Zero at the Bone

by Jane Seville

  “Dunno.”

  “What do you mean, you don’t know?”

  D glared at him. “Which part’s givin’ ya the trouble? I. Don’t. Know.”

  “You could find out!”

  “Don’t care ta. She don’t wanna see me nohow. Anyway, she’s part a… who I used ta be. That man’s dead. Jus’ me left now, and I ain’t got no family.”

  D waited for Jack’s reaction, but it wasn’t what he expected. Seemed like only a few days ago that his “the man I used ta be is dead” speech would have gotten some awe, or quivery-chin empathy, or some damn humility at being in the presence of such hard-bitten emotional deadness. Now, Jack just shook his head with a cynical half-smile on his face. “Sorry I asked,” he said, his tone clipped and sharp. “You know, your fear-me-for-I-do-not-exist routine is getting pretty fucking old.” He stood up abruptly and stalked over to the sink, tossing his dishes in. He just stayed there, his back to D and his head bowed.

  “Old, huh?” D said, more as a placeholder than an actual question.

  “Yeah, old. And it’s insulting that you’re even laying that line of bullshit on me anymore, after… everything.”

  “You’d like ta think it’s a line a bullshit, wouldn’t ya?” D snapped, his temper flaring. “Be nice fer you ta believe it’s all some kinda act and that I got a nice little life tucked away somewhere ta go back to when I’m done playing Hit Man. Well, it ain’t no act, doc. I ain’t never bullshitted you, not about that.” He stood up and went to the patio door. “We gotta go into Carson City fer some supplies before we head out. Leave in ten minutes.”

  “Whatever,” Jack muttered as D escaped into the backyard, his bench calling to him and promising quiet, if not peace.

  ~~~~~

  Jack stood in the aisle, both hands on the shopping cart, staring sightlessly at the rows of coffee cans. Need coffee. Do we need a big can? Will there be coffee at the new place? Better get the big can. Which one does D like again? He didn’t like the last one. I’ll get this one; it’s expensive so he’ll have a hard time bitching about it. D and I had sex last night.

  All morning it had been like that. A string of ordinary thoughts capped off by another jolt of reality to yank him out of the careful scrim of normalcy they were both maintaining.

  The ride into town had passed in excruciating silence that they had both passed off as casual. The conversation in the store had been confined to which granola bars to buy and if they should get a case of Red Bull for the road.

  He didn’t even know why they were here. To his knowledge, there were grocery stores in Redding. If they were leaving that evening, they didn’t need to come here and get supplies now. He’s trying to fill the time with busywork. Then why didn’t they just leave immediately?

  Maybe he’s putting it off. Maybe he doesn’t want to leave the cabin. God knows I don’t. The cabin was their little safe place, tucked away in some enchanted forest like they’d gone through the back of a wardrobe to get there. A bubble of peace where they could spend hours doing nothing, talking about unimportant things, easing each other along into something still unnamed. Leaving the cabin felt like being shoved back into a hostile world where it meant a lot of things to sleep with another man, not all of them good or comforting, where it would become real in a way that it wasn’t yet, and where they might once again be found by the dizzying array of people who wanted one or both of them dead.

  Jack just wanted to leave the shopping cart, get back in the car and get back to the cabin as fast as they could. Lock the door, turn off the lights, take D’s hand and lead him into the bedroom, get under the covers and hide there, wrapped up together. It was a cowardly impulse. A head-in-the-sand impulse. If he just stayed very still, nothing bad would happen. If he just pretended that D had feelings for him, that he’d ever in a million years express them or act on them, that the two of them could hide away in the cabin, fall madly in love and spend the rest of their days taking care of each other, then maybe reality would leave them alone for just a few more days. But D was right; they would probably be found eventually.

  For a short time this morning, Jack had wondered if maybe D didn’t even remember what had happened between them the night before. He’d had some whisky, after all. He hadn’t seemed blackout-drunk, but sometimes it was hard to tell. He’d quickly put the notion aside, though, once he’d seen him. Of course he remembered. He’d woken up with Jack in the bed next to him, after all. And it was all over the way he was avoiding Jack’s eyes.

  He’s sorry. He wants to forget. He can’t believe it happened. He doesn’t want it to ever happen again. He can barely speak to me.

  “Jack?”

  He jumped and turned. D was standing there holding a bag of oranges. “Huh?”

  “Didja get the coffee?”

  “Uh… yeah,” he said, grabbing the nearest can and tossing it into the cart. He walked off down the aisle, D falling into step beside him.

  “Maybe we oughta get some—”

  “We don’t need to get anything,” Jack said. “Why are we buying groceries now? Wouldn’t it make more sense to wait until we get to Redding?”

  D flushed slightly. “Well… I guess… it’s jus’….”

  “What?”

  He shrugged. “Don’t like ta be seen ’round town.”

  Jack peered at him, trying in vain to read something in those flinty eyes. “Do people know you there? People from your past?”

  “Nah, not really. But some of ’em know me as the guy owns my brother’s house. Might be a connection.”

  “That’s pretty damned paranoid, even for you.”

  “Well, I ain’t dead yet, so I’ll keep bein’ jus’ as paranoid as I always have been, if it’s all the same ta you.”

  “What if it isn’t the same? What it nothing’s the same?” Jack said, the words tumbling out.

  D looked at him blankly. They weren’t talking about groceries anymore. “Let’s jus’ get this shit and get outta here. I got a bad feelin’.”

  “What kind of feeling?”

  “Like I been still too long. Like I’m bein’ watched.”

  “It’s your imagination.”

  “My imagination’s saved my ass more times’n I can count.”

  “But….”

  D rounded on him. “Jack, give it a rest, huh? Jus’… gimme a fuckin’ break, okay?” He walked off down the aisle, leaving Jack with the cart amongst the Cremora and Earl Grey.

