Page 166 of Red Rooster

Will hooked a thumb toward the Jeep. “Come on. I’ll introduce you to the boss man and we’ll go from there.”

Rooster didn’t react; he couldn’t. It felt like his boots had been nailed to the pavement. The impossibility and strangeness of the situation, held at bay by Deshawn’s calming presence, by Dunbar’s, crashed down on him all at once now. He was so completely out of his element, and he couldn’t breathe suddenly.

“Hey,” Deshawn said, softly, and came to stand beside him. Rested a hand on his shoulder. “I know it’s a lot to take in.”

“Understatement.”

“But these are good guys.” He squeezed Rooster’s shoulder. “And they can help us get Red back.”

“Us?”

“You and me, brother. Just like old times.”

Rooster finally managed to drag a breath into his lungs. He felt helpless in a way that he hated. Reeling. After everything, after losing Red, this shouldn’t have been the thing that broke him, but he felt fractured. Unfixable and balanced on a knife’s edge.

“Roo,” Deshawn said, and it hurt to remember that the guys in the unit had called him that, mockingly, but not unkind, before it had turned to something sweet in Red’s mouth. “You with me.”

Rooster forced a jerky nod. “Yeah.”

Deshawn gave him a pitying glance that hurt to look at, but nodded. Twitched an encouraging smile. “Let’s go meet Rob and the rest of the boys.”

“Yeah.” He let himself be led.

~*~

The Jeep carried them up a slight rise to what looked like a fort nestled in the shadows of one of the higher peaks. It looked carved into the hilltop, constructed of heavy stone with narrow windows. European in all of its lines. They pulled up to an honest to God – what was it called? – portcullis of heavy iron set in a high, arched opening in the stone wall. The Jeep braked, and the portcullis slid up with a rattle, slow and ponderous. When it had cleared them, their driver piloted them into a large circular chamber with a hard-packed dirt floor. Arched gateways, some open and some sealed with heavy wooden doors, led off in all directions. The driver took the center one, and they plunged into a tunnel with electric lights set at intervals overhead.

Rooster turned to Deshawn in the back seat, cool breeze in his hair, Deshawn’s face flickering in and out of view as they moved under the lights. “What the fuck, man?”

Deshawn was grinning irrepressibly now. “Just wait.”

They ended up in an underground garage full of Jeeps, trucks, Humvees, and a few sleek sports cars Rooster was too distressed to stop and admire.

“Is this a castle?” Rooster murmured, voice bland with shock, mostly joking.

“That was the idea,” Will said as he climbed out. “It’s not as old as a real one, obviously, only about a hundred years.”

He was serious, Rooster realized.

The driver stayed behind in the garage. When Rooster tried to grab his bags, the man waved him off and said they would be taken care of. Feeling naked without thirty pounds of guns slung over his shoulder, Rooster followed Deshawn and Will to a sleek, modern elevator that glided smoothly upward. They emerged in a room that overlooked the courtyard beyond, and, above the crenellations atop the gate, the mountains beyond, still wreathed in mist.

The first thing Rooster noticed was the massive computer set-up in the center of the room, a wide, half-circle desk with an array of flat-screen monitors spread out across its surface, some showing maps, others long strings of text, and three devoted to black-and-white security feeds.

The second thing he noticed was the man – the boy – sitting in the swivel chair. He was turned to the left, looking at the monitor there, and Rooster got a look of an almost dainty profile, a cap of straw-colored hair that fell past small ears; narrow shoulders, and wrists, and ankles, where his skinny jeans didn’t quite reach to the tops of his sneakers. He wore an oversized hoodie and too many leather bracelets. He didn’t look up when they entered.

“Much,” Will called as they approached the desk. “Where’s Rob?”

The kid didn’t look up. “Out.” His accent marked him as British, too. He blew his hair out of his face and tapped something out on the keyboard.

Will sighed, and Rooster had the impression they’d done this same routine a thousand times. “Where’s John?”

“With Rob.”

“Much,” Will repeated, firmer this time. Rooster realized that was the kid’s name.

The boy – Much – sighed elaborately and turned a bored look on them. “They’re on the way back.” His gaze slid over Rooster. “Who’s the side of beef?”

“Rooster Palmer,” Rooster said stupidly. “You let kids work in your company?” he asked Will.