Page 42 of Set Fire to This Cardhouse

“All right.” Toby inhales and leans back in the seat. The sun has taken over entirely, everything bright and fresh, the sky of a translucent blue that stretches over the mountains. He gives a magnanimous wave. “Drive on, then.”

“Thank you,” Mike says lightly.

“You should thank me.” Toby rubs a hand over his jaw, stubble scratching against his palm in deference to two days spent in the wilderness. He’ll get a shave when they arrive wherever Mike has booked for them.

Another quick glance shows that Mike is smiling a little. His cheeks are smooth, only a faint shadow of stubble visible in the clear light—Toby pretended not to watch Mike shaving yesterday morning with the aid of the car’s side mirror, but he can easily recall the blade gliding smoothly over Mike’s skin, white foam dripping to the forest floor.

Two days in Mike’s company, without the distraction of a job. This is a bad idea.

Toby doesn’t want out.

“For the record,” he says, “I don’t usually do this.”

Mike is quiet for a moment before he looks over, his tone serious. “I know. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” Toby says. “And you will explain.”

“Do you always need to have the last word?”

Toby nods. “Yes.”

Mike is smiling at the road. “Yeah, I thought so.”

“Shut up and drive.”

For a moment, it looks as if Mike might do just that. Then his smile grows into a grin. “Aye.”

“Not funny,” Toby tells him.

“I beg to differ.”

“Who asked for your opinion? Huh?” Toby shakes his head and adds quickly, before Mike gets a word in, “No, don’t answer that. Just drive while I figure out what exactly we’re going to tell Liu.”

This time, Mike doesn’t reply, but his grin persists, his hands relaxed on the wheel. Toby tries to shut off any thoughts that extend past the next few hours.

***

They arrive in Guayaquil in the afternoon and book a flight for the following day. After dropping their baggage off at a mid-range hotel where Mike booked them two rooms, they ditch the truck in a parking lot with their remaining supplies locked inside—nothing that can go boom in the night. Toby calls their Ecuadorian contact to share the location, and that’s that: they’re done.

A shower and a shave later, Toby meets Mike in the hotel lobby, and they leave to explore the town.

While Guayaquil won’t make it onto the UNESCO list of World Heritage Sites anytime soon, there are a few nice areas and a historical center, policemen positioned at just about every corner to guard one thing or another: be it the entrance to a museum, the goldfish at the Malecon, or Guayaquil’s waterfront promenade that snakes along the enormous Guayas river which curtails the city on one side. There are multiple shops lining the promenade, and Toby disregards Mike’s suggestion of buying Haley a set of six Tequila shot glasses with Ecuadorian symbols. Instead he picks up a dreamcatcher that’s made of blue leather with colored feathers dangling off it—the shopkeeper swears it keeps bad dreams at bay, and Mike pretends to believe him, inquiring about the science of dream-catching with the air of an enthusiastic tree-hugger who arranges his furniture according to the Feng Shui method. Toby is surprised at how much fun it is.

Even though they took turns during the second half of the drive, Mike didn’t really sleep. As that means he’s been awake for some thirty-odd hours, they have an early dinner of rice and beans (“I could have cooked this myself, Mike! Next time we keep the gas cooker.”) before they head back to the hotel and retreat into their separate rooms.

Tiredness is pulling at Toby’s muscles, the few short hours of sleep he had in the early hours of morning only carrying him so far. Despite that, the noise outside the window keeps him awake—snatches of music, voices and traffic; a stark contrast to forest sounds and Mike’s quiet breathing.

The hotel’s mattress is much more comfortable than the tent floor, but Toby sleeps badly anyway.

***

At the airport, Toby buys a copy of El Universo. Today’s headline brags about how the Ecuadorian police and armed forces succeeded in sending the FARC a strong message. Good for them. Toby stuffs it into his carry-on, for perusal on the flight.

They read it together after take-off, heads bent close. Mike snorts aloud at a passage that cites the commander-in-chief, who praises his men for taking down a group of dangerous criminals who were armed to the teeth, yet no match for the Fuerzas Armadas del Ecuador.

“Does it ever bother you?” Toby asks in an undertone. While they have the row to themselves, there are travelers in front and behind who might take an interest.

“Operating in the shadows? Not getting any credit?” Mike folds the newspaper and spares it a thoughtful glance before he shakes his head. “Not really, no. It’s not why I chose this. You?”

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