inside the kitchen.
“Don’t mind him,” Ace said from his spot at the table, beer in hand. “He’s very protective.”
“Of Ernie sleeping?” Brady said, making sure.
Ace’s grimace told him it was good he tried to make sure. “Of, well, all of us,” he said with a swig of his beer. “But you’ve got other stuff to talk about. Tell us about Walmart, ’cause that sounded like a good time right there.”
Brady laughed a little to hear it called “a good time,” but then he realized that this was his chance to fit in here.
“Well, it all started when our friend Bruce decided to polish off a twelve pack this morning,” he said, and to his gratification, Ace, Sonny, and Eric laughed.
He told the rest of the story, making a lot of Eric’s windup and release, and the absolutely befuddled expression on Bruce’s face as he fell forward.
“He must’ve had one helluva fastball in high school,” Brady finished with, and Eric paused long enough in his food prep to cast a modest look over his shoulder.
“Over ninety miles an hour in my senior year,” he said, as though pleased with the memory.
“Holy hell, boy!” Ace said. “Did you take that shit to college?”
Was Brady the only one who caught the slight hitch to what was supposed to be a smooth shrug? “Family matters put off my education,” he said, turning back to the cutting board. “Sonny, have you brushed olive oil on all the bread slices yet?”
They started talking some more about whatever fancy dish Eric was making—and there was more than one thing working on the stove—and Ace turned toward Brady and started talking cars.
For a rather blissful half hour, Brady didn’t have to think any further than the differences between modern German and modern Italian craftsmanship, and whether the American muscle car could ever make a return.
About the time Brady heard a drowsy, “Wow, you guys let me sleep late” from the direction of the bedroom, Ace had set the table, and it was time to sit down to dinner.
Ernie wandered in after Jai and Brady had pulled up their chairs, and in a moment, they were all gathered at the small table, passing around a serving plate full of bruschetta, a bowl of shredded chicken, and another bowl of seasoned risotto, as well as a gravy trencher of sauce.
“He wasn’t sure who liked what,” Sonny said proudly, “so I told him we could just put in parts. So that way, if you like the sauce and the chicken, you could put it on the little rice-spaghetti. Whatya’all think?”
“Is good idea,” Jai said decisively. “And the food is unusual. Thank you, Mr. Christiansen, for the dinner.”
Eric—apparently Eric Christiansen—inclined his head. “Sonny helped,” he said. “And he can make chicken pepper risotto now any time he wants.”
“It’s like cheese gravy,” Sonny confided, “only fancier. The tomato and sage mini-pizzas were the fun things.” He blew out a breath. “But a lot of work for this many. From now on, I only do this for me and Ace.”
It wasn’t Brady’s imagination—Eric’s mouth twisted ruefully.
“Well, the plan was to have bruschetta for lunch all week,” he said, “but I suspect I may have to find another Walmart and shop there.”
“You can shop at that one,” Brady said. “There’s usually only bloodshed on Black Friday.”
Eric’s chuckle was unexpectedly warm, and it initiated a flush that traveled from Brady’s face to his groin.
Wow. Powerful fucking stuff.
“Good,” he said. “Next time, my bruschetta can have olives.”
That elicited a quiet laugh from around the table, and Ernie spoke into the silence.
“There’s… a storm,” he said and then stopped, glancing up at the stricken expressions on the faces of Ace, Sonny, and Jai.
“No, not that kind of storm,” he clarified, and Eric and Brady exchanged a puzzled glance.
Were they afraid of another hurricane? Because Brady had worked in this area through that, and it had been pretty grim, but these guys—there was something personal about what they’d been through.
“What kind of storm, Ernie?” Ace asked, all business. Brady realized that everybody at the table—everybody—was taking that announcement seriously.
“Blood and dust,” Ernie answered. “Everyone needs to know. Be alert for raindrops.” He closed his eyes and shook his head.
“Brady, you’ll get the first gust of wind.
You’ve probably even felt it on your face.
It might even be pushing you about. You can fight it with us or let it blow you past us, but you gotta decide which or it’s going to kill you. ”
There was a quiet exhalation around the table, and Brady realized it was relief. Ace cast him a hard look and Brady returned it, unnerved and surprised.
“You hearing this, boy?” Ace asked, and while Brady was maybe a couple years older than Ace, he felt young and unsure when he nodded his head.
“Charlie, it’s hard to stick to your side of the line in a storm,” Ernie mumbled. “It’s okay if you wander over.”