Yet a Stranger (The First Quarto #2) - Gregory Ashe Page 0,29

heat, the sleeves decorated with metal studs, and under it he was wearing a grubby shirt that said EAT FUCK KILL. He looked jittery, with a twitch under one eye. When he stood, he bumped the table, almost spilling the drinks, but he didn’t seem to hear the shouts and complaints of the people he was with. He kept his eyes on Auggie as he came toward him.

Auggie glanced over at the bartender. Flattop was wiping his hands on a towel, watching, obviously not intending to get involved.

“You’re in the wrong place.”

Auggie looked at EAT FUCK KILL and immediately regretted it. The guy had obviously been hitting the glass pipe pretty frequently: his teeth were brown stumps, and his breath reeked of decay. Up close, the twitch in his face was more pronounced.

“I’m just getting a drink,” Auggie said.

“Get it somewhere else. You’re in the wrong place.”

Auggie didn’t break eye contact, but he was aware that the men and women closest to him were throwing sidelong looks, some of them carrying drinks away from the area as though anticipating a fight.

“I’m not looking for trouble,” Auggie said. “I just came in here for a drink.”

EAT FUCK KILL smiled, exposing more of the brown mess of teeth. “You got something wrong with your hearing?”

“Go sit down,” Auggie said. “You’re making a mistake.”

“Fuck, kid. The only mistake was you coming in here thinking you were hot shit.” He grabbed Auggie’s arm, yanking Auggie toward the door. Auggie threw one wild look around the room; nobody would meet his eyes. They all stared at their drinks or had their attention fixed off in the distance.

Then EAT FUCK KILL rocked forward. For a moment, a brief look of amazement crossed his face. He went up onto the tips of his toes and squealed. Releasing Auggie, he stumbled to the side, one hand pressed to his back. Theo was there, grabbing Auggie as the other man fell. Theo’s face was hard, almost unrecognizable, and he delivered two brutal stomps—the first one landing mid-thigh on the other man, the second coming down on his chest. EAT FUCK KILL wheezed as he curled up on the ground. Bubbles of spit flecked the corner of his mouth.

Without a word, Theo dragged Auggie toward the door. The music was still blaring. My dog and my truck, my dog and my truck, my dog and my truck. A banjo picked up the melody, notes coming faster than Auggie could believe. Then he stumbled through the door after Theo, the night a dark, humid weight falling on him, the inside of his mouth tasting like cigarettes.

Theo just kept moving, hauling Auggie toward the Malibu.

“Theo, I’m sorry—”

“Be quiet.”

When they reached the car, Theo shoved him around the front, and Auggie slid into the driver’s seat. His face was hot. His eyes prickled.

“Start the car,” Theo said.

“I’m sorry.”

“Start the goddamn car and let’s get out of here before that son of a bitch’s friends decide to even the score.”

Auggie’s breath hitched, but he started the car, backed away from the bar, and pulled onto the state highway.

“Stay in the goddamn lane,” Theo said. “Or do I need to drive?”

Shaking his head, Auggie corrected course.

They’d driven for ten minutes before Auggie tried again. “I was just going to ask the bartender if he’d seen Cal.”

“I asked you to stay in the car.”

“I thought—”

“I know what you thought. Everybody in that fucking bar knows what you thought. Be quiet, Auggie, and drive the fucking car.” After a moment, Theo hammered on the car door. “God damn it.”

“I’m sorry,” Auggie whispered.

After that, they didn’t talk except for when Theo barked out directions. Auggie didn’t dare ask where they were going, although he could tell that they were heading away from Wahredua. After a while, he saw signs for Kingdom City, and then a blue I-70 sign. Some of the tension had drained out of Theo, and he was rubbing his knee.

When the sign for a travel plaza appeared, Auggie said, “How bad is your knee? Can I stop and buy some ice for it, please?”

“It’s fine.” Then, seeming to work for it, Theo said, “Thanks anyway.”

At Theo’s instruction, Auggie merged onto I-70, and they drove until Theo told him to exit at a rest stop. Sodium lights buzzed high overhead, illuminating a grassy strip with concrete-block bathrooms, men’s and women’s separated by a few cement benches. An old Chevy with a camper shell slanted across two disabled parking spaces, and a sedan was nosed up to