Page 181 of American Hellhound
He rubbed her back and murmured quiet reassurances, letting her sobs run their course. It wasn’t until she finally pulled back, swiping at her eyes with her sleeve, that she remembered her parents were witnessing this.
Ghost’s hands shifted to her waist in a loose hold so she could turn to face them. Arthur had a tentative arm across Denise’s shoulders, tears standing in his eyes, bright in the parking lot lights. Denise was stony-faced, drawn up tight and straight like a mannequin. Both were pale and much older-looking than they had been a few nights ago, like they’d aged five years during the ordeal.
They seemed alien to her, in that moment. Not her parents, but bystanders.
“I’m gonna take her home with me,” Ghost said, matter-of-fact. “She’ll be safe there.” He added, “Sorry for the trouble tonight.”
Arthur bowed his head, a few glittering tears sliding down his cheeks.
Denise nodded. “Fine.”
And that was that.
~*~
Collier poured out three cups of coffee at the kitchen island.
“Thanks,” Ghost murmured, wrapping his hands around the mug just to feel the warmth. It was cold out tonight, and only now that he was inside was he realizing how chilled he’d grown.
Maggie – freshly showered, hair damp, clad in a pair of his old sweats and a flannel shirt – stared uncomprehending at her own mug. She looked exhausted, ready to tip off her stool any moment. Ghost hoped he was alert enough to catch her if that started to happen.
“Forgot something,” Collier said, and fetched the Jack off the top of the fridge, poured a generous dollop into each mug.
Maggie put her hands around hers, then.
“So,” Collier said, “our friend…” His eyes slid to Maggie and then back, questioning.
Ghost shrugged. She shot one of the guys, what was a little info after that?
“Apparently,” Collier went on. “Duane found out what Roman was doing, according to Babe Ruth. He went and made a deal with the rednecks, had it all worked out. Sanctioned hit.”
“Jesus.”
“I’ve got no doubt somebody’s got hold of Duane at this point.” It was after three a.m.
As if on cue, the phone rang.
Maggie jerked, slopping coffee out of her mug.
“Don’t answer it,” Ghost said, reaching over and laying a hand on her arm.
The three of them sat, silent, while the call rang through to the end. When the answering machine picked up, there was only a dial tone.
“Duane. It’s gotta be.”
“Where’s Roman?” Ghost asked.
Collier sighed. “Dunno. He lit outta here after you left. Gone to ground somewhere, I guess.”
“Just as well.” Ghost took a long slug of his spiked coffee.
“Duane’s gonna be on the warpath. The Ryders too.”
“Yeah.” All Ghost wanted to do was sleep. For about a year.
“Will they come here?” Maggie spoke up, voice a bare scrape of sound.
“No, baby.” Ghost slid his arm around her waist. “We’re alright here.” Mainly because the Ryders would be regrouping, and Duane always made you come to him, never the other way around.
