Damali hurled her mug of tea over the deck rail. "Don't you ask me to share another f**king thing!" she shouted and then began to sob. Oh, yeah, whatever had begun to seep into the earth's atmosphere was strong.
CHAPTER FIVE
He felt like shit. Somebody had mercy and had thrown a blanket over him on the outside porch swing. Stiffness riddled his body and connected to the pounding in his temples. He couldn't immediately open his eyes and face the blast of Arizona sun. But the fact that it was hard to breathe made him struggle to sit up.
Carlos eased open one eye and peered at a blurry image before him. Faded Navajo hues went in and out of focus. Rider was sitting on the steps, his head down and face hidden beneath a weathered, brown ten-gallon cowboy hat. An Indian blanket was wrapped around him, but didn't fully cover the rifle on his lap. Rider's chest rose and fell slowly with the steady rhythm of slumber.
As soon as Carlos stirred, Rider's index finger twitched against the gun trigger. He lifted his head slowly and stared at Carlos.
"Not bad for a tired old man."
"Not bad at all," Carlos said, his voice coming out like a frog's croak.
"I had your back," Rider said, and then reached behind the post he was leaning against to retrieve a bottle of Jack Daniel's. He opened it with one hand, screwing the cap off with two fingers while pushing the bottle between his thighs.
Carlos shielded his eyes from the sun with his hand. "What time is it?"
"Morning," Rider said bluntly. "And too damned early for me to be drinking, so I've heard." He shook his head and smiled, and offered the bottle to Carlos. "Ain't for me. It's for the snake that bit ya."
Carlos wanted to nod, but couldn't. The thought of moving his head brought tears to his eyes. He leaned forward by raising only his shoulders off the swing, and extended his arm to receive the bottle, wincing from the slightest exertion.
Just the smell of alcohol made him want to wretch, but he leaned over the side of the swing and took a shaky sip of it anyway. The moment the liquor hit his lips, it burned, and the hard swallow sent an acidic scorch over his tongue and down his throat to smolder like liquid fire in the pit of his stomach. Two seconds later it was back up again, along with everything he'd ingested the night before.
He held on to the wicker, shuddering, heaving, his eyes closed, upchucking his guts, sweating, while Rider calmly struck a match and lit the end of a cigarette. Smoke curdled the smell of vomit under his face and set off a new wave of nausea until all he could do was dry heave.
"Marlene's method of cleansing takes too long," Rider said, once Carlos had flopped back onto the swing. "I'll get it before the flies do, sometime later today."
Carlos lay on his back, breathing hard in short bursts, willing away the nausea. He didn't know whether to thank Rider or to attempt to jump up and kick his ass. "Thanks, man," he finally said between pants, opting for the more reasonable choice.
"Like I said, I had your back." Rider stood slowly, took another drag on his cigarette, and shook his head as he looked down at the porch.
"Damali call you?" Carlos asked with his eyes still closed.
"Nah. Could smell you coming from half a mile away. Burnt ash and booze. Figured you and me had a lot in common."
Carlos attempted a slight nod, but didn't open his eyes.
"I used to show up at this very house like that," Rider said in a wistful tone, moving downwind from the putrid mess Carlos had delivered on the porch.
Carlos winced and pushed himself to sit up. "I've gotta get this up before Marlene freaks."
"She ain't here, so no rush," Rider said coolly.
His mind wasn't making synaptic connections, and it was hard to judge time. Scratching his head didn't help jump-start his brain. All he could imagine was that it had to be late, if Mar wasn't around. "Well, if Mar won't bug, Marjorie sure will."
"She ain't here, either," Rider said calmly, sitting on the rail on one haunch and flicking ashes over it. "I'm babysitting today."
"Huh?" Carlos groaned, and finally swung his legs over the edge of the wicker swing, avoiding the throw-up by his feet.
"Well... it's like this," Rider said in a weary tone, inhaling slowly and making the red embers at the end of the cigarette glow. "Last night, after the group powwow, which I'll fill you in on in a moment, Miss Inez, as you recall, had left her usual kitchen magic under aluminum foil before she'd gone out of town again, made all these vegan dishes that Marlene has been insisting on. Actually, they were pretty good reheated. But then the girl messed up and made a rack of ribs with a side of potato salad to go with the greens and cornbread, especially for Mike - which is what sent Mike on a mission to Houston with her in the first place. Now what'd she do that for, I ask?"
Carlos laughed, even though he had to hold his skull with both hands to do so. "Oh, shit. Chain reaction."
Rider flicked his near-dead cigarette butt over the rail with two fingers. "Kaboom. How long did it take Mike to be out and hop a flight to Houston with Inez?"
Carlos smiled even through the pain.
"I know you're still in hurtin' from a night out with the fellas, but I want to elaborate on the chain-reaction theory. Now, as you remember, dude cleaned off the last bone, dropped it in his plate, girlfriend reached for it to take it back into the kitchen - next thing you know, Mike stood up, grabbed his Hummer keys, and asked Inez to walk him to his vehicle. Ain't seen 'em since. But I don't think even a werewolf would mess with him last night."