Part VII—All the Assassins, All Snug in Their Beds

THE PEOPLE were finally gone. Jai had packed a boozy George into his Crown Vic, and Amal had followed them home. Ernie had driven Burton's truck over, so that's what they took back, and since Ernie had given Cotton a ride, Jason got to take him home in the convertible.

They put the top down and the heater on, Ace suspected, just so they could see the stars.

And bringing up the rear had been a very bemused, very exhausted Eric Christiansen in his portable home.

Still not his real name, but Ace rather suspected he'd arrived at his real home.

Ace was beyond caring, as the last of the day settled into his bones.

He'd showered and changed when he'd first returned home, and the time Sonny had spent prepping potatoes and salad for dinner while Ernie had been setting up the fryer, he'd spent polishing his beloved boots using a vinegar solution and a toothbrush. The comfort of that moment came back to him now as he leaned against the doorway and watched the last of the cars disappear from his backyard, the smell of fried chicken still hanging in the air.

He remembered being so grateful he was finally wearing clothes without blood on them, and particularly pleased with how soft he and Sonny had managed to get his hooded sweatshirt.

Eric Christiansen had sat across from him on one of the soccer chairs, watching what he was doing.

"I would have disposed of them for you," he said as Ace put a little elbow grease into cleaning any blood from the crevices that had not already been worn off by the day.

"We're not made of money," Ace said mildly. "And I like these boots. They're perfectly broke in. Do you know how hard it is to break in steel-toed shitkickers—even the kind with the softer soles? Your first month is blisters, calluses, and moleskin."

Christiansen had eyed his own soft leather half boots in surprise. "It hadn't occurred to me," he said humbly.

Ace grunted. "Well, I try not to have to race too much. Money's good, but it makes Sonny twitchy."

"What kind of racing?" Christiansen asked.

"Street racing," Ace said. "Sonny's a miracle worker with cars. He'd probably love to crawl inside your RV and optimize the hoo-ha consumption or whatever would make it go tear-assing across the desert."

"Ace drives like he stole something," Sonny said, bringing them both big plastic cups of iced tea.

"Thanks, Sonny," Ace said, smiling up at him. God, he was tired, but seeing Sonny serving a guest, working hard at being with people, made him feel good.

Sonny didn't kiss his cheek—not in front of a stranger—but Ace did feel the brief brush of their fingers when he handed off the cup. He got a smile that said that had been on purpose, and then Sonny went back inside.

"How long?" Christiansen said. "The two of you?"

Ace shrugged. "Depends. Met five years ago in the service. But we were out for a bit before we got together. Lots of baggage to open. You know how it is."

Christiansen looked surprised. "No," he said. "I don't know about opening baggage."

Ace stared at him. "Well, son," he said, "you got to open your baggage 'cause you got to get rid of some of your own so you can help your person carry his. And vice versa. Didn't you know that?"

Those arctic-blue eyes went somewhat limpid. "You," he said slowly, "are the second person in the span of a month to give me some much-needed advice on dating."

Ace stared at him. "Who was the other guy?"

"A PI named Rivers."

Ace cocked his head. "I know that guy. Listen to what he said. Smart man."

Christiansen laughed softly. "My world," he said after a moment, "is so much smaller than I ever believed."

Ace shrugged. "Don't know what to do about that. You got any questions for me about shit?"

"Was the RV hookup here?"

Ace glanced around and laughed. "We don't hardly got our own water and power. Naw. After everyone gets here and eats, they'll show you the way home."

"How come you don't live there too?" Christiansen asked, cocking his head.

Ace didn't understand this guy at all. "'Cause we live here ," he said. "We lived here first. Why would we move? It's just me and Sonny." He heard a bark and turned toward Sonny's pride and joy. "And Duke. But he don't take up space none."

Christiansen reached down and allowed the little brown dog to sniff his fingers. "Okay," he said simply. "Okay."

Ace didn't ask okay what. He was so done with talking by then. The next time he said much of anything was when Burton got there and asked him how he and Jai had managed the wreck. Now that was a fun story.

