Primal Threat - Earl Emerson [28]
Meanwhile Muldaur wandered around the camp, butting into conversations and making a nuisance of himself the way he did at the firehouse when he visited other shifts.
“It’s getting real hot,” Hugh said. “The fire’s making me sweaty.” He walked over to Giancarlo. “Aren’t you getting sweaty?”
Giancarlo smiled. “Not yet. I’ll let you know.”
“Maybe if you took that helmet off, you wouldn’t be so hot,” blurted Kasey from the other side of the encampment. Hugh ignored him and stared at the fire. It was part of Hugh’s act to select one or two in a group to ignore.
Nadine had taken Zak to Lake Roosevelt with most of these people, and he knew they were boy-men: their brains filled with nothing more than thoughts of drinking parties and days with no responsibilities.
“Remember that time we went to Mexico and picked up those whores?” Scooter said. “We kept telling them we were with the Mafia? And Fred’s said she had crabs. Fred says, ‘I don’t care,’ and brings crabs back to Julia and then tries to blame it on her for not using the paper cover on a public toilet seat. Then she dumps him.”
“We broke up for other reasons,” Fred announced, downing one Budweiser and popping the cap on another.
“You broke up because of crabs,” yelled Scooter, laughing. Fred shrugged it off and swigged from his bottle, which looked, in his massive hands, as if it were designed for a child. He and Chuck were football players, and Kasey said often to their faces that he kept them around less for their witty repartee than for protection. Although Giancarlo was thirty pounds lighter, he could probably outmuscle either of them, but then Giancarlo was a freak of nature. “My favorite was when we were racing your father’s Maserati all through Bellevue that night,” said Kasey to Scooter, “and we found those guys in another Maserati. What were the odds? So it’s like neck and neck, and then they pull into that TacoTime and we keep going and we see these cops, so you pull a U-ie in the middle of Bellevue Way, right in front of the cops, and then solo all over Bellevue making sure you don’t lose the cops until right before the TacoTime, and they go in and arrest the two guys with tacos in their hands. That was hilarious.”
“How about that time after you got your pilot’s license and we were flying over your ex-girlfriend’s cabin on Orcas Island,” said Scooter, tapping Kasey on the shoulder. These boys were showing off now, attempting to impress the older cyclists with how carefree and wonderful their lives were, hoping to establish a power structure based on anarchy. Alcohol had to be playing into it, Zak thought. “Remember that? We were going to toss out some Baggies filled with flour, you know, bomb the house, but you decided to toss out the whole twenty-pound bag, and it went through their skylight and almost killed the maid.”
“Hey, shut up,” said Kasey. “You know they’re still looking for the guys who did that.”
“They’re still looking for a lot of people,” said Scooter. “That doesn’t mean they’re going to find anybody.”
“Just don’t be blabbing our business all over, would you?”
“Is it all right if I tell them about the time we got Ryan so sick on tequila he threw up all over his father’s office downtown? We were down there to watch the fireworks, and the next Monday the suckers all came to work and booted up their computers and started smelling Ryan’s dinner.”
“That wasn’t funny,” said Ryan Perry. “My father still doesn’t trust you guys.”
“We’re not the ones who barfed,” said Scooter.
The war stories continued until Kasey said, “When you think about it, the good times are about over.”
Stephens, who was in his late forties, said, “You know, you’ll remember these days with fondness. We all…well at least I still remember crazy stuff I did when I was twenty. How about you, Zak? I’m sure you have some stories to tell.” Stephens had