Page 165 of Antihero

When at last he turned to go, a sight at the bus stop brought him up short. The homeless man was still on the bench, curled into himself for warmth. But draped over him was a fringed shawl, dark green patterned with roses.

Evan wasn’t thrilled about it but here he was, back in the speakeasy lounge with sultry scarlet lighting, sunk into the plush maroon booth with button tufting, sitting across from Joey. Mercifully it was earlier in the evening than the last time they’d met here, which meant no Betty Boop onstage and no drunken carousers from the finance sector.

Joey had decided to stay in Manhattan for a few nights to do young-person-in-the-city things with some hacker friends she’d met on a HexChat hacker IRC server. She’d asked Evan to meet her here to say good-bye. He had one stop after this, Devine’s, before Aragón’s plane would convey him home. He was ready to get back to the soothing quiet of his penthouse, with its shiny clean surfaces and polished windows.

Joey flipped the menu over. “We should have a celebratory drink,” she said. “Like a ‘mission complete’ cocktail.”

The last beverage here had not worked out. “No.”

“No? Why?”

“The vodka selection,” Evan said, “is lacking.”

“Well, sorry they’re not up to your standards. Next time I’ll pick somewhere that has vodka derived from, like, unicorn milk.”

“Unicorns are genderless,” Evan said. “Thus, no unicorn milk.”

“Unicorns don’t exist. Like your sense of humor.” Joey thumped down the menu. She was dressed for going out, dark eyeliner and a scoop-neck sweater, nothing too risqué. “You said we’d talk in person after the mission. So here we are. In person. After the mission. So?”

He was unsure how to start.

Fortunately, Joey wasn’t one to let a silence linger. “Last time we were here, you looked at me like I’d barfed chunks of dead gigolo all over the table.”

“Vivid image,” he said. “But ‘dead’ is a bit redundant.”

“Fair. ’Cuz the gigolo has already been rendered down to chunks.”

“Yes.”

“Okay.” Leaning back, she crossed her arms and waited. The wait did not last long. “Well? Why’d you get so mad? What was it?”

He watched his blink rate. Had to resist rubbing his face. Vodka snobbery aside, he was having second thoughts about turning down a drink.

“X, you don’t get to just not answer.”

“Why not?”

“Because. I don’t know. Because.”

He drew in a deep breath, held it for a moment. “When I saw the video of Anca…” He paused. “It was bad. Really bad.”

He stopped again.

“X,” Joey said, softly prompting.

“Then when I was with you, I couldn’t help but think about what would happen if it was … if you…” His voice caught a wobble.

It was just a split second but Joey missed nothing and her brown eyes filled instantly. She reached across the table, put her hand on his forearm. “You can feel that,” she said. “It’s okay for you to feel that.”

Four-second inhalation. Four-second hold. Four-second exhale.

“If you feel more,” he said, “you have to feel more.”

There it was.

A new Commandment. His own.

He said, “How am I supposed to let you go into the field and trust that you won’t get hurt?”