Page 50 of College Town

His fear leaps in his chest, winged and struggling, and he doesn’t try to sound cool. “Tommy. It’s me.”

There’s a clatter, like the phone gets dropped, and Tommy’s voice changes completely – he’sTommy, then, and not Tom. “Law? Is that you?”

“Yeah. I’m being followed.”

“You’re…” Rush of breath. A sigh, a gasp, something. “Shit. Are you sure?”

Lawson feels a bright, hard kernel of anger form, and latches onto it gratefully; anything’s better than the choking, throbbing fear quaking through him. “Yes, I’m fucking sure,” he snaps. “Is it your guys? Or those guys your uncle said were ‘watching’ me? Either way, it’snot fucking cool,man.”

“Shit,” Tommy breathes. “I knew this would…it’s not us,” he says, straightforward, for once. “But I think I know who it is. Where are you?”

“In front of the…” He accelerates again, cautiously, and scans the storefronts beside him. “Happy Hobo Package Store.”

“Damn, that’s still there?”

“Yeah. I should give you a tour of the city. We can see all the sights,” Lawson says, missing his intended sarcastic mark. “Who the fuck’s following me?”

“Someone you don’t wanna meet.”

“Right. You said that about your uncle, though, and I had to meet him. What’s one more asshole in a suit?”

“Jesus. Okay. Just…don’t stop. For any reason.”

“Duh.”

“I’m being serious.”

“I know! You think I’m not being serious? I’ve got a couple of fucking kneecap-breakers chasing me and I–” He sucks in a breath and swerves around the car that runs the next parking lot stop sign.

“Hey,” Tommy says, gentler. “Hey, it’s alright. Take a breath. I’m on the way.”

“What areyougonna do?” Lawson says, half-bitter, half-pleading. His teeth are chattering again and it’s making it hard to talk. “Throw your fancy watch at them? Get your hot fiancée to take her top down and distract them?”

“I’m on the way,” Tommy repeats, ignoring him. Now that Lawson bothers to listen, he hears the subdued roaring of an engine on the other end of the line. “Stay in that parking lot, but don’t stop moving. Keep talking. What sort of car is it that’s following you?”

Tommy’s coming. He’scoming. To him, to help him. It doesn’t matter that of the two of them, Lawson is more physically capable of kicking someone’s ass; it doesn’t matter that most days Lawsonhateshim, when he can bear to think of him at all. Lawson called him, and now he’s on the way, and the knowledge shakes an unsteady breath loose in his lungs.

“Lawson?”

“Yeah. Okay.”

“What sort of car?”

“A Mercedes. Black. It’s a sedan, I think. Real dark windows.”

“Okay,” Tommy says, encouraging. “When did you first notice it?”

“About a half-mile from the shop. I was headed for Dana’s office, but I decided not to let them follow me there.”

“Good job. That was smart.” The click-clack of a turn signal comes down the line, then a fresh surge of the engine. “You’re still friends with Dana?”

He sounds so surprised that it gives Lawson something to focus on. He turns down the next aisle of parking spaces, going slow to avoid the shoppers that move in drifts. Slow enough that a man with a gun could catch up to him on foot, but he’s betting the guys behind him don’t want to be witnessed murdering someone by fifteen people in broad daylight.

“Yeah. Of course. She’s my best friend. Always has been.”

A beat. Tommy says, “Of course.” Forced lightness. “But I thought maybe she’d moved away.”

“What’s wrong with staying here?” Lawson bristles, though he knows exactly what’s wrong with it.

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