Part VI—Fried Chicken

THE THING about driving to work with Jason, Burton thought irritably, was that Jason drove the midlife-crisis red convertible sports car. Normally Burton didn't mind—in fact, sometimes Jason let Burton drive, and since Ace never let anybody drive the SHO, it was as close to flying as he got outside a helicopter.

So he liked the vehicle, but he disliked not being able to have this argument with Ace in private.

"Yes, we're coming," he said, knowing Ace would take that as, "We're invading."

"No, you're not," Ace told him, irritatingly patient.

"There is an assassin at your garage!" Burton snapped.

"And some days it's Tuesday," Ace snapped back.

Burton gaped, and next to him, Jason snorted.

"But Ace…." Burton was whining, and he knew it. "What's so special about this guy? And I swear to Christ if you say kittens, I'm losing it, because I've already heard about the goddamned kittens. Plenty of sociopaths can keep a cat alive."

"But will they sacrifice their millionaire RVs to give them a home under the table?" Ace asked, and because Burton knew Ace, he knew that was only partially facetious. Choosing substance over style was a point in his favor, and Burton knew it.

"Ernie must love that," Burton grumbled.

"He does," Ace said. "He's already gotten to know Katie and Oliver—special needs kittens, Burton. I mean…."

"It's so emotionally manipulative," Burton complained. "Why couldn't it have been an ocelot?"

Ace chuckled, and Burton found himself thawing. "Why?" he said at last. "What was it about this guy that made you want to invite him into our little group?"

"Remember when you paid me cash to make you a spare room so you had a place where somebody knew your real name?" Ace asked, and Burton swallowed. Before Ernie, before George, before Jason, even, had become a friend instead of just a commander who knew him well. Back when Burton had been so sure his path had excluded any sort of human connection except a garage mechanic and his psycho boyfriend, Ace had simply taken the cash and said sure. He'd changed his own home, literally added a room that from the outside didn't make any damned sense to the architecture, so that Lee Burton could come home sometimes to sleep.

"Yeah," he said, his throat a little tight. Ace had done that for him.

"You think you're the only one who needed to be called by his real name once in a while?" Ace asked kindly.

"What's his real name?" Burton asked.

"We don't know yet," Ace said. "He's been out in the cold a lot longer than you were."

Burton sighed. "Should I ask Jason to hang back? He could just, you know, remain a name. Cotton's boyfriend. We could keep an ace in the hole." He chuckled, sensing the word play.

"I don't much like holes," Ace replied mildly. "Jason's gotta do what he's gotta. But the man is currently seated out on our patio, petting our ridiculous dog, listening to Sonny talk about my sorry excuse for a lawn. Ernie is serving him chicken, George is…." His voice sank softly. "George is getting a little bit drunk, and I don't blame him a bit. The newscasters didn't prettify things, and George knows what went down. Jai is sitting with George in the living room." Surprise tinged Ace's voice. "I think he is singing. And I think Cotton is in the RV talking to the kittens. And I need you here, to see the man's expression, to confirm my gut feeling, which says he's going to fit just fine."

Oh. There was something about Ace's voice, something plaintive, and it hit Burton that Ace hadn't had an easy day.

Burton's friend didn't need him and Jason parachuting in to save the day—but he did need some backup.

"I'll be there in half an hour," Burton said. "Do you need us to bring anything?"

"Ice cream," Ace said. "And beer. Jai and George deserve more beer."

"Then make it forty-five minutes."

"Thanks, Lee," Ace murmured softly.

"Yeah, well, I appreciate those days when it's Tuesday."

Ace chuckled a little and signed off.

"So?" Jason said carefully from the seat next to him.

"Well, as my best friend just pointed out, having a killer eating chicken at his house only means it's a day ending in Y ."

Jason snorted. "I'd never thought of that," he said. "But yeah. I guess…." He pondered for a moment, probably going through a mental catalogue of their little group, including Ernie, who had taken out two assassins the day he and Burton had officially met because the men's minds were "like bugs, crawling all over him."

"Not Cotton," Burton said brightly, after an uncomfortable minute.

"Sonny?" Jason asked, then shook his head. "I don't want to know."

But Burton knew. "Only in battle," he said. "If there—he worked in the auto bay."

