Eric stepped behind a support column and a signboard advertising the week’s specials and tried to look like he was examining a framed black and white photograph of the USS Missouri.
What the hell was the cowboy doing here? He couldn’t blame the man for still being angry about that business with those metal kitchen trays, but how did he find him so quickly? How did he know he was here? Had he followed them? It couldn’t just be a coincidence. He had trouble believing anything was mere coincidence anymore.
Peering around the column, he saw that the fat man was making his way slowly around the far side of the bar, his chubby face turning slowly, scanning the room. Even from here, he could see the wide bandage pasted across the bridge of his nose.
It appeared that his aim had been surprisingly true back there.
The three bikers were still sitting at their table in the corner nook, still complaining. Now their topic had shifted to the economy as a whole and how that was a direct result of the ineptitude of the currently elected officials.
He stepped as inconspicuously as possible into the nook and examined a photograph of two dozen officers in formal dress.
The cowboy walked on, looking around. Even with that chubby waddle in his stride, he managed somehow to look sinister and not at all jolly. The tavern was busily decorated and crowded enough to make it difficult to pick out a single face, but Eric couldn’t stay out of sight forever.
There was no way he could get to the door without being seen. He needed another way out. Fast. But he still didn’t know how to make the door appear.
He faced the photograph again and closed his eyes. He had to calm himself. But calm didn’t come easy. This man had tried to kill him. He shot at him. He set terrifying monsters on him. Of all the people he’d ever met, this guy definitely ranked a top five in the category of most dangerous.
Surely he wouldn’t pull out his gun here, would he? Not in front of so many witnesses.
Then again, maybe he wouldn’t have to. If he set one of his projections loose, it would cause plenty of panic. In such chaos, he’d probably have ample opportunity to chase him down and pay him back in full for the sucker punch at the restaurant.
Eric was beginning to realize that he really sucked at remaining calm.
He opened his eyes and glanced back into the tavern. The cowboy was walking past Paul now. Paul wouldn’t have known this man. He hadn’t seen him, after all. But he didn’t exactly blend in. He was a fat man in head-to-toe cowboy attire, exactly as Eric had described. Even from across the room, he could see the suspicious way that his brother eyed that big, black hat.
Eric was afraid that the cowboy would recognize Paul, that he would have gotten a look at him as they raced by in his truck…the same truck that was parked right outside, now that he was thinking about it… Perhaps that was how he’d found them. It wouldn’t have taken much. He only would have had to drive around to all these strange, hidden places and look for the truck that sped away from the restaurant.
Damn it.
But if the cowboy recognized Paul, he didn’t show it. He walked on without a second look at the hairy man sitting alone in the booth.
Eric turned and looked the other way, contemplating his chances of slipping around the table and out the other side of the room. But as soon as he glanced over, he saw it. The door was there again, large, heavy, out of place in its surroundings. It stood out like a vault door against the surrounding décor.
He didn’t bother taking the time to wonder what made it appear again. He didn’t even take the time to make sure no one was watching him. Afraid that it might disappear again before he could use it, he grabbed the handle and let himself into the dark stairwell behind it.
That was a close one.
But it wasn’t over. If the cowboy could see the restaurant (and presumably the asylum), then it stood to reason that he could probably see this place, too. It was only a matter of time before he discovered the door and came to investigate.
In fact, now that he thought about it, it might very well be that it wasn’t Eric he was looking for in the tavern at all, but the door. With no way of knowing that he hadn’t been able to see the door, the tubby hick might have assumed that he was already upstairs.
As he began climbing the steps, he withdrew Karen’s phone and said, “Isabelle, call Paul’s phone, tell him about the cowboy, and have him tell you what he’s up to. If he loses sight of him, let me know immediately.”
GOT IT
Stuffing the phone back into his pocket, he hurried up the last of the stairs and shoved open the apartment door.
There, directly in front of him, stood Aiden. He’d just stepped out of the hallway and into the open living area where the table stood with its mysterious map. He was frozen like an animal in the glare of approaching headlights, his eyes wide with panic, an open backpack hanging from his hands.
“Aiden…” breathed Eric. “Hey… Relax, okay?”
But Aiden didn’t look like he had any intention of relaxing. His wide eyes darted from Eric to the table and back again.
Eric followed his gaze. There, atop the map and amid the tools, was the Taser he fired into Paul’s thigh a short while ago, freshly reloaded with a new cartridge and ready to fire again. Eric looked from it to Aiden. Aiden looked from him to it.
“No,” said Eric. “Don’t. Just listen to me, okay?”
But Aiden wasn’t listening. His eyes darted back to the Taser, back to Eric again, judging, debating.
“Don’t…”
The Taser. Eric. The Taser. His muscles were tense. He looked wired. He was going to bolt for it any second now.
“I swear to God, I will kick your ass so bad!”
Aiden went for it.
Left with no choice, Eric went for it, too.
Aiden was faster. He snatched it off the table and swung it around, but Eric seized his hand and shoved him backward, forcing the business end of the weapon toward the ceiling.
“Drop it!” Eric shouted. “Damn it, I’m not going to hurt you!”
Aiden twisted around, struggling to free himself. Clearly, he didn’t believe him.
Throwing his weight into him, Eric forced him back against the wall, but Aiden used it for leverage and shoved back, swinging the Taser toward him again. Catching his balance just in time, Eric once more managed to wrench the weapon away from his face.
Aiden cried out as his wrist twisted painfully backward and the weapon fired harmlessly into the ceiling.
“Now calm down!” demanded Eric.
But Aiden had no intention of calming down and he was both strong and lithe. He squirmed around, managing to turn himself until he was facing the other direction, and then stomped on Eric’s foot.
Eric grunted in pain and lost his grip. Immediately, Aiden jabbed the Taser into his chest, delivering a surprisingly painful jolt that finally made him let go.
He hadn’t even known that a Taser worked that way.
Aiden might have been gone at this point, taking the advantage and fleeing, but their feet had become entangled during the struggle and both of them stumbled and fell. The Taser struck the floor and bounced away.
Aiden was quick to regain his feet, but so was Eric, who caught him with a fast right hook and knocked him back to the floor.
“Quit it!” he shouted.
Aiden sat there, his back to the wall, stroking his jaw, bewildered. “You hit me!”
“Yeah, well, you had it coming.”
“You going to kill me now?”
Eric gawked at him. “Kill you? Why the hell would I do that?”
Aiden cocked his head, confused. “Why would he do that?” he repeated, as if asking some third person that Eric wasn’t aware of. “Why wouldn’t he do that? Isn’t that what you people do?”
“What people?
Before Aiden could answer, he felt Karen’s phone vibrate against his thigh, alerting him to a new text message. When he pulled it from his pocket, he saw that he had four new messages. The last one read, GET OUT OF THERE!
Isabelle was supposed to warn him if the cowboy was on his way, but he must not have noticed the incoming messages during his scuffle with Aiden. Which meant…
He turned around, but it was too late. The cowboy was already standing in the doorway, his gun trained on Eric’s face.
“Shit,” was all he could think to say.