Serenity
VICTORIANA GENERAL was a small hospital, and Eric, Jai, and Ace shared a room for recovery. For the first two days, they were ideal roommates, because none of them, Ace especially, were in the mood to speak much.
Between the bullet and the head injury, Ace had been a close call, and Eric wouldn’t forget the sound of Sonny’s quiet sobs next to his bed for a very long time.
Eric’s ass hurt a lot, which was what happened when you got shot in the back of the thigh, and his heart hurt too, which was what happened when the man you loved showed up on every news outlet on the planet lying about the phone that implicated city councilmen, DAs, police chiefs, and one US Congressman from Orange County in a kiddie porn ring that had involved dozens of victims and a revival tent preacher.
No, I am not aware of the statistical anomaly of decreased crime, but I do doubt it’s attributable to Arlen Cuthbert’s prowess as a leader.
And it was funny, but Cuthbert had ordered dash cams off all the vehicles approaching the flatbed pickup that morning—why would he do that?
Did anybody know who he was talking to? And Ace and Sonny’s spectacular jump had been the only thing people could remember.
I don’t know who Cuthbert got out of his vehicle to talk to—there was a group of men standing in front of the flatbed, I think?
But damn, you should have seen that SUV come out of nowhere!
A 360-degree corkscrew, right over our heads!
But that hadn’t been caught on any dashcams either, because they’d all been shut off so Cuthbert would have no witnesses in an acre full of cop cars.
The whole thing was murky and strange and full of conflicting stories, and the only thing anybody could be sure of was there was a whole lot of damage to clean up.
And the guy driving the green Forester was a crazy sonuvabitch.
Eric had to smile at that last part, but the smile was bitter. That crazy sonuvabitch was having a hell of a time soothing his fractious, damaged boyfriend. He’d watched George give the little man sedatives and call it “headache pills” just to get Sonny to sleep.
Burton had been standing by Eric’s bed for this, and he’d murmured, “Well, it’s better than the last time Ace was hurt.”
“Better?” Eric asked.
“Oh yeah. Last time Ace was down like this, I had to steal the sedative and inject it in him before he knew it was coming.” Burton grimaced. “But don’t tell Ace that—he wouldn’t know. He was in surgery at the time.”
Eric watched Sonny—asleep now next to Ace’s bed, clutching the hand without the IV while Ace wandered in and out of consciousness—and thought of the victims on Arlen Cuthbert’s phone who might have ended up just like Sonny.
They might still, he thought sadly, if they didn’t get any help, but now…
. God, now, thanks to Ace, to Burton, to Jai, to Brady, to all of them, there would be no more victims on that phone.
It was such a small thing, such a small drop of hope in a vast desert of despair, but like the desert itself, it only took a little bit of rain to sustain life.
And it was with that thought that he began to see what held this little band of heroes together.
“So hey,” Burton said, pulling him from his thoughts, “a couple of points of business. First, here.” And with that he pulled a furniture catalog from his back pocket.
“We’ll have your house hooked up in two weeks.
You’re going to be recovering at Jai and George’s place, along with Jai, and you’ll have two nurses there to change bandages and keep an eye on infection and such.
Let me know what you’ll need to order that—”
“There’s a lockbox in my trailer,” he said, and gave directions to the special compartment under the closet.
Burton had recovered the trailer the day after they’d abandoned it and reported that their little patch of duct tape and cardboard had kept all fanged, furry, or feathered intruders at bay.
He’d moved it to behind Ace and Sonny’s garage, and Dimitri had been keeping an eye out for it while he’d served customers and taken care of the dog.
“That reminds me,” Burton said, after writing down the combination for the lockbox so it didn’t detonate, “is there anything else you want out of there? I was thinking—that Dimitri guy is gonna need a place to live when Ace and Sonny get back home. Since you were ready to abandon it and all….”
Eric felt a little pang then, remembering how excited he’d been to put all his earthly belongings in the camper and just go, away from his old life, away from his job, his reputation, the blood on his hands.
He was beginning to see that you couldn’t walk away from the blood on your hands. You could only make them clean by deeds.
And of all the people here, he had the least to lose and the most to give away.
“Of course,” he said. “But, uhm, first, I’ve got a couple of weapons caches and a lot of incriminating evidence that I’d appreciate you hiding.”
“Sure, sure,” Burton said, handing him the pad and the pen. “Write it down, and I’ll stash it in my office safe.”