Jason grunted. "But boy, he's got us all scared, doesn't he?"

"Because we know," Burton said with a shrug. "When Sonny goes off about clocking someone with a tire iron or shooting the next person who hits on Ace, we know he could do it and not lose sleep over it. Because the rest of us have to plan to kill. Sonny spends all day, every day, planning how not to kill, because he knows it would break Ace's heart."

Jason hmm ed. "Which is why Ace is the one who does it," he said softly, as though getting it. "Because if Sonny did it, we'd be chipping away at all the things he's built in his head to keep himself human."

"And Ace is the best man I know," Burton said. "Killing hurts him, so he only does it when it absolutely needs to be done."

Jason sighed. "We could have let the justice system—"

"No," Burton murmured. "If Ace did it, it absolutely needed to be done."

"So he's vouching for the new guy?" Jason asked.

"It's okay if you want to come pick Cotton up and drive off all mysterious-like," Burton told him. "But I think Ace is planning to let Christiansen hook his RV up at one of the incomplete housing hookups." Some of the lots in the little unknown cul-de-sac where so many of them lived had power, water, even sewage hookups, but the houses hadn't been finished. Just bare skeletons, waiting for drywall flesh and siding skin.

"Fair," Jason said, nodding. "If he chooses to stay, there's two more finished houses to pick from."

"Let me meet him first," Burton said. "You drive—"

"No," Jason said. "Lee, I know you all are trying to protect me. Hell, that's probably why Ace didn't call you in today, because he knew I'd have to know. But…." He shrugged. "It's dishonest. ‘Here, Cotton, these are my friends. You can visit them and play with them on the weekends, but, you know, I'm not really part of the group, so don't mention me that often. We like to pretend I don't know them.' It's bullshit. Living like a monk for ten years was bad enough. Living like a fucking pariah is just—I can't do it anymore. I refuse. Sure, you meet him first. Then I'll meet him. If we decide he's too dangerous to stay, that's on you, me, and Ace, not just on Ace. Not just on you. It's on us. I mean, I get we try to shelter Cotton. And Sonny and George and even George's roommate. But I'm too old to play that game. I'm done . And Ace is a good man. But we just made him go do a terrible thing alone. I'm not saying we make him part of the unit, but I don't want him to feel like he's got to make these terrible decisions alone anymore. It's not fair."

Burton raised his eyebrows. "Jason, I know we're gay, but what? Are we the fairness fairies now?"

Jason's eyes bulged out, even though he kept them on the road. "You're demoted," he said with a straight face. "I'm firing you. I'm shipping you out to Fallujah."

Burton snorted, because none of that was obviously happening. "Cotton would miss Ernie," he said mildly. "I'm just saying—it's a lot of nice talk, but you do realize that Ace is used to going it alone."

Jason grunted, still mad about the fairies thing. "And that's our bad. He should never have had to deal with… with any of what he's dealing with by himself."

"You like order," Burton told him soothingly. "I get it. I myself don't mind a good order. But, well, both of us have been known to disobey a bad order, and we own that. What do you think Ace has the option of doing?"

Finally Jason's eyes stopped bulging out. "What do you mean?"

"We're officers, Jason. Officers . We both went to college, graduated, and were recruited straight into OTS. You remember that?"

"I do know my career trajectory," Colonel Constance said dryly. "What's your point?"

"First time I ever met Ace, we were in a firefight. He was the master sergeant, and he had a squad of new recruits that he was talking patiently into not shitting their pants. About the time he got them into position with their weapons pointed forward, he looked at me and asked me—very polite, because he knew I was a superior officer—if he could possibly go find his friend in the auto bay, because he didn't think his guys had his back."

Constance sucked in a breath. "They didn't what ?"

"It's what I said," Burton told him, remembering the fury all over again. "Do you know what he said?"

"I got nothing."

For a moment they both let the wind from the open windows of the convertible ruffle through their ears, over their faces. They kept the top up in deference to January, but oh, the feeling of speed.

"He said, ‘We weren't all born in a fire cradle like you.' Now he meant the Marines, but you know what else he meant?"

"Upper middle, college educated—"

"People with power," Burton told him. "So I let him go. And he shot Sonny's CO in the face."

