Page 18

“No. Years ago. The first time we was here?”
The crash of the waves against the rocks drowned out the sound of the beer can opening, but Stephen tipped it back and drank. After a moment he said, “Crazy Legs Lizzy.”
Greg threw his head back and laughed. “Fucking Crazy Legs. She brought us here to get high. Great night. A little fire. Plentyof stars, just like now. Good shit, just like she promised. She had that portable speaker and kept dancing around.” He took a hit, then passed the stem to Stephen.
“Looked like a spaz having a seizure.”
The memory had him howling. The day’s frustrations had slid away, receding like the tide pulling back the ragged edge of waves. Tomorrow would hold the same shitty problems, but now was fine, damn fine. There were no problems here, just him, detached from himself. He’d shed his body like he had the earth. If he tried walking right now, Greg was pretty sure he’d float.
He chugged from the beer, determined to hang on to the pleasant out-of-body experience for as long as he could. “Ol’ Lizzy. Danced too close to the water, didn’t she, no matter how many times we warned her. Then—BOOM!” His other hand clapped against the beer can. “That wave hit her and pulled her out. You and me couldn’t walk. We were tripping over ourselves trying to get to her.”
“Leave her.”
Greg held the pipe away when Stephen reached for it again. He had to guard his dwindling supply, because he sure didn’t have the means to replace it. “That’s what you said then. But we grabbed her, finally.”
“Dragged her out by the ankles. Not so crazy then.”
He could see it all, clear as if it happened yesterday. They’d been so fucked up, it’s a wonder Lizzy hadn’t drowned. She’d hacked up enough water to fill a bucket. The damn speaker had still been pumping out music, and sure enough, after a few minutes, she was back at it, her wobbly toothpick legs kicking and twirling across the sand. There’d even been something a little beautiful about that night, viewed through his drug-induced haze. Crazy Legs could have been a ballerina coughed up by the sea.
“More.”
Reluctantly, Greg handed over the pipe. He could make it last a lot longer by himself, but when Stephen had called, he’d already had a good buzz going. The longest conversation he’d had all day was with that prick who’d pulled a weapon on him for doing what? Fucking nothing, barely. Like he didn’t have a right to drive wherever he wanted on these streets? Fuck that guy.
He made a gun with his finger and mimed shooting the asshole. That’s what he should’ve done.
Grabbed the pistol from under the front seat in his car. Blown the stranger and his bitch friend to hell. Probably still wouldn’t have got paid, but it woulda been worth it. Or better yet, do the guy and take the woman with him. He hadn’t gotten laid for weeks. He had a whole lotta buildup to work off. She’d been a looker, too.
“Hey, who was that lady today anyway? The one I was supposed to tail?”
“You screwed up.”
“I did what I was supposed to.” Had he? It was hard to hang on to the memory. It kept shifting and turning to vapor as he mentally chased it. “Won’t get paid. I tried my best. That’s not fair.”
“You can’t see me.”
He turned his head lazily. Could barely make out Stephen’s features right there next to him. Damn, he wasfuckedup. “There you are.” Greg cackled at that, the words striking him as far funnier than they were. “Right there.”
“Bitch thought she knew me. You don’t know me!”
“Dude, shut up. And give me that stem, dammit.” His friend handed it over, but Greg already knew it’d be empty. And he wasn’t going to bring out more, because what he had left was too precious to share.
“Hollow man.” Either Stephen was mumbling, or the sound of the waves was drowning his words. Swallowing them whole. “Fuck that. I need to finish her.”
A sliver ofuneasiness sliced through Greg’s earlier euphoria. Voices carried on the beach. He was less worried that a random cop would happen upon their cars and checking out the area than he was about some guy or group coming out of nowhere to mug them. Isolated spots like this were sought out by couples or people doing the same damn thing they were. Motivated enough to not be dissuaded by the climb or the fact that the beach was unkempt, littered with seaweed and driftwood.
Stephen brought up the tall boy and drained it, crushing it in one pawlike hand. “Get out of my head. Get. Out. Of. My. Head!”
Greg eyed the other man warily. He knew some of what the news said about Stephen, but that had to be bullshit, didn’t it? Cops were good at rolling up a bunch of fucking charges with one single thing you did, trying to make sure you’d never escape the net they threw over you. And if his friend was so bad, he would have gone to a real prison, not back to one of those cakewalk places that give you your meds on time and let you serve cushy time. Security had to have been shitty if a big guy like Stephen had been able to stroll away.
Well, with a little help.But Greg had just followed orders. Hide a car where he was told. Leave the keys under the mat. Cops could never tie that to him.
“You gotta get me paid, bro. I took a risk for you today. It didn’t turn out the way we wanted, but I did my best. And now I have to lay low, because that bodyguard guy can finger me.”
“You screwed up.”
Irritation punctured his fog of euphoria. “Quit saying that. Just get me my money.”
Stephen reached into his pocket. But when Greg heard the strike of a match, he knew his friend hadn’t withdrawn cash orhis cell. The match flared, highlighting Thorne’s features briefly. Inside, they must’ve made him shave off all that hair and his beard that made him look like a roided-up Charles Manson. He appeared almost normal now, but there was something about his height and frame that always seemed a little menacing. Then he flicked it away, a tiny pinwheel of fire that burned briefly before going out. It was a stupid habit, an annoying one, that Greg remembered from their past. There’d been a time when he’d figured the guy was an honest-to-God pyro.