Page 37 of The Company We Keep

“Fuck me,” he muttered, hightailing it to the dining room.

The Company was already eating. There was one empty chair waiting for him between Vashvi and Wayles, and Dust wondered if they’d added the chair for him or if it had always sat empty there since Nick.

“Hey, we thought you were gonna work through dinner,” Vashvi said, smiling when he sat down.

“Are you kidding? You’ve all hyped Herron’s cooking so much, I would’ve hated myself if I missed their first meal while I was here.”

Herron’s mouth flickered in something that might’ve been a smile.

The Company began to reach across the table, to pass him things and pour him wine and water. They were having Indian food — a cuisine Dust knew next to zero about — andhe took big portions of everything offered to him. He didn’t bother asking what he was about to eat, and dug in happily. Dust hadn’t realized how hungry he was until he had the first bite in his mouth.

Conversation resumed as he began to eat.

“Have you heard from Kerry since the last job — you know, when we did that thing with the, uh, forest fire?”

“No, but I’ve heardabouthim.”

“He moved up the coast, right?”

“Yeah, and inland, too. He’s probably running a ring in Canada by now.”

“What, couldn’t take the heat?”

“No — I heard he ran afoul of a cartel sometime after our job.”

“Christ, again with fucking Comandante?”

“Apparently. They’re getting bolder, even off their home turf.”

“You know, if my nickname was El Comandante, I’d just shorten it to Dante.Waycooler.”

“Andthat’swhy you’ll never run a cartel, Wayles.”

“I can think of a lot of reasons why Wayles will never run a cartel…”

“Hey, now! I’m a great criminal. I’d never rule it out.”

The names and details flowed around Dust. If they kept him, let him join, would he ever understand the references? How long would it take him to understand the past of The Company, and how long would it take to be a part of reshaping its future?

(Or,a grim part of his mind added,ending its future if you’re successful.)

Dust volunteeredto do the dishes and no one tried to stophim. Leta, Vashvi, and Herron retired back to their respective corners of the penthouse. Wayles and Carrow sat at the bar behind him, sipping brandy and talking softly as he worked. He didn’t try to hear what they were saying.

He felt…warm.Accepted.

I could belong here,he thought to himself without stopping to think of all of the implications of that statement.

He dried the dishes and found where they belonged, stacking them in the sleek cabinets before wiping down the stainless, restaurant-grade appliances. It would befunto cook in this kitchen, which came equipped with every gadget an amateur chef could ever hope for. And there would always be hands to help him clean up and people appreciative for the effort he’d put in.

It was a strange mental game, thinking about the potential of life in the penthouse. Every time he seemed to leap forward, forgetting his mission, thinking only of the pleasure he could reap by becoming one of them. The life and purpose of Charlie Judge came loping along after a few minutes, reminding him of what he was and what he was there to do, but only gently. The purpose seemed malleable somehow.

It was important to belong, if he was going to get the information AIIB wanted.

Maybe he could negotiate for The Company once they were brought to justice. He could intercede on their behalf, and guide them through the legal system. He could convince them to take plea deals… The thought was unpleasant, though, and so he pushed it to the side. Why think about the future when his role was in the present?

Dust bid Wayles and Carrow goodnight, unable to miss the fact thatbothof their faces fell slightly when they realized he wasn’t going to join them.

He needed to sleep. There was work to be done the next day in preparation for the job.

---