"I'm sorry ?" Constance said, and he almost swerved, which at the speed they were going would have killed them both.

"For Christ's sake, either slow down or learn to drive," Burton snapped. God, he missed Ace behind the wheel sometimes. There was more than one reason to shit your pants in a fast car.

"I'm sorry," Jason said humbly, slowing down a little and concentrating on his driving. "But…." Suddenly Burton could see him remember. "Wait," he said softly. "I… I know this case. This was one of Lacey's first products. This guy was—"

"He was one of the first people in the Karl Lacey Academy for Psychos in Training," Burton said. "Only we didn't know about that then, so all Ace had was himself and his gun against a superior officer with a gun to a ten-year-old girl's head. That man would have killed them all: Sonny, the girl, Ace—"

"Aw. Aw fuck," Jason said, recall obviously hitting him hard. "But he only got one shot off before a shell hit. The girl. The girl died. I remember thinking that report looked hinky."

"They called it a friendly-fire incident," Burton conceded. "And Ace spent six weeks in the infirmary nursing some crushed ribs and a concussion, and Sonny got to spend six weeks in the military without worrying that his CO was trying to bully him to death. It was awesome. And I had to vouch for Ace for the first time, and what was I going to say?"

"I remember," Jason said. "You told them that Ace had gone to see if any of his recruits had ended up in auto bay. It… it seemed perfectly reasonable."

"It was a great lie," Burton conceded. "Because we all had to lie. Because Ace was a master sergeant, and Sonny's superior officer was a psychopath. So no, Jason. I mean, yes, it's fair if you want to take a bigger role in what Ace and his buddies do when they see something that needs fixing. But no, you don't get to tell Ace he can't do it alone. Arrest him if you have to—although I'd rather you didn't, and so would the rest of us—but… but you're not the colonel of his little army."

"I'm a raw recruit," Jason said.

Burton swallowed, unnerved by the loneliness of his tone, by the bleak look on his face. "But one who's welcome to come share a beer and have some chicken," Burton reminded him. Jason gave a faint smile then.

"Just remind Ace he doesn't have to do it all alone if he doesn't want to," Jason said at last.

"Top of my list," Burton said firmly. "Right after making sure I don't have to shoot Eric Christiansen in the face."

"Also important."

"We need to stop for beer and ice cream," Burton reminded him. "Turn off here. It's the only store for miles."

"Good beer," Jason said stubbornly.

"Also good ice cream," Burton said. "Ice cream is Sonny's favorite thing."

THE PLAN had been for Burton to meet the guy first, but Jason had asked where Cotton was and had been directed to the giant black-and-white Winnebago parked down by the garage, where Cotton, and now Sonny, were apparently getting to know the kittens.

Jason paused for a moment at the steps leading up to the center of the living space, getting a glimpse of both men sitting cross-legged on the floor in what amounted to the kitchen space of the camper. He could see the setup behind Cotton—litter box, beds, food and water bottles, all on their own plastic trays. The carpet in the RV was a lot nicer than these things usually went—having two cats who couldn't consistently get to the bathroom was a big concession, Jason thought.

Then he heard the conversation between Cotton and Sonny.

"Lookie here," Sonny said. "See, Oliver here's got six toes on this foot but only three on this one. I think that's why he limps. 'Cause each one is different. He's got no rhythm."

Jason got a glimpse of Cotton, angel's eyes alight as he leaned forward and stroked the kitten on Sonny's lap between its ears. "Is that your problem, big guy? No rhythm?"

From the couch—which was set toward the front of the RV on the driver's side, Jason heard an educated voice singing softly about having rhythm and music.

Jason chuckled under his breath, thinking this was possibly the wrong crowd. Cotton had been kicked out of the house at seventeen—he hadn't been going to plays in the last five years. And Sonny, well, even Jason knew Sonny's life had been harder than that.

But then Cotton broke in with a Broadway quality tenor and finished the verse. Who could ask for anything more?

That educated voice again, chuckling. "Very good. Where did you hear that?"

"High school drama teacher," Cotton said. "She was absolutely nuts about Gene Kelly."

"Who's she?" Sonny asked, and Jason paused midstep.

"He's a famous dancer," said the educated man—Eric Christiansen, Jason had no doubt. "Moved beautifully."

