Page 49 of Duke
“That’s him. But he’s on our side, and be glad of that. We should be okay here for a while.”
I grabbed the duffel bag out of the back seat, along with the other rifle and the Mossberg. No sense being caught unarmed, right? Temple and I went into the house, and I closed the door behind us. The lock clunked home, a solid and reassuring sound.
The inside of Harris and Layla’s house was as nice and unassuming as the exterior. Cozy, country, and comfortable, is how I’d describe it. Lots of wood, exposed beam ceilings, hardwood floors with hand-woven rugs on top, and artfully, intentionally mismatched furniture. It had an open central floor plan, with the master bedroom on one side of the house, and a set of guest rooms on the other, and a spacious study for Harris off the living room. I’d only been inside a few times, as the HQ for the crew was housed in a separate building over by the runway and the barn, and that’s where we A1S guys spent the bulk of our time when at the compound. This was Harris and Layla’s personal full-time residence, and thus seemed a little…off-limits, I guess.
“The doorway can withstand a sustained automatic weapons fire,” Anselm said from the foyer area, “and the windows are all bulletproof. Additionally, there are now motion sensors along the perimeter, and extra cameras in key locations. I have installed sniper’s nests in several places up in the hills as well, each with its own rifle, ammunition, and range finder, as well other hideout locations with backup weapons and food.”
“You’ve been a busy boy, buddy,” I said, laughing.
Anselm nodded. “I do not enjoy idle time. And I do not ever underestimate my enemy. I am prepared to defend the compound against any who wish to try their luck.” He unslung the mammoth rifle and set it butt-down on the floor, leaning it against the doorframe. “If they wish to take this place, however, they should better be ready to dance with the devil.”
Temple was eyeing the rifle. “Holy shit, that is the biggest gun I’ve ever seen.”
Anselm patted the barrel. “Ja, the Barrett, she is my very best friend.” He held out his hand to shake Temple’s. “I am Anselm See.” He pronounced his last namezay, rhyming withweigh, orhay.
Temple seemed wary. “I’m Temple Kennedy. Nice to meet you.”
Anselm gave a small, but charming grin. “I think Duke has been telling stories again. He and Thresh, they like to make anyone who meets me think I am some kind of Boogie-Man.” It was obvious from his lack of reaction that Anselm hadn’t heard of Temple, which wasn’t surprising; he wasn’t really the pop-culture sort of guy.
“Motherfucker, youarethe Boogie-Man,” I said, clapping him on the shoulder. “You’re justourBoogie-Man.”
Anselm shrugged one shoulder. “I will accept that.” He shot me a look. “And you know, Duke, you curse more than anyone I’ve ever known. A foul mouth is the sign of a weak mind, my father used to say.”
“Yeah, well, my father used to say people who swear a lot are smarter.”
Anselm cocked his head in confusion. “You did not know your father. I am sure of this.”
“Andyoudon’thavea father,” I retorted.
“Everyone has a father.”
“Except you. I’ve always assumed you were created fully-grown in some super secret spy laboratory.”
“Spies do not work in laboratories,” Anselm said, deadpan serious. “That is scientists.”
I laughed. “You gotta get a sense of humor, my man.” I hesitated, and then figured I’d just ask and see what he said. “Wheredidyou grow up?”
As far as I knew, none of us had ever dared ask him anything about his past, under the assumption he wouldn’t answer, or would get pissed at the invasion of his privacy—and nobody wanted to risk a pissed off Anselm.
Anselm was quiet a long moment. “I was born in Berlin, Germany, April 30th, nineteen seventy-nine.” He hesitated another long moment. “My father was a government official, and my mother was a homemaker. My childhood was unremarkable in every way. It is my adult life which is…more difficult to explain.”
“Well, I hate to interrupt such a riveting conversation,” Temple said, “but I’m hungry. Is there anything I can eat?”
Anselm nodded. “I will fix you something. Do you have any allergies to food?”
“Nope.”
“Well then, I shall see what there is. Please, be at home.” Anselm moseyed into the kitchen, and I heard the sounds of cabinets opening and closing.
We moved into the living room and sat down on the couch, which was a deep, thick leather monstrosity, well worn and stupid comfortable, the kind of couch that liked to eat you and never let you get up. Temple curled up with her feet under her legs, sitting closer to me than I’d assumed she would, after that last conversation we’d had.
When Anselm was busy and out of earshot, Temple eyed me skeptically. “He seems nice. You made me think he was some kind of vicious assassin.”
I laughed. “Oh, he is. He’s also super nice. That’s what makes him scary. He’s never anything but nice and polite and calm. He doesn’t get excited, doesn’t yell, doesn’t curse. I’m not sure he even drinks booze. He’s just…utterly calm,all…the…time. It’s unnerving. We’ll be in the middle of a shootout, bullets flying every which way, people dying, screaming, fucking rockets exploding, and Anselm will be in my earpiece acting all cool and collected, like it’s just a day at the fucking beach. Or whatever it is that freak does for fun. If he even knows what funis.” I leaned backward over the couch. “Hey, Anselm!”
He was at the island in the kitchen, making sandwiches. “Ja?”
“What do you do for fun?”