Page 116 of Hell and High Water

The jeep rolls quietly in neutral before he starts the engine again, easing us through an abandoned alleyway between two businesses. To be fair, every street is abandoned right now.

Sanctum Harbor is under siege.

We’ve swapped cars twice, sneaking between garages and hiding spots on our traversal across town. Finally, after almost an hour of creeping through the darkening evening, we reach out destination and wait.

After several minutes of silence, Gavin sighs, looking down at my bouncing knee.

“What? I’m?—”

“Hey, relax. I mean, I know you can’t, but you know what I mean. I get it.”

“Get what?” I’m not trying to be deliberately difficult, I swear.

“You’ve been through trauma. Maybe from a different sort of source, but I recognize the signs. I was pretty shell-shocked for a long time after I got out.”

I swallow, debating how much to share. “It’s manageable, most of the time.”

“Yeah, funneling the energy into work is fine and all. But did you ever consider…?”

“Have you? I’ve been to a dozen shrinks in my life. All of them wanted to dope me up until I was a zombie.”

Gavin tilts his head in acknowledgement.

“So, you have dozens of characters, right?”

“Way more than that.”

“Right. How many times have we met, then?”

I almost choke at the question. “No one has ever asked that before.”

“I guess that means you’ve done a good job so they didn’t know to even ask. But seriously, have we? How many times have we met and I had no idea that it was you?” He’s grinning now, cajoling me with a good-natured elbow to the ribs.

“I don't know... I mean, how often were you out at the block?”

“Not very often. I did jobs for them plenty, but usually, they didn’t have me come out to the compound. They’d just send me messages through one of their guys. We’d meet at this pub called Clancy’s.”

“Right, down on Eves Road. Marty can’t pour a drink to save his life.”

Gavin slowly looks over at me. “No fucking way. You’re Dirk?”

“Hellena figured it out. I assumed she told you.”

“Never had a chance to come up.” He shakes his head. “You really sell it, man. Dirk is a tough son of a bitch.”

“And I’m not?” I put on my best insulted look.

“No offense, but you grew up with a silver spoon in your mouth, didn’t you?”

“You don't know the first fucking thing about how I grew up.”

“Sorry.”

“No, I’m sorry. Didn’t mean to snap at you. In some ways, I guess I did have it easy. Rich parents. But Dirk didn’t. He was a bully as a kid, because his old man was one. Beat him into shape. One day, he just left. Joined the Block. Decided he wanted a real family to protect.”

“You really mean that. Like he’s got an entire life. And you remember every detail.”

“Some more than others. Depends on how deep the character needs to be.”

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