"Have you ever seen Singing in the Rain ?" Cotton asked. "It's so much fun."

"I could have Ace stream it," Sonny said confidently; then his voice faltered. "It's not… uhm, black and white, is it? 'Cause I have an awful time staying awake."

"No, it's in color." Cotton's voice dropped to the kitten in his arms. "Katie, my love, please don't do that—ouch!"

"Oh, she gotcha!" Sonny laughed a little. "Well, sorry about your wrist, but at least we know she's a fighter."

Jason finally took his step up and found Cotton, still hugging the fighting kitten. He saw immediately that her hips were deformed—poor thing. She probably had to haul her back end around like a trailer. "Let me see," he said gently, picking her up and peering at her with a strategist's eye as she purred in his hands and tried to bat his thumb. "Hello, sweet thing. I think…." He hmm ed. "I think we can make her a cart," he said after a moment, and then glanced up at the suave, handsome man with dark blond hair and ice-blue eyes, sprawled on the RV couch with the remains of a fried chicken dinner on a plate on his lap. "Would you mind?" he asked. "I know some guys at work who are bored and know how to weld. We could make her a little aluminum cart with some wheels. She could be racing up and down your hallway here in no time."

"That would be amazing," said Christiansen, sitting up.

Jason made a stay-seated motion and came forward, careful of Cotton, Sonny, and the kittens.

"Eric Christiansen," said the man who, Jason was pretty sure, was not named Eric Christiansen.

"Jason," Jason said, glad he'd changed into his civvies before going off base. "Jason Constance."

Christiansen's eyes widened with recognition. "You're Cotton's Jason," he said.

Jason nodded. "I understand we're going to be neighbors."

Christiansen shrugged self-consciously. "I guess this is a meeting of the HOA," he said with an embarrassed little smile. "I hope it's okay."

Jason nodded, thoughtful. "I think it might be," he said. "Although here, let me walk with you as you take your plate back."

"Is it okay if we stay with the kittens?" Sonny asked, turning a face up to them that Jason found heartbreakingly young. He thought of what Burton had said about how Sonny worked every day not to let his demons break free—and how Ace had been the one person who'd always had his back.

"Of course," Christiansen told him with a gentle smile. "They really do seem to love the attention."

Jason backed out of the RV and stepped aside to make way for his new friend.

"Am I going to make it back to the RV alive?" Christiansen asked pleasantly, and Jason knew the man hadn't missed his bearing or his seniority. It came to him with a thump that he and Christiansen—and possibly Jai, although it was hard to tell—were the oldest of this little group, all of them in their late thirties.

"That was Ace's call," Jason said frankly. "If he let Sonny in there with you, I think you're safe with us." He paused. "We are safe with you, aren't we?"

Christiansen swallowed and nodded. "I am simply looking for… haven," he said.

"For how long?"

Christiansen blew out a breath. "I have no idea. I had a companion for my retirement—"

"Jules Schaefer," Jason said, and Christiansen blanched.

"You know about that," he said.

"Jackson and Ellery are friends of ours," Jason said. "I don't think Ace knows of your involvement in their Christmas celebrations, but Burton and I do."

"I had planned to be out in the wilds somewhere, living in obscurity," Christiansen mused bleakly. "But… but—"

"I know what loneliness is like," Jason said. "And I know what it's like when your job requires you to live above the law. And how that can leave you with a hole in your soul."

Color returned to Christiansen's face, and his eyes grew glossy. "You're very eloquent," he said weakly.

Jason nodded. "You may have noticed that not all of us are as savvy as you."

Christiansen gave a brief glance behind him, probably thinking about the two young men sitting on the floor playing innocently with kittens. "Yes," he said.

"In this place, we protect people who need it."

Christiansen nodded. "I saw some of that," he said.

"At one time or another," Jason continued, "everybody here has needed protection. If that extends to you, we expect the same courtesy."

Those arctic-blue eyes were more than shiny now. They spilled over a little. "I understand," he said gruffly. "I will work to be part of that."

Jason blew out a breath. "There's a lot of history here," he said, nodding with his chin toward the back porch of Ace's house, where people were eating off Ace and Sonny's good Corelle and sitting in fold-up soccer chairs, the good kind with the cup holders for their beers or sodas. Jai and George had moved out of the house, Jason noticed. Burton and Ace were standing by the door, calling inside to Ernie, who was probably cooking. George's friend Amal had shown up, and he was sitting next to George, matching him beer for beer.