But he was glad when it got told, and everybody was ready for ice cream, and to leave.

Now, as he turned into the house that had been mostly cleaned, listening to the last sounds of engines rumbling into the night, he knew there still had to be a little bit of talking. Sonny'd done good that day, and Ace would do anything to have Sonny in his arms.

That's not what happened, though. The talking.

Duke was back in his crate and asleep, and the lights were off, and instead of one more hour watching television, Sonny grabbed Ace's hand and took him to their bedroom, with the moonlight shining down and glowing off their white walls with the dark trim. Gently—when once upon a time, Ace had sworn Sonny didn't have any gentleness in him—he started to undress Ace, making him sit down to get his boots and socks, then stand again for his jeans and briefs. When Ace was nude, staring at his lover in that mystery light, Sonny shucked off his own clothes, his boots already in the entryway from earlier.

And then they were both naked, Ace on the bed, Sonny in front of him, and Sonny stepped between his spread thighs and drew Ace's face against his tight concave stomach. Ace turned his cheek and rubbed up against him, aware that his cock was right there—it was even growing fat—but that didn't seem to be what this was about.

Sonny bent and kissed the top of his head. "I see you," he said softly. "And you're hurting. Can I take some of that away?"

Ace let out a little whimper, feeling the awful weight of the day lifting from his shoulders as Sonny helped him set it down. "You always do," he said and clutched Sonny closer. His shoulders started to heave, and Sonny held him, just held him, as hard sobs rocked him, because he was free here, and Sonny wouldn't hold it against him if he let it go.

When he could breathe again, Sonny bent down and kissed his cheeks, then his mouth, heedless of the mess, and then he kissed Ace some more until Ace drew him down and rolled them, Ace on top, and they made love. The soft, tender kind that Sonny was usually wary of, but tonight he was giving Ace a gift.

Ace knew it. Let it touch his heart. He was gentle too, careful even, as he slid inside Sonny's body and they finished the dance they both knew so well.

When it was over and their breathing had calmed, and Ace was lying with his head on Sonny's shoulder, Sonny spoke.

As usual, it was a surprise.

"That Eric guy," he said. "The one with the kittens. You reckon he's killed a lot of people?"

"Don't know," Ace said on a yawn. "Some, at least. Burton seemed to think he was a big deal."

"Not too big a deal," Sonny said, laughing slightly. "You sure did have him rattled with that car trick."

Ace chuckled. "Jai figured it out immediately," he said.

"That's 'cause Jai's crazy and likes it when you drive like a maniac," Sonny said, voice fond. Then he asked, "Why do you think Jason stayed?"

Ace grunted. "He was tryin' to let me know, I think. That it was okay. That he knew what I'd been doing. That he didn't want us to hide."

Sonny grunted back. "That's not smart," he said. "Smart man would stay far away. Whatsit—plausible deniability." He chuckled. "I liked that music. That was fun."

Ace chuckled sleepily. "Yeah, well, any man who can rhyme ‘deniability' has got to have some talent."

"You think Eric's gonna stay here long? He seemed to like us fine."

"I think we'll see," Ace said. "We may need to train him. No pissing on our territory, no killing just to trim the corners. Jason said he wanted to kill the preacher's wife, and he had to tell the guy no."

"Why kill her?" Sonny asked.

"'Cause she knew what her man was doing," Ace said grimly. There was no doubt in his mind.

Sonny grunted too. "That's gross," he said. "But gratuitous." He sounded proud. "That's the word. Like the violence on TV. Gratuitous . They'll figure out her part. She'll have a shitty life, I think. We don't need to soil our souls for the likes of her."

Ace relaxed, glad to hear Sonny say it. "Thanks, Sonny," he said softly.

"Love you, Jasper."

"Love you, Sonny Daye," Ace whispered. He wanted to say more—about how proud he was of Sonny, about how he couldn't do the things he did without Sonny there to pick up the pieces. He wanted Sonny to know so badly….

But his body pulled him into sleep.