Page 46 of Saint's Sinner

“I could see how that tracks,” Pope told him, “what’s not clear is how you figured out their value.”

Axel shrugged, clearly uncomfortable. Was it the attention, the question or something else that was making him squirrely?

“I asked this old guy who lived in the trailer a couple rows down from mine. He had a vest like yours, so I figured he’d know why they were important.”

“It’s called a kutte,” Pope corrected. “So, what was the old guys name?”

“Dalton.”

Chuckling, Pope uncrossed his arms and took a seat at the bar, tapping the smooth surface with his fingertips, a signal for Mark to pour him a drink.

“And what did he say when you asked him about them?”

“That they were a collection of stories and people and places. Like a graveyard, they were to be respected.”

“They are.” Pope said.

“Wanna tell me the story behind that mismatched assortment of thread all over your vest?” Saint asked.

“Adventures.”

“Yeah, that color scheme is adventurous alright. Most people just dye their hair if they’re feeling bold.”

“Growing up, I had a friend who lived three trailers down. His mom made the patches for us every time we showed up messy, bleeding, or with the cops on our asses.”

Saint couldn’t keep his amusement in check. He let out a snort, reminded of some of his own mishaps growing up and trying to imagine the collage of words and symbols that would have been used to capture them.

“I guess I just wanted to feel like I belonged to something. That I wasn’t alone,” Axel said.

Pope nodded as he swirled an ice cube around in his glass. “Here’s a question for you: did you find what you were looking for?”

Axel let out a noncommitted little grunt. “I guess. For a little bit. Then I got left behind.”

“Then the real answer, is no,” Pope said.

Saint watched Axel’s eyes widen a fraction before he stood, shoving his hands in his pockets but not before Saint noticed them trembling.

“I um, I gotta go. I just wanted to get that back to you. Good seein’ you’re okay.”

“Thanks to you.”

Axel’s throat worked like he was trying to swallow around a hunk of food as he backed away, shrugging.

“Naa kid,” Pope said, never looking in Axel’s direction, but his tone clearly caught Axel’s attention, because he stopped moving. “Around here, we don’t treat what you did like it’s nothing, and we don’t leave our brothers behind. You jumped in when it wasn’t your fight. You got bloody without ever asking why. That matters. Remember that.”

“Y-yes sir,” Axel stammered, voice a little breathy, his little pink tongue poking out from between his lips. “This is yours too.”

When he laid the antenna on the bar and slid it towards him, Saint just shook his head and slid it back.

“Keep it, you earned it,” Saint told him.

“T-thank you,” Axel stammered.

He turned and fled before either Saint or Pope could say anything more, opening the door to abruptly let in a stream of light before letting it bang shut behind him.

“Does he ride?” Pope asked once he was gone.

“No clue.”

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