"I don't know how to be a part of that," Christiansen said weakly. "I have so much blood on my hands."

Jason glanced at him. "So do most of us," he said at last. "Protect the innocent here. Have our backs. You're going to be parked in our cul-de-sac. Do us the fucking courtesy of not killing us as we sleep."

Christiansen let out a broken little laugh. "I can promise that," he said, sounding surprised.

"Why does that shock you?" Jason asked.

Christiansen shrugged. "I thought… I don't know. I'd be expected to help with the business, I guess."

"It's not a business," Jason told him bluntly. "Ace and Sonny make money through their garage. They pay Jai and Ernie. Burton and I work elsewhere. George and Amal are nurses, Cotton's going to school. We're not Assassins 'R' Us, Eric. We don't expect you to do any killing here. In fact, we'd prefer you not."

"If I have to, who would I clear it with?" Christiansen asked, shocking him badly.

"Who is it you want to kill?" Jason asked, the fine edge of hysteria in his voice.

"The preacher's wife," Christiansen said, because of course. "She had to be complicit."

Jason swallowed and stared at him. "Do you have proof?" he asked.

Christiansen blinked. "I'm sorry?"

"We had proof. Something that would have stood up in a court of law—in two years, when the case would have come to trial after more lives were ruined. Do you have proof?"

Christiansen studied his fine leather half boots. "I thought it would have been a service," he said with simple dignity.

"God willing, Cotton will never kill," Jason told him, the hope hitting him in the gut. "It's imperative that Sonny does not. We don't even tell George what happens, although he guesses, and Amal has no idea. You don't have to be a killer to live here, Eric. We don't want you to leave bodies at our doorstep like a cat leaving a gopher. All we ask is that you have our backs."

"But…." And Jason could hear a plaintiveness here. This was a man who at some point had been raised never to show up at a party without a plant or a casserole.

"Bring Ace beer the next time he invites you over. Or soda—that's good too. They also like ice cream." Burton had brought two half-gallons, as well as some chocolate, and Jason thought once again of Sonny. "If you're bored and they're short-staffed, come man the window. When it gets hot, if you haven't decided on a house, feel free to leave the kittens with Ernie so they can stay cool. If Burton or I are deployed, check on Ernie and Cotton. Bring George or Jai food when it looks like George is working a series of graveyards. Neighbor stuff, Eric. Not assassin stuff. Can you manage that?"

Christiansen nodded slowly. "I will be awkward," he said with unsurprising self-perception.

"Of course you will be. I'm awkward. You and I are bluebloods here—and not in the good way. We're like a couple of Malinois dropped into a convocation of junkyard dogs. Sure, we're supposed to be better/stronger/faster, whatever, but if you don't know the junkyard dogs could rip us apart, you're the dumbest Malinois I've ever met."

He heard a rusty chuckle and figured he'd said enough, which was good because Ace had seen them and was drawing up to shake his hand.

"Jason," he said with a smile. "Gotta thank you for your help today."

Jason shrugged. "It was a roadblock. And the cops, I understand, were having something of a day."

Ace shrugged. "Yeah, well, you never know."

Jason chuckled. "We were watching you through a scope, Ace. The car crash was brilliant. We know."

To his delight Ace blushed , and Burton drew near. "Fuckin' epic," Burton said, shaking his head. "I mean… epic ."

And then Eric spoke. "I… how did you do that?" he asked. "I must know!"

Jai emerged from the house, Ernie on his heels, and Jason wondered if George hadn't fallen into a boozy sleep from what had to have been a rough day and a rough decision. Jason respected George. He knew that the young nurse wouldn't have told Ace and Ernie about the situation without knowing the consequences. It would have been hard to hear, and one of the things Jason loved most about Burton's friends was that nobody mocked George for his conscience, for wondering if he'd done the right thing.

"You should tell," Jai said. He glanced behind him. "George and Amal will not hear, and everybody standing here will appreciate the story."

Ace's lips curved up. "I gotta tell you," he said after a moment, "it was the best part of a spectacularly shitty day."