  ~~~~~

  They arrived back at the cabin just after one o’clock, and it was a relief to be there. D hated being out among… people. He saw their faces and their mundane little lives and marveled that he’d ever remotely been one of them. They drove their cars and watched TV and fucked their spouses and fed their kids and read People magazine and had no idea that they’d brushed elbows at the supermarket with a man who’d murdered more than sixty people in cold blood. It made him wonder who they really were. It made him wonder who he’d brushed elbows with without knowing it.

  Jack had driven on the way back, silent and tight-jawed, his eyes fixed on the road ahead. D found his eye wandering to Jack’s strong thigh, the cords in his forearm as he gripped the wheel, and had to continually drag them away. Ya want him. Ya wanted him last night when ya took him, but also the night before that and the night before that too. Ya mighta wanted him since he looked past yer gun barrel at yer face and saw you, really saw you.

  Ya want him, but ya cain’t have him. You ain’t doin’ that to nobody ever again, ’specially not ta him. He don’t deserve it. Jus’ get him through ta this trial and then cut him loose, and never see him or think about him again.

  They left most of the bags in the car, seeing as they’d be loading up their things and leaving in a few short hours. They went inside, shuffling into the main room, picking things up and putting them down again. D headed for the patio purely on instinct. “Goin’ ta get some air,” he muttered. He’d almost made it out when Jack’s voice stopped him.

&
nbsp; “You’re really not going to deal with it, are you?”

  D stayed where he was, one hand on the door handle, head down. “Deal with what?” he said.

  Jack made a disgusted, dismissive sound. “You are too fucking much for me, D. It’s been… what, five hours?”

  “Since what?”

  “Since we woke up in bed together, you cold-blooded bastard.”

  D made himself turn and face him, keeping his face tight and composed. “And?”

  “And… I….” Jack’s hands were waving in the air like the words were dancing away from his grasp, his mouth opening and closing again. Finally he shrugged and let his hands fall. “I guess that’s all I need to know, isn’t it?” He looked away and headed for the front door.

