The Nightworld - Jack Blaine [23]
Tank leaps up and runs toward the sliding door. I hear a tapping, fast, then slow, then fast. I get up and go to the door. The tapping happens again, fast, slow, fast. I sure as hell hope that’s Morse code for SOS. I go to the far end of the door and peek through the curtain. The old man is standing by the handle getting ready to knock again. He’s got a bag with him—one of those soft leather briefcases.
“’Bout time,” he says when I let him inside.
“Sorry,” I mumble. I’m not sure why he’s here anyway. I back up to let him get farther into the room and lock the sliding door. I wonder if I should have hidden the gun that’s on the end table, or better yet, if I should be holding it right now.
“So you’re not a Holzer, right?” He eyes me, squinting in the dim light.
“No. I’m Charlie’s best friend.”
“That their kid?”
“Yeah.”
“They gone too, huh?”
I nod.
“So why you here anyway? Where’s your family?”
“I just had my dad, and he’s . . .” I can’t finish.
The guy says nothing for a long time, just watches me. Then he looks around the room. “You going to offer an old man a seat?”
“Uh, sure.” I gesture toward the dining-room table, since the couch is covered with sheets and a blanket. We both sit, but I stand right away.
“I have some Coke in the fridge. Want one?”
“Got any beer?”
“Actually, yeah.” There’s a six-pack of Budweiser in the fridge. I’ve been eyeing them since I arrived, but I figured it would be better not to have any. I get a couple of bottles out and bring them to the table. We twist our tops off and watch the vapor drift out of the bottles.
“Beer fog.”
“Huh?” I don’t get it.
“We used to call that little bit of smoke that comes out of the beer bottle fog.” The guy laughs a little and shakes his head. He holds up his bottle. “Here’s to your family, and to mine, wherever they may be.” He takes a long swallow of beer. Then he looks me in the eye. “Now, what’s your plan?”
Chapter 13
I take a sip of my beer. “I don’t really have a plan anymore. My plan just backed out of the driveway.”
“Ahh.” The guy nods. “Well, the car wouldn’t get you too far anyway, I bet. Haven’t you been watching the news? Almost all the freeways are blocked with abandoned vehicles. Pretty sad state of affairs in terms of the potential of the youth of America if that’s all you had up your sleeve.”
The last thing I need right now is a lecture. Especially from some old fart who’s probably just here for my beer. “What’s your name, anyway?”
“Name’s Gus. You?”
“I’m Nick. You have a better plan, Gus?”
“Nah.” Gus shakes his head and takes another swig. “Not for me, anyway. I figure I’m staying right here.” He stares at the tabletop for a long minute before he looks back up at me. “I don’t know,” he says, his voice catching just once, “where my boy went, or whether he plans to come back here. It’s a wide world out there for sure, and I figure the best thing I can do is to wait for him here. I don’t even have the first clue where I’d head if I were to start off looking. But you—you obviously thought you had a place to go in that car. Am I right?” He waits for my answer.
“I guess. I thought I’d head into the city, see if I could find a friend of mine.”
“The city.” Gus sits back, contemplating his bottle. “The city sounds rough, from what they say on the television.”
“Looks to me like it’s getting pretty rough out here,” I say, but I know what he means. The news coverage is all flaming storefronts and roaming gangs.
“Well.” Gus sets the leather bag on the table and pushes back its flap. “I brought some things that might be useful to you. I figured I could make a trade for some food, if you have any to spare, but I’d actually just take beer if you have any more.”
“What if I didn’t have anything to trade?”
Aw, hell, then I’d just give you the stuff. Not like I’ll be needing it.” He pulls some maps out of the bag, and a ring with two keys on it.
I don’t see what good any of it will do me. But