his head, he moved on to that female from the Old Country, picturing her front and center so that all other considerations were hidden—even though, as much as he had always been told, humans couldn’t read the thoughts of others.
So it wasn’t like Jo could get into his skull and see what he was skirting.
“That female was not meant for me,” he said. “So I don’t think I ever loved her in the way you mean. We were never together.”
“How did you know her?”
“She lived in the same village I did. Back . . . home. In the Old Country. I knew her because I was—” He swallowed. “Anyway.”
“What,” Jo said. “Please, just tell me. This is really helping.”
There were streetlights mounted up high on poles, and as they passed them by, the illumination came through the sunroof ’s transparent panel. As the gentle strobing bathed he and Jo to a slow beat, he found that he was glad they were in a car and she had to focus on the road ahead. On the other drivers out with them, though there were few. On the red lights and the intersections.
There was no way in hell he could have gotten through any of this if she’d been staring him in the face.
“I was poor,” he said. “Not the poor where you want things you can’t have. Not the poor where you’re bitter about what other people are doing or what they own. Poor like you don’t know if you’re going to be eating at nightfall. Like you aren’t sure whether there will be clothes for you to wear. Like if you get sick, you’re going to die and you’re okay with that because all you know is how hungry and thirsty and tired you are.”
“God, Syn—”
When she reached over and put her hand on the sleeve of his leather jacket, he moved away sharply. “No. I’m going to get through this once and then I’m never speaking of it to you again. And you’re not going to touch me when I’m talking.”
“But I feel bad—”
“I don’t care.” He looked over at her. “You want a pound of flesh, fine. I get it. Hell, it’s even a fair thing to ask. Do not pity me, though. You can fuck off with your sympathy. I’m not asking for it and I’m not interested in it. Are we clear?”
There was a brief pause. And then she nodded with a sadness that was palpable.
“Crystal clear,” she said quietly.
Inside the downtown garage bay, Butch paced back and forth across the space where Manny’s surgical RV chilled out when it wasn’t in use in the field, transporting someone to the clinic for treatment, or being worked on back at the training center.
He checked his watch. Paced some more.
The garage was a nifty bolt-hole on the edge of the field, and the two-story, steel-girded lockdown was stocked with all kinds of supplies: Medical crap. Mechanical crap. Food crap.
Crap, crap, crap—where the fuck was V?
Muttering to himself, Butch walked over to where he’d parked his roommate’s car off to one side, popped the trunk’s release, and went to the four rings on the hood. Lifting up the panel, he shrugged out of his suit jacket, took off his silk shirt, and put on his long-sleeved base layer. In the warmer months, he wore muscle shirts, but they were not there yet with the temperature. It was still cold as balls out there as far as he was concerned.
As he undid his belt and dropped his slacks to the tops of his loafers, he sensed he was no longer alone.
Kicking off his shoes, he said, “It’s for your own safety, and where the hell have you been.”
“I had to go back to the Pit for smokes. Something told me I’d need them.” There was a shcht as V lit up. “And that whole safety argument did not fly with you. What makes you think it’ll work on me?”
Butch stepped to the left and picked up his pants, folding them precisely down the creases and putting them with his good clothes, a sandwich of Armani. “Because you’re smarter than I am. Always have been—and if you try and deny this, I will remind you of alllll the times you’ve felt compelled to point the happy fact out.”
Grabbing his leathers, he pulled them into place, hopping on the balls of his feet to get them over his bare ass.