Daniel

Daniel lowered the phone and stared at the waitress. They were back in the van’s bay, all four of them.

Daniel said, “You fuckin’ that boy?”

Tobey snorted, “Yeah, she’s fuckin’ him.”

Cleo giggled, “Fuckin’m real good.”

Her eyes were narrow and smart, like some tough-ass Bogotá hooker planning to grab a wallet. But she also looked scared. Damn well better.

“No, we’re not like that.”

“Why he wants you, he ain’t fuckin’ ya?”

She glanced away, then down and up.

“I don’t know. I haven’t known him very long.”

Tobey snickered, “Slut’s fuckin’ him.”

Cleo hissed, “Slut, slut.”

Daniel hoped they were right. The arrow dude might be some kinda bad-ass mercenary, but if he had a hard-on for the waitress, he was way past the money stage. Men stayed sharp when it came to money. Men got stupid when it came to women.

Daniel ripped off a fresh piece of silver tape, and pressed it over her mouth.

“You know what you are?”

Tobey said, “Tramp.”

Cleo said, “Cooze, cooze.”

She shook her head, talking now being beyond her.

“You’re a staked goat. These Swahilis in Africa, they stake a goat under a tree as bait for a lion. They cut it, make it bleed, then they wait up in the tree. That lion, all he can smell is the blood. That’s a pretty good way to hunt a zombie, too.”

Daniel left her in back, and climbed up in front behind the wheel. He reviewed what the Bolivian had told him about Pike, which was pretty impressive by anyone’s standards, and thought he had a pretty good idea how Pike would come at him. Daniel had no doubt Pike would try to kill him, and he figured Pike knew Daniel would be trying to kill him, too. It went without saying. Daniel just had to stay ahead of him in the planning department.

Daniel pulled out into traffic, considering the variables for their upcoming meeting. He wanted to get up to the location as quickly as possible, but there were a couple of things he needed to pick up.

Daniel cruised through Hollywood, running different tactical scenarios until he found one he liked.

Three minutes later, he slipped under the overpass at Vine, and spotted an old dude taking it easy on a bus bench, skuzzy gray beard, fading gray hair, none of that talkin’ to voices you get with the schizos. This one, a dedicated drunk on hard times. Even had a little sign: will work for food.

Tobey’s voice rumbled, all hoarse and hungry.

“Looks good to me.”

Cleo rasped, “He’ll do.”

Daniel pulled up by the bench and called out the passenger window.

“Yo. You mean it, that sign? I got two hours’ work.”

Dude eyeballed the Hero-Rooter van, then shook his head.

“I ain’t no plumber.”

“I’m not a plumber, yo. All I need you to do is hold a light for me. My regular guy took sick.”

Lazy fuck didn’t budge.

“What kinda light?”

“A fuckin’ flashlight, yo. I need a helper to hold a flashlight. There’s forty bucks in it for you. Two hours’ work. You want it or not?”

“Forty dollars?”

“Job’s up the hill here. C’mon, man, I’m running late. You want the forty?”

Tobey said, “What is it with this guy?”

Cleo said, “Sheesh, eesh.”

Dude finally peeled himself off the bench.

“I want twenty up front.”

“No way. Forty when the job’s done or I’m moving on. Let’s go.”

Dude gave him a look like he was doing the world a favor, but finally climbed in, smelling like rotten cabbage. Slammed the door, checked out the van as he settled himself, and clocked the back bay, but by then it was too late.

Daniel pushed him between the seats right on top of the waitress.

Tobey screamed, “Kill him.”

Cleo purred, “Kill.”

Daniel said, “Later.”