Busted Flush

Stuntman turned in the booth to look over his shoulder, and dropped his fork. “Holy mother,” he said in a voice that almost didn’t carry to the approaching SCARE agents. “Is that the Midnight Angel I been hearing about?”

Ray nodded.

“And you broke up with her? Are you crazy, Carny?”

Ray nodded twice more. Stuntman wasn’t exactly right—he hadn’t broken up with her—but Ray wasn’t going to open that can of worms again. Not now. He stood, slid out of the booth. “Agent Norwood,” he said, on his best behavior, “agents Angel and Moon.”

Moon wagged her tail as Stuntman murmured hello, essentially ignoring the caniform.

“Care to join us?” Ray smiled winningly. “I know you have a hearty appetite.”

The Angel smiled back. Stuntman snorted coffee. Ray felt his pulse accelerate as if Butcher Dagon had just turned into his fighting form right in front of him.

“Thanks, Billy.” Her voice had a Southern accent that felt like honey on Ray’s ears. She looked around. “Your booth’s too small for all of us. Moon, why don’t you join Billy. I’ll sit here,” she said, indicating the two-seater across the aisle.

“I like the way she moves,” Stuntman said in a low voice as she slipped into the booth.

You don’t know the half of it, Ray thought. He looked at Moon, who jumped up on the bench next to him. The waitress, still dubious, nevertheless took their orders. The Angel got the He-man Breakfast with a side of biscuits and gravy, and she ordered a steak, rare, for Moon.

They sat in silence for a long moment that Ray felt was unusually tense. It surprised him to feel this way. He wasn’t usually sensitive to nuance, but everything, it seemed, had changed since the Angel had come into his life. He groped for something to say.

“So, how’s things at Pyote?”

“Still devastated,” the Angel said.

Ray nodded. He was becoming familiar with the feeling. He glanced at Norwood, who had a wincing, almost sympathetic expression. Stuntman started to say something, saw the look on Ray’s face, and thought better about it. Moon wagged her tail tentatively, while the Angel sipped delicately at the large glass of iced tea that the waitress had already brought.

Fortunately Ray’s cell phone buzzed. He reached for it in obvious relief. “Yeah.”

“Director Ray.”

He knew that voice. “AG Rodham.”

“What are you doing in New Mexico, Director Ray?”

Sitting on my ass in a diner outside Alamogordo watching my eggs and sausage go cold and Stuntman drool over my girl, he thought. He got as far as “sitting on my—” before he thought better of it. “Uh, that is, sitting in conference with my agents while mapping out a strategy to contain the danger posed by the escapees who are in imminent threat of recapture. Ma’am.”

There was a longish silence, then the voice said, “Imminent?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“They had better be.”

“Yes, ma’am.” He gritted his teeth.

“Since you’re two-thirds of the way there, I’d like you to take that trip to Hollywood we’ve discussed and interview some of the new American Hero contestants.”

Ray gritted his teeth harder. “Yeah. I’ve heard great things about the Kozmic Kowboy and the Jackalope.”

His phone went dead. He felt Angel’s eyes on him, and looked at her.

“Good news?” she asked.

Ray was saved the embarrassment of answering as the food arrived. The waitress put several platters before the Angel, and then slid a barely singed steak in front of Moon. Her tail thumped more certainly.

“Oh, Billy?” the Angel asked.

“Yeah?”

“Can you cut Moon’s steak up for her? She can’t manage a knife and fork with her paws.”

“Sure.” Ray savagely slashed at the steak for the smiling dog. He felt . . . he felt . . . he didn’t know how he felt. Except that he wanted to hit something. Really hard. That reminded him. Where the hell was Pendergast?

“Where the hell,” he asked Stuntman, “is Pendergast?”

The agent shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe his zipper got stuck.” He sighed, looking put upon. “Want me to go check on him?”

Ray glanced over at the Angel, who was unconcernedly tucking into her food. She could eat, he thought, like no one else he knew. She needed the food to fuel the metabolism of her fierce and hungry body. He used to love to watch her eat, especially in bed after a long bout of lovemaking. There was something satisfying in watching her quell her appetites. Something vital and vibrant, like watching a cheetah run.

But now, seeing her, it made him feel, what? Lonely? Christ. “No,” he said. “I’ll do it.”

Muttering, he got to his feet. He thought he saw the Angel glance at him as he went down the aisle between booths, but he wasn’t sure. What am I, he thought, back in middle school? No, because I wasn’t this bad, even then.

He went out the diner’s front door and circled back through the parking lot, which was the only way to reach the restrooms at the rear of the building.