  “Where ya goin’?”

  “Out for a walk.”

  “Don’t go too—” The door slammed. “Far,” D finished, sighing. Nice goin’, slick.

  But better cut it off now than later, when it’ll hurt more.

  He went out to the patio, wishing more than ever for a cigarette. Damn Jack and his health-nut crap, all he wanted was a drag. He shoved his hands in his pockets and turned his face upward, trying to do that thing he’d heard other people talk about where they basked in the sunlight and got some kind of feeling of well-being and oneness with nature. All he felt was vaguely warm.

  He wandered down toward the grass, kicking at the flagstones on the patio, telling himself that he didn’t care if Jack had been hurt, or if he was pissed. In fact, it would be better if he was pissed. They didn’t have to get along for D to protect Jack.

  He’d just about convinced himself that it’d be the best thing for everybody if he and Jack ceased all but business-related contact when he reached the big tree down by his bench and his eyes fell on the grass at its base. All thoughts of his relationship with Jack were sliced neatly off by the sight of four cigarette butts crushed into the dirt and the small patch of trampled grass surrounding them, neither of which had been there this morning before they’d left for Carson City.

  D darted behind the tree and stood on the trampled patch. Fuck. Perfect view a the house from here. Panic poured into his veins, in a way that it hadn’t done in years and years. He ran in a half-crouch around to the side of the house, then sprinted to the front drive. “Jack?” he called, looking around and trying to sound casual in case someone was listening. “Hey, Jack?”

  Nothing.

  D ran past the front door to the other side, scanning the trees for Jack’s blue jacket. Oh god oh god oh god oh god ran the litany in his head as ran down the drive, where Jack was likely to have walked, looking for any sign of him.

  He turned in a circle when he got to the intersection where the drive met the road. “Jack!” he shouted, past caring who heard him now. Nothing but birds.

  He ran back up to the house, his heart pounding. Then it skipped a beat and he screeched to a halt before the porch steps.

  Jack’s jacket was hanging on the front door, held there by a large dagger stabbed through it into the wood. “Oh no oh no no no no no,” D muttered under his breath, barely aware he was doing so. He bounded up to the porch, yanking the knife out and clutching the jacket to his chest. Underneath the jacket was a scrap of paper; it fluttered to the ground as D freed it.

  He fell to his knees on the Welcome mat and picked it up. Just four words, scrawled in messy block letters: “Stay by the phone.”

  He crumpled the note in one spastic motion, flinging it aside like he could undo what it said if he just put it from him with enough force. He was hugging Jack’s jacket and breathing much harder than he would have liked; he made himself relax a little. “Jack,” he whispered, looking down at the newly ventilated jacket.

  He wasn’t sure how long he stayed kneeling there on the porch, but it was only necessity that dragged him back into the house. He felt gutshot, and the sensation was a surprise. What was also a surprise was the realization that he couldn’t handle this alone. He’d encountered very little in the past ten years that he couldn’t handle alone.

  He found his cell phone and made himself sit down and take a few deep breaths before sending the message.

  sos

  He waited. He sat there at the kitchen table and held the phone in both hands, staring at it, willing it to vibrate. After a few minutes, it did.

  ?

  need help

  call?

  plz

  He waited again, and in a few seconds the phone rang. “I need your help,” he said into it.

  “What’s wrong?” X’s voice, as usual, was filtered through a masking device. It didn’t even read as male or female.

  “They took him.”

  “Took who?”

  “Jack!” D exclaimed, thumping one hand on the table. “They took Jack!” Christ, listen ta you. Get ahold a yerself.

  “Who took him?”

  “I dunno. I’m waitin’ fer the call.”

  “Well, it can’t be the brothers.”

  D blinked, not following. His usually sharp thought processes felt dipped in molasses. “Why not?”

  “They’d just kill him. If they’re going to call you, they must want something. Probably a trade.”

  “So it’s whoever set me up with this job, then.”