Eric hadn’t seen one on the tour—but then, he had no doubt it was there.
“Uhm, you wouldn’t happen to remember the name of your installer, would you?” he asked tentatively.
“The US military,” Burton said. “Covert ops division. I’ll have them set you up for free.”
Eric chuckled as he wrote down his information and took the catalog.
“What’s the bare minimum,” he muttered, almost to himself.
He’d needed a lot of blood—and a lot of antibiotics, considering the wound had already started to burn with infection by the time he’d passed out.
George had saved his life and Ace’s with the jimmy-rigged IVs—apparently Ace had stocked tubing, IV needles, IV antibiotics, and instructions for making saline solution in his first aid kit, probably because he might have needed such things in the past. Eric had dim memories of being hooked up to a collapsible water bottle and wondering if he was in hell, but the apparatus had worked.
And here he was, planning for a future. Planning for a community. Planning to put down roots.
Well, why wouldn’t he? These people had proved loyal and true and unafraid of who he was, all of him.
Home. It had been a while.
“Bedroom set,” Burton suggested. “Couch, coffee table, TV, easy chair. Kitchen table, chairs, and some cooking equipment. Sheets and bedding. Mattress. Maybe a desk for the study. You can do guest room shit later.”
“I’ve got a study and a guest room,” Eric said, bemused. “Cool. Get me my spare phone from my lockbox, and my credit cards in this identity, and I’m good.”
“Can do.”
Burton made to leave, but Eric stopped him, suddenly wondering about his new community. “How’s Ernie?” he asked softly.
“Asleep.” Burton gave an exhausted smile. “He wakes up for an hour, eats, pets the cats—yours included—cries, takes some painkillers for his head, goes back to sleep. Last time we did something like this, he was out for a couple of days.”
Eric swallowed. “It’s hard on him.”
Burton nodded. “It is. But it was harder on him alone. You’ll know he’s good when he sets a big plate of fried chicken in your lap, with chips and corn and lemonade. He’s been planning that meal in his sleep.”
Eric’s eyes burned. “He’s a good kid.”
Burton laughed and bent down, catching Eric’s eyes. “That kid shot a guy through a Plexiglas window two days ago, then disposed of the body. George shot too, and he cleaned up the blood. Ain’t none of us angels, new fish, just like you.”
Eric gave him a startled smile. It was as close to “Welcome to the neighborhood” as this man was ever going to give.
“Next you’ll be telling me Cotton got in on the action,” he said.
Burton gave a chuckle. “Cotton counseled Arlen Cuthbert’s mistress into leaving his sorry ass before he got killed.
Apparently she called Cuthbert as he was on his way to work to break it off, and he made her check the safe for his phone, which is how he knew it had been stolen.
So, yeah, Cotton’s part was inconvenient, but on the plus side, he got her to a women’s shelter, and she’s seeing a shrink now. ”
Eric couldn’t help it. He laughed, and Burton was still laughing as he faded away.
A nice exchange for a hospital room, but not the only one.
He was there, for instance, when George, dropping with fatigue, climbed into the bed next to Jai.
“You should go home, Little George,” Jai said gruffly. “Do we not have idiot cats?”
“Amal is taking care of the idiot cats,” George told him. “I’m taking care of the idiot Russian who decided to use his SUV like a pinball bumper.”
Jai let out a breath. “Ace needed to be pulled from the other vehicle,” he said. “You know this.”
“I didn’t say it was the wrong move.” George sighed. “I’m just wishing you could have done it without wrecking yourself.”
“I did not anticipate rebounding into the rock,” Jai muttered. “Ace would have. It is why he plans the wrecks and I execute.”
“I need you both to stay out of the wrecking business for a while,” George said. “Ace’s ribs were rebroken. It’s a good thing we’ve got Dimitri to work on the cars, Jai, because otherwise, they’d go out of business.”
Jai grunted. “We will find a way,” he said. “We always do.”
The two of them fell asleep, and Eric pulled out his phone and texted to Burton, suddenly aware of how vulnerable Ace and Sonny were with their whole crew out.
Burton texted that he and Jason were filling in with Dimitri, and suddenly Eric realized how Burton had come to trust the man so quickly.
And he realized the humility involved. Burton, professional badass.
Jason, who had more stars and bars than Eric even wanted to guess at.
And there they were, working in the little garage in the desert to keep their friends from going under.
He knew what he was doing the minute he could get back on his feet.
A resolution that only grew stronger the next day.