Page 50 of Prodigal Son

Monotone, Abe said, “You have a lot of kids, Dev. Remind me which one this is.”

Charlie heard a smile in his father’s voice: “The one who’s like me.”

~*~

“…Charlie?”

He’d zoned out.

And they’d arrived.

Shit, he’d been driving on autopilot.

The van was parked at the curb in front of a warehouse that looked just like he remembered. Still soot-stained, its curb still littered with rubbish.

Fox killed the engine and took a moment, pulling in a few discreet deep breaths through his mouth, studying the scuffed-up garage door in the front of the building, same as ever.

“Uh, nice place,” Evan offered from the backseat.

Fox was aware of Eden shooting him a disapproving look.

Devin said, “I can’t believe he’s still here.”

“Yeah, well.” Fox finally started moving, popping his door open. “We can’t all be as transient as you, Dad.”

He led their small band up to the roll-top door and knocked on it. It rattled in its tracks. “Abe!” he called through it. “Abe, it’s Charlie.”

No response.

“Did you call ahead?” Eden asked. She didn’t fidget, exactly, but her shoulders shifted minutely; he imagined her hands tightening into fists in her jacket pockets.

“He didn’t answer.” Worry settled low in his gut, dark and churning like too much coffee. He shifted around her to check the pedestrian door. It was locked, too. A quick peek through its chicken-wire-laced window proved that the inside of the warehouse was pitch black save the thin bar of light currently being obscured by Fox’s face.

He waited, straining to listen over the faint hiss of traffic on the next street, not sure what he was hoping to hear. A footstep. A cough. Any sign of life. He wasn’t sure which was more ominous when it came to Abe: silence or sound.

He reached into his pocket for his lockpicking kit.

“Oh, relax,” Devin said. “Of all the losers on our list, Abe is the least likely to have been picked up.”

True, but that didn’t make him feel any better.

“Charlie,” Eden said, quietly, when the lock gave and he pushed the door inward with a press of his fingertips. When he didn’t answer, and instead stood and took a step across the threshold: “Charlie, I don’t like this.” He heard her jacket rustle, and knew she’d drawn her gun.

“It’s fine,” he said, and took another step–

And a hand closed on his wrist. Small, wiry, strong, it yanked hard, in just the right way, and he came off his feet. He stumbled forward, and a shoulder landed hard in his gut, and he went sailing.

He seemed to fall for a long time, the dark disorienting. And when he landed, the hard concrete floor forced all the air from his lungs.

“Hey!” he heard Eden shout, and a flashlight beam bounced across the floor.

When he could draw a breath, Fox wheezed a laugh. “Hi, Abe,” he said to the air above him.

A moment later, the light found his face, gone craggy and tired with age. The eyes were the same, though, dark and serious.

“What are you doing, you little shit?” he asked, voice gruff as ever.

“Coming to save your ass,” Devin called. “You’re welcome.”

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