  “Most likely. They’ll want you to trade yourself for him.”

  “Okay. They can have me.”

  “D, you can’t just give yourself up.”

  “It’ll be a relief.”

  “Who’ll protect Jack if you’re dead?” D sighed. “Yeah, I thought so. Look, just wait for the call. Get back to me, tell me where the trade’s going down. Just do like you’re going through with it.”

  “Then what?”

  “I’ll take care of it.”

  D shook his head. “I don’t like this.”

  “What’s to like?”

  “But….” He hesitated. “They staked the place out. Whyn’t they jus’ take me? Why take him?”

  There was a pause. “I don’t know, D. Do you?”

  “Maybe… ta see if I’d do it.”

  “They must think you won’t.”

  “They’re wrong, then. I been ready ta die ta save his life from the first.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  Don’t panic. Don’t panic.

  Good advice, but easier said than done. Jack kept repeating it to himself, but it kept not working. Panic was rising in him like the tide and he knew he’d only be able to keep it down for so long.

  His eyes were covered and his ears were plugged; the world was dark and silent. All he knew was that he was indoors, and he was tied to a chair. He didn’t know if he was alone, he didn’t know if anyone was talking, he didn’t know if it was day or night. Judging by the painful knot on the back of his head he’d been knocked out, and he’d woken up here. Wherever “here” was.

  The darkness and silence were more unnerving than he could have possibly imagined. Someone could be about to torture him with needles and he’d never know about it until he felt the pain. He could be about to die, and he’d have no warning.

  You sit tight now, and don’tcha worry. I’m comin’ ta get you.

  D’s voice, clear as a bell. If only it were true. If only he could convince himself that D was coming to rescue him. He didn’t even care that he was the damsel in distress in this scenario. Damsel he was not, but in distress he most certainly was, and if it took D swooping in and rescuing him to get him out of said distress, he’d gladly suffer the blow to his masculine pride.

  But for all he knew, D didn’t even know that he was gone. He had no idea how long it had been since he’d been so efficiently removed from the cabin. And even if D did know, he might not know where Jack was, or how to find him.

  Or he might just be saying “good riddance” and going on his merry way.

  Jack didn’t really think that was true… but he was still afraid it was.

  Focus. Think.

  His first thought was that the br
others had found him, but that didn’t make much sense. If they’d found him, they would have killed him. Why keep him here, and make sure he didn’t know where he was or who had him? The brothers would want him to know.

  The only other explanation was that these people had some beef with D. Jack was still a little confused about the labyrinthine connections that led from D to the shadowy figures pursuing them, but he knew that D suspected that it wasn’t the Dominguez brothers who’d blackmailed him into taking the contract on Jack’s life, but someone else entirely. Maybe this someone else had decided to swipe Jack and use him to put the screws to D.

  But that assumed that whoever-it-was knew that D would care what happened to Jack. Why would anyone think that? Unless they’d been watching them….

  That was a disturbing thought. Jack put it out of his mind.

  Either they know that D and I have made some kind of… connection… or they think that D would try and save me no matter what. But why would they think that a man like D, who kills for a living, would care if I lived or died? They’d have to know him. They’d have to—

  Jack was suddenly struck across the face, hard. The blow drove the wind from his lungs with surprise; his head rocked to the side. He could hear, very faintly, the rumble of someone talking, but he couldn’t make out any words.

  Oh Jesus God please just get me out of here I don’t care who’s got me or what they want or who they’re after or what they know I just don’t wanna die yet, please.

  ~~~~~

  A watched pot never boils. A watched phone never fuckin’ rings.

  D had been sitting on the couch with his phone in his lap for more than an hour. Since hanging up with X, he had been doing as he’d been bidden: waiting by the phone.

  He didn’t know what to do. Didn’t know how he felt. Didn’t know what to think. He was putting off trying to figure anything out until he knew Jack was safe, and who had him, and what they wanted. They had to want something, or they would have just killed him.