"Warren.
Why do you have an ice chest filled with roast on hand?" The cowboy turned to me and gave me a wide smile.
"Kyle's idea of a joke.
Don't ask." A light blush bloomed on his cheekbones.
"The freezer and the fridge are already full at Kyle's house.
We put them in the ice chest out in the garage to take back to my apartment, where I have an empty freezer, but I hadn't gotten around to it yet." He looked toward Samuel.
"Bit snappy, aren't you?" "He's waiting for Mercy to start in on him," said Adam.
His voice was faint, but, hey, we all had good hearing.
"And Mercy is wondering if she should do it with all of us listening in or not." "What's Mercy got on you?" asked Warren.
When it was obvious Samuel wasn't going to answer, Warren looked at me.
I was watching Samuel.
"I just can't do it any longer," he said, finally.
"It's better to go now, before I hurt someone." I was too tired to put up with his garbage.
"The hell you can't.
`Do not go gentle into that good night,' Samuel.
`Rage, rage against the dying of the light.' " He'd helped me memorize that poem when I was in high school.
I knew he'd remember.
" `Life's but a walking shadow,' Mercy, `a poor player, that struts and frets his hour upon the stage, and then is heard no more.' " He countered my Dylan Thomas with Shakespeare, spoken with as much weary bleakness as any stage actor ever managed.
" `It is a tale.
Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury, signifying .
.
.nothing .' " He said the last word with a bite of bitterness.
I was so angry I could have hit him.
Instead, I clapped my hands in mock appreciation.
"Very moving," I said.
"And stupid.
Macbeth killed his overlord and followed his ambition, bringing misery and death to everyone involved.
Your life is worth more, I think, than his was.
More to me--and to every patient who crosses your path.
Tonight, it was Adam and Ben." "Count me in on that," said Warren.